Being Butch Green || ✓

Chapter 3 - Impossible Circumstances

I stared at the oncoming vehicles through the rear-view mirror. Their polished hoods splintered the early morning sun in every direction and the tinted windows made it impossible to see if actual people were even driving the damned things. If a cricket landed on the windscreen, they'd be the type of people to use the windscreen wipers mercilessly to create bug juice marks across the glass.

I gulped, a rock beginning to form within the depths of my stomach and slowly rise into my throat. It threatened to explode into a rage of unsettling nerves. Did they even know I was in the car? Or were they just chasing Katrina for her betrayal? The thought of them scaling my guts out on a table didn't sound appealing to me in the slightest, and I wanted Katrina to pull over and let me out. Desperately.

"Hey, you alright? You're looking a little pale."

I nodded, staring down at my nails and picking at the fleshy bits surrounding them as I tried to quench the nausea building up inside me. "Fine," I murmured, feeling her eyes bore into the side of my face.

"You know what? I don't want you barfing all over my car, so I'm gonna pull over."

I changed my mind. At her words, hysteria rushed through my veins as the sheer idea of being left in the middle of nowhere with someone else's criminal file played thickly on my mind. Impulsively, I leaned over her and grabbed the steering wheel, forcing the car to swerve three lanes too far and scrape against the concrete barrier that separated the lanes of oncoming traffic. We wrestled each other for dominance over the wheel as our hands dramatically tugged at it, and our fingernails scraped the skin off each other's hands.

Causing a crash wasn't the first thing I really thought of in this situation. After all, three ugly black vans were tailgating us like we were in a police movie, and all I wanted to do was avoid being that person who got kidnapped by scary bald guys in tight skinny jeans.

"Geez! Calm it!" she screeched at me.

Giving her a glare, I decided to be the better person and withdraw my defensive attack. I sat back in the fur covered leather seat, leaning my head against the headrest and closing my eyes.

"If only she knew," I muttered to myself.

"Huh?"

Slowly, I opened one eye and looked at her. Her attention was drawn to the rear-view mirror. Opening both eyes, I followed her gaze as she began to pick up speed. The two outer cars accelerated with her, scraping the boot and side of Katrina's beloved pink convertible. I let my body slide further towards the car floor; my gaze still fixated on the mirror. How could they have found me already?

"Shit," I muttered under my breath.

"Oh, come off it you asshole!" Katrina yelled as she shot daggers back into the little mirror nervously. "Give me some room!"

I sensed her foot press down harder on the accelerator and my eyes glided over to the speed dial as it shot up. This wasn't going to end well.

"Show time!" she yelled through gritted teeth as the car lurched forward, its motor roaring against the restraint of the cheaply made engine. "There's a shotgun in the back," she suddenly disclosed, glancing at me.

"What?"

"No time to explain, just get it!"

"But–"

"Goddamn it, Butch! Just get the goddamn friggin' gun!" she pleaded.

"But why do you–"

She sighed heavily. "I just do. Now, will you kindly do me the favour and get it?"