Never-ending Trip

We have plenty of time.

 The rain falls with the determination of lightning hitting the ground and I wonder why I’m here. Sometimes I feel like that’s all I ever do; wonder. His breathing is heavy, almost like he smokes a pack a day, and the only other noise is the tires against the roadway. The window opens, with it smoke surrounds me but with every cloud that touches my face, it’s rushed out the window. Just as desperate to escape as I am. I secretly love the smell of cigarettes; it reminds me of home. Soon, they’ll remind me of him, I’m sure of it.  It’s cold now and the wind does nothing to rid the smell, only add more sounds and chill me to my bones. I don’t say anything about it, he needs what he needs, and my window is open now too. I love watching how the trees blur. 

“You always do that.” His voice is deep and scratchy from the vapors for a second. He loves talking through it, pretending he’s someone else. 

He closes my window, I look at him, “Do what?” 

He smiles, more smoke escaping through the crooks of his teeth. I don’t meet his eyes. “The moment I open your window, you turn to look out of it.” The sound of wind rushes to my ear and I turn my head. He laughs, his point now proven. 

“I like to feel the wind.” It’s silent again and I close my eyes, feeling the wind and his eyes on me. “You’re eyes should be on the road.” 

“It’s nowhere near as pretty as you are.”  I hold in a sigh, it burns in the best and worst way. His hand doesn’t help. 

“I’m not having an open casket.” It’s disconnected, as is most of what I say, but he understands nonetheless. 

“An even better excuse to look.” He squeezes his hand and I try not to tense. If he notices, he doesn’t mention it. It makes the silence deafening. There’s a tap on my thigh, hard to ignore but, still, I try. It turns into a smack, the impact opening my eyes more than the pain. And there is always pain. His hand is open, palm up, waiting for me to accept it. A part of me wants to deny him, to ignore his small tantrums and look at the sky. But my heart is already beating a rhythm I never allow and my smile is dancing to its tune.

 I accept.

 His hand is warm

“Watch the road.” He closes my window, I look straight ahead; pretend my heart hasn’t fallen from my sleeve and into his hand. 

“Hold my hand.” I squeeze his hand in response, surprise flickers on his face- my limp hand finally moving- but it disappears quickly. “Don’t sleep yet. We’re gonna stop.” We shouldn’t be stopping, we’re supposed to drive through the night but I don’t say anything. He turns on the music, lowers the AC, and I wait. 

Through blurry eyes that I refuse to let close, I can see the sign of a motel. We shouldn’t be here. “I hope you know I’m not paying for this improv.”

“Well, there go my plans.” He pretends to start the car and leave. A joke he’s done before. I still laugh. Getting out of the car after so long is a pleasure that can’t be explained. Or maybe it’s just too late for me to try to. “I’ll go get us a room. You get the bags?” I nod but he’s already run off.

A motel was far from the plan. The more I stare at the neon sign the more weight piles onto my chest and my breaths aren’t coming out the way they’re supposed to. He’s tired, it wouldn’t be safe if we stayed on the road. That’s what I tell myself at least. He’s at the door of the lobby when I get there, a smile on his face that doesn’t match the time or my energy. “I’m judging by your face that we got a room?” He nods and takes his suitcase, grabbing my hand with his free one. I’m too tired to do anything but slow him down yet he still holds on.

There’s only one bed and I don’t know why I expected anything else. His smile turns sheepish, “Would you believe me if I said they only had singles?” Singles are cheaper, the situation is understandable. But there were so many better ways he could’ve phrased that question. 

The receptionist’s smirk makes sense now, “Considering that the parking lot is practically empty? No. I wouldn’t believe it.” He can’t decipher if I’m angry, he’s never really seen it to know the signs. All he knows is my voice and even that small clue is taken away, it’s monotone by now. There’s no way for him to figure it out. He doesn’t ask, so I don’t tell and fall onto the bed.

“I’m gonna shower real quick.” There’s a hand wrapped around my ankle. He hates feet. “You wanna go first or-?”

“I showered this morning. ” I didn’t.

He leaves and, before I know it, I'm left to my own devices. There’s a constant drop hitting my forehead and I wonder if we’re so unlucky that we got the room with a leak in it. Then I feel his legs bracket my own and I almost wish for the leak. “Stop dripping on me.” I had fallen asleep, still dressed in the day’s clothes. His hair was curly for once, dripping onto the pillow beneath me as he stares down. “For someone who always tells me to go to sleep, you’re sending mixed signals by waking me up.” Mixed signals, he’s great at those. Always a puzzle that I can never solve. I try to move to my side but he’s framing me perfectly; if I move, I touch him. I sigh, “At least put on some boxers.”

