His Car Crash Heart

The sound of the car engine and the speed of it drowned the silence Aria didn’t want to hear. Silence oftentimes scared her, so the low sound of the cassette and the sometimes off-tune humming that Pete did calmed her more than she thought anything ever would.

She didn’t know the song that was playing. It was soft, so very, very soft, and Pete moved his hand to turn up the volume. The guitar was strange, didn’t really have a melody set and the voice was breathy, whispering, almost. Aria really liked it.

“What’s the song?” she asked as softly as the singer, not wanted to break the most comfortable silence she had ever experienced. She just felt so calm.

“You like it?” he questioned in the same tone, drifting his eyes to her only to get them back on the road after a fleeting look.

“M-hm,” she nodded.

“They’re Bright Eyes,” his right hand left the steering wheel to reach to the backseat floor, cluttered with cassettes and a few CDs. Aria wasn’t surprised to see that he still used the former—he seemed like those kind of people. Not the hipster-type that would get them to seem cool, but the ones that believed old things had a nostalgic, oftentimes melancholic charm new things did not have. Call it a bit of vintage misery. “Here.”

Aria grasped the cassette from him, turning it around in her hands and finding its title scribbled with a green, thick marker, almost faded. It read ‘Rainy Spring Days.’ It made her smile.

“Thanks,” she let out, another whisper. “When do I return it?”

“Keep it.”

“Really?” her big, grey eyes widened at him and he couldn’t help but relax into his seat. Aria had a way with body language—she was so innocent yet so tainted.

“Yeah, of course,” he shrugged. “I don’t use this car much anymore, I just leave all these around. Sometimes Andrew plays them but he’s more into rock and all that, so he doesn’t use ‘em either. Take whatever you want.”

She looked like she was both grateful and embarrassed.

“Okay,” she said so very softly. Pete almost didn’t hear her. “Thank you.”

“Don’t have much music?” he asked, chuckling.

“I’ve never been given cassettes or CD’s,” she grabbed a few and looked through them, pulling her feet to the seat so she could drop them between her body and legs.

“Really?” Pete frowned. “Don’t you exchange them with friends? I did it all the time and do it all the time.”

“Uh, I don’t… I—I don’t really have any… friends,” she mumbled.

There was a pause in which Aria shrank in her seat, wishing she could take that back. Glancing at Pete, she found him gripping the wheel so tight his knuckles were pure white.

“But, uh, I used to,” she began, stumbling over her words. “I had a friend when I lived in Glenview, in fourth grade. Everyone laughed at him because he was kind of chubby but I really liked him. We were best friends. Then—then I was diagnosed and I had an attack so they pulled me into a… well, um, I’m guessing you can tell where. I used to have friends before I became what I am, so… it wasn’t really always like that—”

“You are not your illness, Aria,” Pete interrupted.

“What?” she frowned. “Of course I am.”

“Maybe you have schizophrenia,” he began, knuckles still tight. “But that doesn’t define the kind of person that you are. Why wouldn’t you have friends because of it? Uh?”

“Because no one wants to sit at lunch with a schizophrenic, Pete,” she explained meekly.

“That’s bullshit,” he spat. “I’m bipolar and I have friends.”

“You don’t see what I see,” she told him gently. “You don’t hear what I hear. Feel what I feel. I could flip out one day and kill you, thinking you’re one of them.”

“One of them,” he repeated. “The things you see?”

“I don’t want to talk about this anymore,” she brusquely told him, shrinking into herself.

“Okay, okay,” he agreed quickly. “But—but do none of the people in your high school even try to befriend you?”

“Rumors go around,” she sighed, running a hand through her long ponytail. “Some girl found out I was in a mental hospital and everyone thinks I’m a psychopath. Some teachers refuse to fail me in case I flip out. I hate it because I always come home with good grades I don’t deserve. And mom knows it. And she hates me for it. Nick hates me, too, but that’s because he blames me for dad’s death.”

It wasn’t until Aria let it out that she became aware of how awfully long it had been since she had talked to anyone about her problems. But although it felt good she did not want to drop her problems on Pete.

“I’m sorry,” she said, interrupting what he was about to say. “I really shouldn’t have said that.”

“No, it’s okay,” he said slowly, hesitant. There was doubt in his eyes. “You… you can go on.”

“I’d rather not,” Aria rubbed her burning eyes. “I ruined your night yesterday, wouldn’t wanna ruin your day today.”

“You’re not,” Pete was quick to say. “And you didn’t ruin last night, either.”

“If you say so,” she shrugged, looking away to gaze out of the window. Raindrops slammed against the glass violently and blurred the horridly grey landscape, but she’s rather watch that than Pete’s features.

