SPEED

The little diamond glistened and shimmered, shards of broken light shining up through the opaque prism. It seemed to almost tease Justin, beckoning him to look closer and closer. 

“Who’s it for?” A voice asked him and Justin looked up at its owner. “It's a beautiful piece.” The clerk continued. He was surrounded by a treasure trove of hanging jewelry, as if the little shopkeeper had grown greedy and hoarded it all for himself. 

“A girl.” Justin returned, continuing to eye the little diamond ring in front of him. 

“Lucky Lady.”

“I think you ask anyone they’ll tell you it's the other way round. But I think she might just like this one.” He reached into his pocket, pulling out his card. “I’ll take it.” 

Justin, stumbled out of the store, shoving the little box packaging deeper into his pocket. Something pinched at the back of his neck and he looked at the time. 9 pm. She would be expecting him home by now for the final episode of that stupid reality show he secretly loved. Justin hastened along the street. Then he froze in his tracks. He breathed deeply, every hair on his body standing up. To his right was the pub. 

Justin shook his head, forcing the temptation down, stuffing it into some back compartment of his mind. But it kept springing to the surface. He could feel his hands begin to shake, his chest heavy with anxious excitement. He may as well just have one. 

And then he woke up. He blinked, clearing the sticky muck from his eyes. Slowly, a figure above him began to crystalize. He peered curiously at the figure, eventually finding it was Rachel, his girlfriend. Justin sat up, grabbing his head, trying to nurse the gnawing, throbbing pain. “Oh man,” he moaned, sitting up a little further to stretch his crooked, cramped limbs. He could taste blood in his mouth and feel dry saliva around his chin. 

“What happened?” He asked Rachel.

“What always happens.” She replied, with a long, heavy sigh. Justin looked around, there was his center console, his kitchen across the way, and his TV. “When did I get in?” Justin asked, immediately feeling in his pocket. The box was still there. Relieved, he stood up and stumbled his way toward the tap. He stuck his gaping mouth under the stream, letting the water cascade down into his body. “I don’t know.” he hears her say over the running water. “But you missed the finale.” 

Oh man, the finale. Justin shut off the tap and peered at her apologetically, stating simply, “I’m sorry.” Rachel shook her head. “You didn’t even sleep on the couch, it's right there!” She gestured toward it, bewildered. Justin looked at the coach and then at the spot where he had crashed on the hard ground. “I must have missed it I guess.” 

“This has to stop.” Rachel continued, “You have a problem, you have to admit it, you don’t know when to stop. How to stop…I found these numbers and programs, I think they could help you.” Justin shook his head, immediately shrugging her off. “That’s a bit excessive Rachel. Come on. I can stop. I’ll show you.” 

Rachel crossed her arms, “Okay show me then.” 

And for that week, Justin did. Battling every teething, scratching temptation, every pain that shot through his body. He had tried to stop before. This time was different, this time he was determined, and he could see Rachel saw it. And finally, she gave what Justin knew was the ultimate sign of her trust; she asked, “Would you come to the dinner tonight?” 

“With your parents?” Justin shot up from his seat, deeply shocked. 

“Yeah. I want them to see this side of you that I get to see. I don’t want you all to hate each other forever.” 

“I don’t hate them.” Justin interjected, “They just hate me.” 

“Regardless, I want it to end. I am meeting them for dinner, at six pm, I want you to come, but don’t be late.” 

And then it was 5:46 pm. Wait, 5:46 pm? 5:46 pm! Justin gasped at the little radio clock on his dashboard. He had almost forgotten about the dinner, but he may as well have, it was far too late now. Justin smashed his fist against the steering wheel, jumping back in shock as he accidentally hit the horn. He grabbed his hair in anguish, wondering what he should do. He could call Rachel now, tell her he can’t make it. Just make up some lie. Or just tell her the truth.

Or he could make it! So Justin slammed his foot down on the accelerator, the car roaring to life. He was whipped backward, his neck smashing into the seat. But he kept his foot floored, eventually muscling his way back into control. He shot down the street, drifting around the corner. He shuddered as the entire car threatened to flip over, but somehow it remained firm. 

He crossed quickly towards the highway, barely missing an entourage of massive trucks as he merged onto it. Their horns boomed in disapproval. But soon they were far in his rearview mirror as Justin motored onward. He tried to control his rapid, shallow breathing. Adrenaline, prickled its way throughout his body, traveling as far as the very tips of his fingers and toes. 

Justin swerved in and out of the lanes, shooting through the narrowest of gaps between cars. Justin screamed as an SUV slowed suddenly ahead of him, swinging the steering wheel violently to the right, barely clipping the other car's side mirror. “Oh man!” Justin exclaimed to himself as he finally darted off the highway and into the narrower lanes. A pedestrian sprung out of the way of his hurtling vehicle, landing painfully on the hard concrete pavement. 