He smiles, “Only if you liven up!” He bounces and I hold in my glare. I wonder if he took anything while in the bathroom. With how close he is, the answer has to be yes. I stop my train of thought before the night is completely ruined. He continues, “Two teens on a road trip, c’mon, be adventurous!” I watch a water droplet fall from a strand of his hair, feel it fall on my cheek. He turns serious, “Are you mad?”

“No.” I wasn’t. Stressed was more accurate. 

He leans forward, a manic expression too close to my face. He sing songs, “Someone sounds like a liar.” 

“Someone needs to learn that towels are meant for drying,” I lean up on my elbows. It’s late, I’m flirty. It’s all his fault. I whisper, “Not underwear.” 

He says something crass and waits for the reaction he wants; one of disbelief and innocence. My laugh cuts through the whispers and instead of deflating, he becomes so smug. “Why must you laugh at my advances?” 

If they were real, I wouldn’t. I pat his cheek, completely patronizing, but I can’t find it in me to care. “Because it’s funny how hard you try.” He doesn’t try. Unless he’s drunk or high or there was an easy escape. He had to see me the next day, he wouldn’t do anything. 

He gets up, using my stomach as an anchor for no other reason than to feel and I ignore the curiosity to look down. “No peeking.” 

“I would never.” 

He falls onto the bed, finally wearing underwear, his hair now ruffled and somewhat dry. The force causes me to bounce again.  He looks to me, his hands behind his head; the definition of relaxed. “You ever gonna get changed?”

I roll my eyes as I walk away, the air getting clearer the farther I am. 

His arms are open wide when I walk back into the room. He’s half on the bed and half on the headboard and for a second, the quickest flash of time, I’m convinced I’m living the life of someone else. The life of a girl that goes on fourteen-hour road trips with the guy of her dreams and rides off into the sunset with him. A girl that speaks her mind and knows how she feels, someone who can accept and give love. But just as fast as the thought comes, it leaves. I’m nothing like that girl; we’re not riding into the sunset. I don’t know how to feel, only act. So I smile and settle underneath his arm like I know I’m supposed to. I let my head be guided to his chest, allow him to draw invisible images on my barely exposed skin. “What were you thinking about?”

“Hmm?” I don’t move in closer, even if I wanted to. The act is too intimate, too vulnerable, and I can’t.

“You tilted your head and just looked towards me.” He squeezes my arm and it’s easy to forget that I’m not the only one who analyzes. It’s why I like him. “It’s extremely cute, you need to stop.” 

“If I stop doing everything you thought was cute, I’d have to stop existing.” 

“Finally, I’ll get some peace of mind.” He acts like a weight has been lifted off of him, I wish I could feel that sensation. 

“You’ll be a mess without me and you know it.” 

There’s a pause. His chin relaxes on top of my head. Maybe I do move in closer. He won’t remember this anyway, it doesn’t matter. “Maybe.” Words spoken out loud are meant to be heard but, if he had the ability to lose my attention, I would’ve missed his comment. He kisses my head, more distraction. “You still haven’t answered my question.”

If I really believed he took something, the truth wouldn’t matter. He never remembers the next day, only bits and pieces that he doesn’t ask for me to fill in. I still can’t bring myself to tell him. Maybe because I’m in denial. Maybe because I want this; his arms around me, this affection, to be sober. Either way, I lie. No, I take the easier route. My chin is on his bare chest as I smile at him and somehow this is more intimate than it was before.

“Just how handsome you are.” 

“You keep saying stuff like that, I might just have to romance you.” Jokes are blurry with him. Most things between us are blurry these days. Maybe that’s why I agreed to this. 

“You saying I haven’t been getting the romance treatment?” It’s risky to ask. But I have a lot I want to prove to myself and, sadly, his answers are the only way I can.

He shrugs, I settle back down on his chest. “Half romanced.” It’s better than nothing. I could ask why not full, why not in front of people or in the light of day. But then this would end. I don’t know whether I mean the cuddling or us in general, I don’t know which scares me more. I don’t ask. I get up instead, or try to, he pulls me back down far too easily. Too much of me is on top of him. “Where do you think you’re going?” 

“Can’t be adventurous if we’re lying in bed now can we?”

He lets me up then, “What do you have in mind?” 

I shrug and he takes it as a sign to get moving. He quickly throws on clothes, even throwing a jacket towards me. It’s his. I’m terrified it won’t fit. “Why the rush?”

