Carry Us Away

Gabrielle:

I blinked my eyes quickly to dry my tears. Rule number one with dealing with douche bag guys: never let them see you cry. They might say that it hurts them to see you upset, and don’t get me wrong a part of them does feel bad, but there’s a different part of them that makes them feel empowered. It’s this nasty little thing called an ego. Everyone has one, but guys tend to let their egos feed off of every single emotion and action around them.

So even though this guy had just fucked with my heart, I had to remember not to let him see me shed a single tear.

I turned toward him. Taking in the way he sat in his car, one hand on the clutch the other on the steering wheel. His eyes flickered over to me and he flashed a content smirk. I sighed at how upset I was. It frustrated the hell out of me. I had really thought Brandon would be different.

This may sound weird but I always had this pickiness for drivers. If you were a bad driver I absolutely hated going out anywhere with you; I couldn’t help it. However, if you were a good driver, you could take me and my heart anywhere.

Brandon drove his car so smoothly, so carelessly. Little did I know that he could drive girls just as smoothly. I squirmed in disgust as I glared at the way his lips were curled up at the edges. I had asked him if it were true, if he really did cheat on me with some slut at this party we had just left, and he had admitted it shamelessly.

It was sad that this wasn’t the first time. Let’s just say I had a way of falling for the wrong type. It was almost like my heart wanted to be broken. What doesn’t break you makes you tough right? Well, my heart definitely wasn’t as fragile as it had been the first time. Now, I had a system of dissecting guys into categories. I thought I had it all figured out, but with Brandon screwing me over, I now had to redesign it, reformulate it.

Brandon focused on the road now, not offering any explanation. I had enough. “You know what, Brandon. You can just pull over.”

“I’m not going to do that, babe.”

I cringed, “Don’t call me babe, ass.” I hissed as I crossed my arms and stared at the flashing car lights in the distance. I absolutely hated being called babe.

He let out a small quick chuckle, “Don’t call me ass… babe.”

I reached for the steering wheel, yanking it to the side, and making it swerve. He loved that car and sure enough, “What the fuck? I told you never to touch my car.” I reached for the steering wheel again only to feel my hand getting yanked off of it. “Touch it again and see what happens.”

My hand inched forward. My small movement caused Brandon to speed to the curve and come to a sudden stop. “Get out.” He growled.

I gave him a grimace. “Gladly.” I reached for the handle and yanked it open. He didn’t even hesitate to speed from the curb as soon as the door was closed. I sighed and took of my heels. I started to walk along the still warm sidewalk as I looked at the dark suburban street. At least the weather was decent I thought to myself.

Lucky me, I thought sarcastically.

I continued to walk under the dark starry sky desperately awaiting some poor innocent guy to convince to give me a ride home. As if on cue, I heard the low rumble of a car, from the sound of it, this car had to be nice.

It heard it slow down as it approached me, but I didn’t turn around. Instead I let it come up next to me. It was a yellow Camaro I noticed, a very nice car despite the ostentatious color. My eyes landed on a guy around my age. He was cute, but nothing else—perfect.


Garrett:

It felt good to be home. Two months on tour could really put life in perspective, really make you appreciate the little things. We had been back for a couple of days now and I was still getting used to driving my own car once again. Tonight, I was coming back from hanging out with the other guys in my band. I wouldn’t even consider them just friends anymore. They were now family.

I smiled to myself at the thought of the music we created. I turned up my stereo a little, letting Tom Petty play. I started drumming my fingertips on the steering wheel, a habit of mine that always calmed me. I turned the corner and my eyes zoomed in on a girl walking with her heels in her hand.

I slowed down, but didn’t intend to stop. I knew it wasn’t good to pick up strangers, but I had to make sure she was okay. As I passed she turned to look at me, her long brown hair was in soft curls that seemed to have become a mess. Her eyes, I noticed were dull; she looked bored. They locked on mine and she gave me a small smile and shrugged. My car continued to roll forward until she was no longer in my site. I turned my body around in my car as she watched me drive away slowly.

Cursing to myself I pressed my break lights. Through my rearview mirror I saw the red lights illuminate her smile. Slowly, I reversed the car and stopped next to her. I immediately noticed that she was no longer smiling, her face once again replaced with an apathetic gaze.

She leaned forward into my rolled down window. “I don’t want to bother you, but can you give me a ride home.” Her voice was soft and sweet, but to him the tone sounded forced. It didn’t make any sense. Why would a gorgeous girl like this be walking alone outside?

I brought my head back to the side quickly to motion she could get in.

Without another word she got in and I started to move. It remained silent and I inadvertently I started to drum my fingertips on my steering wheel again. I turned to see her studying me as I drove. I immediately felt self conscious under her gaze. I didn’t know what to say as I looked her over. Finally, I said, “It’s kind of a rule of mine that you have to, uh, where a seat belt.”

She nodded her head up and down in a quiet nod before brining the belt buckle across her body with a click. “So…” She said angling her body towards me, “What’s your name?”

Her voice was no longer soft, but back to what I assumed to be her normal tone. It had a slight bitter edge to it, but Garrett preferred it. It sounded more—normal.

She opened her eyes questioningly. Oh that’s right she asked my name. “Oh, yeah Garret.” I cleared my throat and let my voice sound deeper. “Garrett Nickelsen. Um, what’s yours?”

She smirked and her eyes flashed, “Gabrielle Stephenson.” She leaned forward to turn off the radio until all that could be heard was the low rumble of my car. She wanted to be heard I could tell. “And Gabrielle only,” She added. “I don’t do nicknames.”

I didn’t even bother to tell her that no one was allowed to touch my stereo. I doubt she would have cared.

I couldn’t help but notice how she was blunt and straight forward in everything she said. She seemed to know exactly what to say, a type of hot confidence that didn’t need to be masked with showy clothing or a fake tone like she had used earlier. It was as if being around him made her comfortable. I wondered what kind of things made her uncomfortable.

“So… um, Gabrielle?” I let my eyes focused on the road, because I could still feel her eyes on me. When I finally looked I noticed that she was focused on my right hand. It was on the clutch and as we came toward the stop sign I down shifted and let the car slow down on its own. Coming to a complete stop I shifted back into first gear.

“Yes?” She asked with wide curious eyes.

I licked my drying lips, “Are you going to tell me how to get to your house or…”

She smiled, “Just keep going straight and when you get to Houghton turn left.”

I nodded. She was having me turn left when I usually turned right. Luckily, that meant her house wasn’t too far from mine. With her direction, I drove the rest of the way there with still feeling uncomfortable, because she kept her eyes on me.

I came to a small house.

She got out of the car mumbling something I couldn’t quite hear and walked around my car to get to her house. I waited for her to reach her door, a habit my mother had engrained into me, but she turned around and slowly sauntered back toward me.

“Give me your hand.” She demanded.

My eyebrows furrowed, “What?”

Frustrated, Gabrielle leaned forward and grabbed my hand. She let my wrist rest on the edge of the car window while she dug through her small clutch. She pulled out a pen. Holding my hand loosely in hers she wrote seven digits.

I looked down at her phone number and back up at her quizzically. “For you.” She smirked. “That is if you have the guts to call.”

She turned on her heels before I could even begin to formulate the words to say and walked the remaining steps to her door. I watched as she crouched down to grab a key from underneath a flower pot next to the door. With one last look at me she flashed another smirk and unlocked the door slipping into the darkness.