Finally, Justin stopped the car. He peered at the time 5:59 pm then at the building before him. “Charlie’s Steakhouse.” He spotted Rachel and her parents walking into the building. He can only stare, his mind still racing along the streets. He could feel his body pulsating, humming, everything was clear now. Thank God he had been sober enough this week to drive. How else would he have reached this newfound clarity…

no drug or drink in the world could compare to that thrill he had just felt. 

…

Then he was out in the mountains near the city, rip-roaring his little car along the passes and valleys. He could feel the car buckling under the immense speed, everything shaking and flapping as if threatening to break upon at the foundations, sending him shooting out and sliding on his butt like in the cartoons. The cars around him faded into nothing but occasional blurry blips as she shot around the cliffs. 

So Justin called in sick the next day the next, and the next until it had been a week since he had stepped foot on the job site. All until, Justin was returning home one evening, a satisfied smile plastered onto his face. The windows were down, and the music was loud. He paused a moment to feel the breeze on his face. But his moment of peace was soon ripped away when a familiar voice called to him from an adjacent car, “Justin!?” Justin tried to ignore it, surreptitiously turning up the music dial. But the voice persists, “Justin! I thought you were sick.” Justin could only sigh, looking across to find his boss in the car next to him. 

“I am driving to the pharmacy.” Justin almost winced as he said it. “Meet me in my office tomorrow!” His boss shouted as the light turned green and the man turned off onto another street. 

Justin did meet his boss. And it did go as he expected. He was fired. But as Justin walked away from that familiar office, from that familiar site, he couldn’t help but feel relief. Finally, he was leaving that hellish place. 

“How was work?” Rachel asked him that night at dinner. But Justin wasn’t listening, he wasn’t eating either, his fork stabbing vacantly at the chicken on his plate. “Did you hear me? I said how was work?” she repeated, loud enough this time to snap him from his trance. “It was fine.” He lied, taking a bite of the chicken. It wasn’t long before he was back there in his mind, winding along those roads, shifting gears, ripping at the wheel to avoid certain death and catastrophe. Rachel watched him. He could sense her gaze but he did not care. He didn’t even want to be here. 

“You seem distant.” She said to him, watching his thousand-yard stare at his plate. “You always seem distant nowadays,” she repeated, but he gave no opposition, continuing to look at his food. An idea was beginning to form in his mind, gathering itself, crystallizing into a full thought. Then it was there. He needed a faster car. A Nissan Skyline, something that could really move. That could really motor and roar. Rachel’s words had become relegated to distant murmurs in the back of his mind, as he planned how he would get it. 

The next day he began step one. He walked into the cash loan shop, and without hesitation, took one out. For just the right amount he knew he needed for step two, the purchase. He was out of the seller's garage almost as quickly as he had entered it. Only now he left with that oh-so-powerful car. He shook with excitement as he sped home, gliding onto the driveway, endlessly excited as to how the car might look parked outside his house. 

He gulped, Rachel was standing in the driveway, blocking her ears as he brought it to a stop. Then her hands moved her hips that way he hated it when he knew she wasn’t happy. “What do you think?” He said as he hopped out, feigning innocence. 

“What is this?” 

‘It's my new ride. A Skyline, this thing can motor.” 

“And how did you pay for it?” She asked almost not rhetorically. 

“I have been saving up from work.” He replied dismissively, walking past her into the house. 

The next month was a fever dream. A fractured consciousness of roads and turns. He spent all day tearing through the cliffs, flirting with death on every occasion he could. The world soon devolved into nothing but the sound of purring engines and squeaking tires. Even when he wasn’t driving, he wasn’t not driving, his mind was contained between those painted lines. At certain points, he heard her, “What is going on with you?” or “You worrying me, no you scaring me!” But he couldn’t even care to answer anymore, to make up some excuse. All this padding he once called his life, was just empty space between streets. Speeding wasn’t even an escape anymore, it was reality. 

But he still had that gnawing problem of the loan. And so the house began to shed. Things missing here and there, all sold to whatever broker might take them. Soon his possessions began to dry up all under the guise of minimalism, as he told Rachel. His new way of life, devoid of all these ‘excessive’ things he owned. 

But the problem with this was that there was only so much he owned in the first place. At the end of the day, it wasn’t enough. He needed more. He found himself peering into the cupboard, at that special hiding place, at the little box. The little box with the ring still tucked safely inside. But he closed the cupboard, wincing in indecision before deciding not to. 

Elsewhere the room still had a lot of Rachel’s belongings strewn about. So many in fact, he felt he could take something here or there, and she wouldn’t notice. It wouldn’t hurt to clear out a little for someone with this much stuff. And so he did. 