Silence came back inside the old, beaten down car, but this time it wasn’t relaxing. Aria had the urge to cry, knowing that she had ruined a possibly excellent friendship. She had forgotten just how much she craved human contact, a friend to talk to her about their day, their problems, or silly things that made them happy. It was always them, and Him when she was alone at home. But they weren’t friends. They were far from friends.

Pete didn’t say anything, not even when she began to sniffle quietly, wiping her tears as discreetly as she could. Aria felt like the immature little girl she was. Pete was twenty five. He was a man, someone who had seen the world and had a mature set of eyes. Aria… Aria was nothing but a little girl. How could she ever think that she could be friends with Pete? How could she ever think that with her state of mind she could ever have friends? She was a freak. She would just never belong.

The car stopped, and Aria recognized the front yard of her house. Without looking up, she placed her hand on the handle and was about to push open the door when Pete grasped her fingers delicately, pulling them away from the door.

“I’m sorry,” he said, making her turn around to watch his apologetic eyes. Her hand rested on his lap. She felt the warmth through his skinny jeans. Aria hadn’t felt warmth in a while.

“You don’t have to apologize,” she told him.

“I like you, Aria,” he said, and her heart made a somersault jump when she heard them come out flawlessly from his olive lips. Her eyes burned even more than before. “I haven’t got much real friends, to be honest with you. Dirty’s a friend. My band mates are my friends, like the Animal, or Lunchbox, but… it’s just not the same, y’know?”

Aria kept silence, doing what she did best: listen.

“Becoming an adult is confusing,” he ran a hand through his hair. “I travel a lot with the guys, we meet all these one-day actors and actresses and fucked up people. They all look the same, Aria, they have their misery plastered all over them, it’s like their war paint. Sometimes I wonder if I will end up the same and I lose myself. I lost myself. I-I don’t know where I am, especially now that I’ve given up on Juliet. And it hasn’t really settled in, I think, but I know that as soon as I go back to the road, to LA to record the album, things are gonna get worse. I just know it.”

“It doesn’t have to,” she interrupted him, squeezing his fingers.

“But it will,” he pressed. “And—and I could really use a friend who understand what I’m going through, Aria, because the things I think about sometimes scare me.”

He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing and his eyes flashing for a moment with what seemed desperation. Pete was spilling. Pete was spilling and Aria was the only one there.

“I don’t want to crash, Aria,” he told her. “I haven’t told anyone this but I’m so afraid of my mind that sometimes I take too much Ativan and I just know that one day I’m gonna swallow the entire bottle and all that’s gonna be left is guilt and I really hate guilt.”

“Everyone feels guilt, Pete,” the redhaired placed her free hand over his other one, gripping the side of her seat tightly. “Even the people who you think don’t. Dirty probably lives with something on his back, and your mom, too, and Andrew, your brother, and the Animal, and that guy, Lunchbox, whoever it is, probably has lead on his shoulders too. Guilt isn’t a reason to take your life.”

“Being me is reason enough,” he croaked.

“Being you should be a national privilege,” she blurted, and he couldn’t help but sob out a laugh. “I don’t know you much. But if someone has the courage to ditch Juliet, help a schizophrenic when you barely know her, and let that schizophrenic sleep on your house, I would very much think that they’re a good person.”

“I’m a fuck up,” Pete choked out. “All I do is get things wrong.”

“That doesn’t make you a bad person,” she whispered. “Being a bad person makes you a bad person. A mistake implies incident, not intent. Don’t get those two mixed up, Pete, you don’t deserve to have a handful of pills to make you think.”

Pete nodded. Pete breathed. Aria thought then that he looked absolutely beautiful. The rain beating down, his cheeks stained, his eyes red, his lips swollen from biting on them hard and the raw feeling inside his eyes. She wondered if he looked like that when performing. She wondered what instrument he played, if he screamed in his band. She wondered if she could ever know more about Pete.

Aria wanted to.

Aria really wanted to.

“You’re going back on the road, right?” she asked.

“To LA,” he let his forehead rest on his extended arm, hair brushing the side of Aria’s hand.

“Here’s my email and phone,” she uncapped a green sharpie that was lying around the floor of the car, scribbling on the side of his hand. “If you ever need anything; talk, listen, tell someone about any little silly thing you can think about, just email me or call me.”

“Thanks,” he rasped.

“I have to go now,” she whispered.

Pete sighed, looking up. The both of them stared at each other for a while, and then Pete began to chuckle, shaking his head.

“Jesus Christ, we’re a mess,” he laughed.

Aria had to giggle back.

“I guess fucked up people need fucked up friends,” she shrugged, finally smiling at him, truly smiling. “Thanks for everything, Pete.”

“Thanks for everything, Aria,” he smiled back.

And it wasn’t until Pete was gone that Aria realized Juliet’s car was in front of her garage.