I hear this song in my head whenever I play out the scene of Henry running from the police in my mind, and like the breathing and talking break in the middle of the song I imagine the scene of him being knocked by the car so yeah...enjoy reading!
...
Sagene, South Carolina. Fifteen years ago it wasn't much of a city. Now it takes me what feels like forever to run through less than half of it. I guess the upside is that it's given me an abundance of flat, boring surfaces to cover with paint.
I mentally curse after hopping the five foot vine covered wall offering me a shortcut to the walkway across the bridge. My left shoe is soaked through to the sock which now presses against my foot all wet from the puddle which to my dismay I have landed in. I don't have long to think about it before my legs once again carry me closer to safety. My chest burns with each breath that leaves and enters my lungs.
The cars in the lanes on the other side of the fence are tightly crammed into ungodly lines and their frustrated honks wash my ears. My own steps echo against the asphalt as I run past the unmoving traffic, but I don't miss the sound of additional thumps behind me. The bridge has never felt as long as it does as I sprint across with the threat of two angered police officers hot on my heels.
Without thinking much of it I quickly turn to my right and hoist myself over the fence supposed to keep me away from the normally moving vehicles on the other side of it. I don't doubt that some of the honking is directed at me as I slip between cars that slowly start moving as they near the end of the bridge. I know I've got my chance to make it off without being caught when I spot a pickup truck ahead of me. Silently praying the passengers don't notice me I toss my backpack onto the truck bed before following suit. My back hits against one of the low rising walls of the car and I lean my head back as I close my eyes for a few seconds. I can hear my pulse thump loudly in my ears as I catch my breath. When I open my eyes I immediately squint because of the blinding southern sun. I'm sweating through my T–shirt, and my unzipped hoodie feels suffocating. I am yet again aware of the state of my left sneaker as I sit with my legs stretched out before me. I can't help but sigh. Mom won't be happy.
I'm off, but unfortunately the car I've decided to make use of makes a sharp turn to pull up to the gas station just a hundred meters or so off the bridge. I let out an annoyed grunt as I grab hold of my bag and hop off before the vehicle has had a chance to fully stop. Not only do I have the driver of the car calling out words not worth repeating directed towards me as I take off in a sprint once again, but I also spot the two officers getting off the bridge. I take off along the southern bank and quickly sprint through the neighbourhood's backyards. Even though I'm absolutely sure I have lost anyone who'd be after me right now I don't stop running until I reach the all too familiar property closed off to itself down by the water behind a cluster of tall trees. Ignoring the main house I rush straight toward the open boat shed. The wood is old and chipped, and one side displays a mural which has grown to cover more and more of the wall over the years. It could have been really nice looking, but when four other people all insist on their input it quickly turns into something that's sort of obnoxious if you look at it for too long.
Once I round the corner I practically fall inside to sit with my back pressed to the wall, my backpack flung off to sit at my side. My chest moves erratically with my exaggerated breaths and my eyes are clenched shut. When I've calmed my breathing I open them to find four pairs of eyes staring me down along with an old video camera which most likely captured my less than graceful entrance.
"Hey," I manage to get out in a breath, and I push myself off the floor to walk over to the couch where three bodies sit slumped back comfortably, one with the camera in hand. "You'll delete that, right?"
"Nah," Charlie replies and I snatch the device out of his hands to hold it pointed up at my face as I lie back across the laps of the people occupying the couch.
"You guys and your camera," I mumble.
"You love being in the shot, though. You're so far up your own ass." I redirect the camera to have the focus land on Charlie, whose nostrils take up most of the zoomed in image displayed on the LCD screen. I move it around, focusing on different features of his face out of boredom.
"I pride myself on anonymity," I say. "So being as good looking as I am is often more of a burden than anything." I am met with an array of eyerolls. "What's with the sour mood in here anyway?"
"My family," Wren pipes up. I slowly close the LCD screen and look up at him. Even though he angles his head down to look at me he shows no trace of a double chin––annoying and enviable at the same time.
"How's your sister doing?"
"She's fine. I haven't seen any bruises in a long time."
"That's good," I mutter. "You feeding her well?"
"More like she's feeding me."
"I can have mom put together another bag for you."
"If you want to."
"All right."
"Why are you all sweaty and gross?" Barbie intervenes, probably just for the sake of complaining. I use the tip of my right shoe to pop the left one off, and I move my still wet, sock–clad foot towards his face. He quickly reacts and his hands grab hold of my ankle to push it away from him. I end up being rolled off everyone's laps to land on the ground with a thud.
"Ah," I frustratedly groan. "Screw you guys."
Their laughter bounces off the walls as I press my hands against the floor and push myself up to sit with my back against the sofa between Wren's left leg and Charlie's right one. I reach for the hem of my shirt and roll it up to reveal a cluster of purples and blues painting my side. Tommy Lee notices from over where he's seated in the old armchair. It's olive colored and made of velvet, and I'm fixin' to chunk it out sometime without him noticing.
"What the hell, Rice?" He sits up straighter, the lollipop in his mouth staying in place. "I thought you were only out covering shit with paint, not getting yourself beaten up."
"It's not like that," I assure him, dropping my shirt for it to fall down to cover the bruising. "I was running from the cops and I didn't look before crossing the street in the city. The car didn't even hit me that hard."
"I don't know...It looks pretty bad."
"It's nothing," I shrug it off. "Nothing feels broken."
"You're crazy," he chuckles. He takes the sucker out of his mouth and flashes me a wide grin. "I respect that."
"You're gonna end up in jail," Barbie singsongs.
"I might've just ran here from the city centre but I still got some energy in me and a wet sock. I'm not afraid to use it." He holds his hands up in surrender and a satisfied smile settles over my lips. "I smell smoke."
It takes only a second before I have Charlie holding a pack of cigarettes over my shoulder.
"Here."
"Thanks." I take it, and after having grabbed myself a cigarette I toss the packet onto the flipped over moving box. My lighter sparks to life and soon I'm breathing smoke. A phone goes off and I feel Wren's leg against my back as he shuffles around behind me.
"Shit," he mutters under his breath, and when I turn to look over my shoulder he's running a hand through his hair. "Dad's home," he announces. "Sadie says he's pissed. I gotta go."
"Yeah, of course," Tommy Lee agrees. "Be careful though."
"I will." Wren stands and ruffles my hair before leaving, exchanging a brief handshake with Tommy Lee on his way out.
