Author's note: For whatever reason, the title won't let me list this out. Furthermore, I've heard your criticisms and I will answer: I do short punches, because I write what's on my brain when I finally come back.
For those expecting a happy ending? I don't even know if this will be an ending, or how long it will be.
On with the show
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We were sitting in my car, racing toward my house in the suburbs. The red headed woman had my hand in hers, and she gave it a squeeze.
"I dated him."
I gave her a nod. "Marc?"
She nodded. "Yes. I was a cheerleader for a bit. Me and him dated, until one day, he told me he was tired of me. Suddenly, there was questions about my performance." She seemed to be dealing with her life, so I gave her the moment, and merely acknowledged her with another nod.
"I saw the writing on the wall, and I decided to change my circumstances. I got into modeling, and a bit of... work... on the side." She paused, and looked over to me, her hand squeezing mine again. "I'm... pretty close to having enough invested that I could retire."
I finally looked over to her, and I nodded. "Well, this might seem more Milk Money than Pretty Woman, situationally. But, I can accept that."
Her face tightened a bit at my words, and she looked away, but she held onto my hand.
"Wasn't trying to be a dick. Far from it." I paused, looking back to the road ahead of us. We had about 15 minutes until Home.
"I've dated a girl or two with similar lines of work as yours. I've understood them. I accepted it. I'm willing to do the same with and for you... if all of this pans out like a movie." I took a breath, and pressed on. "However, the likelihood of that is slim to none. Even if we last longer than tonight, the likelihood of us establishing something serious is slim to none." I squeezed her hand as I felt her grip loosen.
"It wouldn't be on my part. It's just how people work sometimes. You'd have to be extra dedicated to it. Are you?" I glanced over at her, and saw the lack of a definitive answer in her eyes.
"It's alot..." she said, still holding my hand. I nodded. "It's alot to suddenly be in this head space. Marc is a major douche canoe, and your wife is a willing slut... but me and you?" She pointed back and forth between us. "Me and you, we hardly know each other."
"I agree, Ellen. So, I'll say this." I once again glanced over to her, before smirking and looking back ahead. "Quel che sera, sera."
She studied a moment, then spoke, unsure of herself. "That's..." she trailed off.
"The correct way it is supposed to be presented." I finished. "It is wrong at the same time, as it is not the popularized form of Doris Day's song." I shrugged. "Who's to say pop culture isn't more relevant than history? Pop culture applies more to today than some shit found buried in a dusty old text book."
I pulled onto my street, and I really wished I could say that the hedges were so tall they blocked my view of Marc's car in my driveway. Or the fact that him and the slut were in the car. Or that he was obviously putting the moves on her. I really want to say that I didn't ram his panty dropping phallic symbol, on purpose.
However, I'd be lying on both accounts, and my mother didn't raise me to be a liar.
I saw it, and I felt something in me spark. I didn't care that he was fucking with her, but he was doing it at MY House. MY Home. It wasn't even 2 hours gone since we'd last seen each other, and she was fucking around with him in my driveway? Fuck that.
So, I lined up the nose of my truck with the rear half of his car, right at the part where the roof comes off the trunk with that support beam -- as skinny as it was on the Lamborari -- I don't know! They all look the same to me! They aren't a Viper!
Anyway, I didn't punch the gas. That's how you lose momentum by getting sideways in a pickup. I just pressed it, and we were over the curb, flying through the air... until we weren't. And we weren't, because the back half of his car had not only gone sideways, but it had smashed into the row of shrubs, and a stone retaining wall. So there was nowhere for any of us to go with that rear engine monstrosity being in the way.
I looked over at Ellen, while I rubbed my head, and shook her shoulder. "You alright?"
She was breathing, and groaning, and she looked at me. "Wha..."
"Are you alright? Does anything feel broken?"
