runaway

SEVEN | MORE THAN A FLING

SEVEN | MORE THAN A FLING

The number from which the text came is unknown, a random slur of numbers she fails to recognize. Then again, very few numbers remain saved within her phone, her never having bothered to create a contact for those she deems temporary. This particular message, though, bears no predecessors, a stand alone vague invitation to something she hardly deems grander. Though, anything appears grander than the residing within her harboring for the rest of the night.

Jett looks at the text message one last time: "Meet me at Waffle House in 30 mins."

No explanation, no hint of the sender, nothing but the simple invitation. It is nearing 12:32AM according to the clock on the stove. After returning home mere two hours before after leaving Charlie standing there, watching her walk away, her brain failed to shut off, leaving her uncommonly awake at such a time. If she were to believe in fate, she might just think such of the occurrence. She does not, though she still ties her Dr. Martens and collects her car keys before disappearing out the front door.

She approaches her car, the familiar vehicle that has stayed with her after all these years of abuse, acquiring miles after miles during her flees. Climbing into the car and starting the engine, the familiar maintenance required light flickers on just as it has for weeks. She shifts it into reverse, backing out of the parking spot before beginning to drive down W Washington St.

The Waffle House in question is much further away than the one downtown within walking distance, though Jett doesn't protest the time alone with her car. Her phone automatically connects to the stereo and begins to play that familiar song, the one to which she learned the words ages ago. She remembers the first time she heard the song, how the night was young and how the sky was clear and how she was not alone. Quickly, she skips the song, and the next, and the next until she settles on one she no longer remembers when she first heard it.

Merging onto Macon Highway, her car picks up speed, going five miles over, then seven, though never more than nine miles per hour over the limit. Hardly any cars litter the road at such an hour; she counts them amounting to no more than five in the past ten minutes. As she nears two minutes away from her destination, she sees them, the headlights, the ones rapidly approaching from behind. She watches as the blinker flickers on so they might get into the other lane.

The car flies passed her, going a minimum of 100mph. Just as it passes her, though, it begins to slow, its speed rapidly declining as it neared the stoplight and took a left. She flicks on her own blinker and follows the car to the left, even follows the car as it makes a sharp right into the Waffle House parking lot. The car backs into a parking spot near the door, her pulling into one four spots down. She stares at the car in curiosity, waiting for the driver to emerge. Taken aback, she hardly anticipates for the driver to be Emmett.

"You've got to be shitting me," she mumbles. Jett quickly turns off her car and climbs out, walking towards the beaming young man waiting for her.

"Do you always drive like that?" Jett asks as she approaches.

Emmett shrugs. "Only the majority of the time."

"You realize you're either going to get killed or caught, right?" she says.

"I'll take my chances," he says, still beaming. Jett sighs and brushes a strand of hair behind her ear before crossing her arms over her chest.

"How'd you get my number?" she asks.

"Heitor," he says as though the answer was obvious.

"And you wanted it because..."

Emmett shrugs. "I wanted to see you."