And continued to do so. Until one day, Rachel came home early, and found him, scuttling around the room snatching her things up into a bag. She gasped. And he jumped. Tears began to spill from her eyes. 

“What are you doing?” She asked. 

“Nothing.” He replied, flustered. “Just cleaning up the room.” 

“I don’t believe you.” She said shakily, as the tears began to flow more. Then she continued, “What is it?”

“What is what?” Justin asked. 

“Is it drugs? Is that what you need the money for? I asked your boss if you were okay at work, do you know what he told me? That you were fired over a month ago. I don’t know what’s going on?” 

Justin tried to regather the situation, “Why don’t we sit and talk for a bit.” 

But she only backed away towards the door, shaking her head. “No.” 

“Come on,” He approached her slowly, cautiously like one might a wounded animal. 

Then her eyes widened, “It's that car isn’t it? All this is about that damn car.” 

“That’s crazy,” Justin exclaimed, stepping closer. 

But he could see it in her eyes, she was set on this, “It's that car, it's ruining your life.” Then she darted back through the door and down the stairs. “What are you doing?” Justin asked, rushing down after her, almost falling down the steps. 

She rushed towards the shelf at the entrance of the house, ripping through the drawers until she found the car keys.

“What the hell are you doing?” Justin asked her, trying to stay calm. But as she started towards the door with the dangling, clinking keys, his calm facade began to disappear. He reached for the keys in her hands but she hid them behind her back. As he tried to get to them behind her, she kept spinning so he couldn’t. He could feel his blood begin to boil and simmer, who the hell was she to take this away from him? Finally, he snatched out like a striking viper, gripping her wrist, and wrenching the keys from her grip. 

He watched her jump away from him, grabbing her wrist, her eyes big and heavy with fear and pain. “You're going to get yourself hurt.” He shouted, eyes welling up again. He glared at her, eyes icy and cold, still seething. 

“When did I ever care about hurting myself.” 

“Oh yeah, that’s your moral line isn’t it,” Rachel spat back at him, standing in the doorway. “Poor old Justin can hurt himself but not others. Well what about me, what about how you’ve hurt me.” 

He remained silent and she continued, “I guess emotional pain doesn’t count for you. I guess you are in the clear then. What is it gonna take for you to see how much you hurt everyone else through all this…someone to get injured? Someone to die. When it happens it’ll be too late anyway, your wake-up call will be too late.” 

And she stepped out the door. “I am going to my parents. I don’t know if I will be back.” 

And then the door slammed on Justin. Justin held out his hand, extending it towards the handle, but he didn’t grab it, instead retracting his hand again. Then, as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders, he rushed up the stairs. Almost invigorated with the prospect of what he now could do. He darted into the room, digging through the cupboard, until he found the little box. He pulled it out of its hiding place and lifted it into the light. He opened the lid, revealing the diamond below. He peered at it closely just as he had done in the shop, admiring the intricate, fluorescent patterns. 

He lifted the bag, reaching to close the little box lid, but hesitated. Was he going to do this? After all those years together? For a moment, he almost achieved what felt like lucidity, an awareness of what was going on. So he froze, ring in hand, pondering the decision. But eventually, as part of him, a big part of him, knew would happen, he closed the lid and tossed the box into the bag. And then it was in the pawnbroker's hand and cash was in his. The car now paid off. 

And so his life continued along the highways and sidestreets. Down off ramps and around circles. The mountains were not enough anymore, now he had graduated to the bustle of the city streets. He didn’t even enjoy it anymore, these high-speed thrills. At night speeding became that much more heightened, on edge, everything submerged in shadow. At these speeds everything all lights were nothing but streaks, shooting by him like SciFi lasers he had seen in movies. 

It was on a night like this when he found himself waiting at a red light. Hearing the sound of a revving engine, he turned to face the car next to him. Another Skyline. He smiled, his body filling with adrenaline as if knowing what was to come. He pointed at the driver, then pointed ahead. Let’s race. The driver shook his head, but Justin persisted, pointing again, then shouting “Let’s go! Don’t be a coward.” 

The man sighed, then looked ahead. Justin smirked, doing the same. Then the light went green and the two cars sprinted forward. They roared onwards, engines screeching into the dark night air. They were neck and neck, mirrors almost clashing. 

Then suddenly, there was a loud boom, and the car disappeared from Justin’s sight. Justin froze as if all the music in his mind had been cut off, a cord pulled from the socket. He slowed the car and looked back at his rearview mirror trying to spot the man. But all he saw was a slowly growing plume of smoke. His foot dangled over the brake and he considered stopping, turning around, and helping the man, but he didn’t. 

And so as he always did, he drove on into the night.