Some Place Better Than Here

Chapter 20: When Doves Cry

"God fucking damn it, everyone drives so fucking slow in this town."

"Are you okay?"

"No." He twisted the wheel, veering down the slope of a long driveway that homed yet another pothole. The car jerked as we plunged in and out of the dip, before screeching to a stop behind the dumpy West Atlantic plaza.

Danny cranked the handbrake, slid the keys out, and fell back into his seat, crossing his arms as he let out a sigh. With the air off, the car became instantly suffocating.

"What, Danny? What the hell's the matter with you?"

"Your dad just threatened to fucking rape me."

"There's no way—" I began, hopefully, but knew all too well the very real plausibility of Jim actually threatening that.

In the following second that lacked my response, Danny lost his mind.

"Your fucking psycho dad almost got me killed in a car crash, and then went on about how if I bagged his daughter he would use Vaseline to rape me. He literally had a fucking tub of Vaseline with him. And then he started flagging this dildo at me! What the hell? What the fuck was that? Who the fuck even uses the word bagged?"

"Danny, I'm sorry! It's not like I knew my dad would do that?"

"Well, what then, Mary?" He slammed his fist down on the center console. "Did you tell him I worked at the fucking car wash?"

Vomit. I felt like vomit.

"Like, Jesus Christ!" Danny kept on raging. "I've never gone through anything like that in my life! If he wasn't your fucking dad I would've called the cops! How is that man not in prison?"

I clenched my fists in my lap, trembling, thinking of how Jim has been in prison. My head felt heavy and I wondered if I was hyperventilating; every breath was too fast, too shallow. The windows fogged around me, blobs smearing the glass. The guilt condensed like a heavy ball in the pit of my stomach.

"I'm... I'm sorry."

"Well, being sorry sure isn't gonna save my asshole, is it?"

"Listen to me!"

"No, Mary! How about you listen to me! First your psychotic ex-boyfriend, and now your literal lunatic of a dad? Who the hell else in your life is gonna come after me next? Your cousin? Your aunt? Your fuckin' mom—"

Pressing his lips together, Danny shut himself the fuck up. He exhaled the breath reserved for the rest of his words through his nose.

"Danny, listen—"

"No. This is bullshit, Mary."

"Dan—stop—I'm sorry!"

"Tell me you're sorry when I'm dead somewhere."

"Listen to me!" I smacked the seat.

"I don't need this crazy shit."

"Will you just—"

"I have enough bullshit going on in my own life without having to worry about some crazy man now raping and murdering me."

"God Damn It—WILL YOU JUST LISTEN TO ME?"

I barged out of the car and slammed the door.

My feet fell in circles. I was going to faint. I kept afloat to stop myself from passing out. Sauntering around behind the plaza, over the mismatched, busted-up asphalt, every time I took a breath, the humidity, the pollution, the smoke stemming from the plaza roof, brought me somewhere closer to fainting. I heard an irregular cycle of something cranking, and looked back to see Danny leaning across the front seats, rolling down the passenger window.

"Mary! Wait."

I kept walking away then snagged my shoe against a weed that had erupted through the blacktop; my toenail split with a razor pain.

"Mary!" I heard his door slam. "Get back here!" he yelled, stomping towards me.

"No, I wouldn't want anyone else in my life coming after you!" I shouted back. "I am so sorry that my life is too crazy for you! But you know, I told you. You stupid asshole."

"Shut up!" Danny yelled as he ran up towards me. Then pulling me back by the shoulders, he swung his hand out and held me tight by my arms.

"I never said you—"

"Don't touch me!"

I tried pulling away. He wouldn't let go.

"Don't fucking touch me!" I screamed.

He grasped me even tighter.

"I am going to scream help at the top of my lungs."

Danny let go and jumped back. As if putting a far distance between us would exempt him from the accusation. Standing against his car, he kept his hands behind his back. "Where are you going?" he shouted.

"You just fucking put your hands on me."

"Where are you going?" he repeated.

"Danny! You just fucking touched me! Don't talk to me!"

"Let me drive you."

"What don't you fucking get! You put your hands on me! Leave me the fuck alone! Don't ever talk to me again!"

I stormed off from the back of the plaza.

On my way, I caught a whiff of the lovely exhaust from a deep fryer. Danny screamed something again. I then heard a loud clashing bang of something striking metal. I turned and saw Danny hammering the dumpster next to his car with a scrap piece of wood.

Guys are all alike, and Danny was no exception. I should've known better. My clothes had melted onto my skin. My head was light and dizzy. The air reeked of humidity and pollution. The walk up the slope felt near impossible, the world seared around me. The humidity fell in a heavy gray haze that I could taste on my lips. From behind, I heard the rattle and rumble of his engine, and then the charging bolt as it gunned past me up the slope without braking, whipping out of the plaza.

We didn't talk for a week.