“I wanna take this opportunity before you take it away from me.” He almost falls while putting his shoes on. His excitement is adorable. 

“And the jacket?”

“Modesty.” I laugh, more out of relief when I realize that the sleeves are too long. The moment I’m zipped, he drags me outside. There’s a moment of hesitancy on my face that he catches too fast for my liking. “Just trust me.” It’s almost one in the morning, we’ve been on the road for hours, and we’re staying at a motel in an unknown state. I’ve done nothing but trust him. Even in pajamas and sleep begging to take over, I settle into the car and let him drive. 

By the time we get to where he wants to go, it’s past one. We’re at an old movie drive-in, it’s practically abandoned. It’s a disgusting cliche. He stops the car in the middle of the field, a gigantic, battered screen looming in front of us. “Well aren’t you full of surprises.”

“You’re not the only one with an ace up their sleeve.” He puts on music I never knew he had and opens the door. I grab his arm before he can get out. 

“What are you doing?”

He grabs my hand and kisses it, something like a star shining in his eyes. “Going full romantic.” He dops my hand but leaves the door open, the music escaping into the night. He opens his arms wide, the headlights bathe him in golden light. It’s unfair how beautiful he is. “C’mon.” I leave my door open and join him in the light. I might be falling in love with his smile. He grabs the hem of his jacket, pulls me in and his hands settle on my hips. I’m so frozen that all I can do is catch myself on his chest. This isn’t supposed to be my life. “You’re always so tense.” He leans his head against mine and my hands go behind his neck on instinct. I can feel his heart beating. For the moment, I pretend it’s beating fast for me. He hums along to a song I don’t know and we sway. I want to look up; at the stars, at him. I want things I can’t have. Maybe that’s why, admittedly after a couple of songs, I pull away. I never realized how cold it had gotten. He tries to comfort me, traces the line of fabric that falls past my hand. Maybe it’s not comfort that he’s trying to give. “You look cute in my clothes.” My heart warms but I have to do this, I take a deep breath. 

“Are you high?” It’s the easy question. He won’t let me pull back any further but his grip loosens. I could easily get out. 

“What are you-?”

“I need to know if you took something.” I need to know if this is real. “Please.” 

I could punch him. I could take all my frustrations, ball them up, and aim at his pride. My fist taps his chest; desperate, not angry. I look down. I hate that I asked, that I’m not confident enough to look at him while I wait for the answer, but I need to know. “Yeah, I did. Why? It never bothers you.” It always bothers me. I could ask for specifics, interrogate him underneath the constellations, see if we stopped for this moment or because he needed another fix. But he probably doesn’t even know. A pill’s a pill, a high’s a high. I worry but I smile. 

“Sorry, I was just curious.” Shake it off, he’ll forget it as long as we don’t dwell. I’ve gone through moments like these enough to know that’s the case. I shrug, “You know me.” 

His smile isn’t as bright but his eyes are still dreamy and manic at the same time. I’m sure if my hair was long enough, he’d take a strand and put it behind my ear. “I do.” A couple would kiss then; he’d hold my face, maybe even look at me like I was the world. But we’re not a couple. We’re just two teens in an empty field with the universe above them. We have no idea about life or love. Or maybe I’m just bitter. 

“What about a smoke?” Trade one addiction for another. I never was healthy when it came to coping. 

He nods, “You change the music, I’ll get a blanket.” I shake my head. Of course, he brought a blanket. 

These songs are new and it’s hard to ignore the name at the top of the playlist. It’s her’s and suddenly the bright night is dulled. Though I question whether it was ever bright in the first place. He yells for me, laying on a blanket where we danced, his shadow displayed on the screen behind him. I once had a dream of a silhouetted man that took everything I loved. Looking at his shadow, it feels like a warning. It seems I’m only color blind when it comes to seeing red flags. When I get close enough, he sits up only to tackle me to the blanket. Sometimes I feel like laughter was the only language we understood each other in anymore. I calm down into a fit of giggles that I’ll deny later on. “We have to stop meeting like this.” He has a certain smile when I flirt; a mix of pride and stunned.

“I don’t know.” He sings, leaning down with a look that was all too familiar. “I quite like it.” He does kiss me then, in a way that convinces me I’m loved. Whatever song that’s playing is perfect, whatever constellation above us is destiny. Whoever’s life this is, she believes in something and I’m fine to be in her shoes. She can’t feel what I do, he’ll realize that sooner or later. But until then, my playlist is playing, not hers. His lips are stealing my breaths instead of a cigarette and I realize that there truly is a relapse in every recovery. 

We were never going to make it.