Work In Progress
By EmilyLouiseChurch
- 832 reads
Rage.
It boiled through her blood, setting every single nerve ending on fire. Her hands clutched the wheel, a cigarette hung from the side of her mouth. With every deep drag she tried to forget what she was leaving behind, she wanted the memories to entwine with the smoke, drifting off into the vast Nevada desert, never to be seen again. If only memories were that easy to erase. With every mile passed she glanced in her rear-view mirror, mentally waving a fond farewell to the life she had once known. No regrets, no history, no baggage. A fresh start, one she needed more than anything. But the rage clung to her still, like a newborn clings desperately to a mother.
She threw the cigarette into the dust and put her foot to the floor, the hum of the engine was the only sound for miles. Her hands found their place on the steering wheel, fingers still stained with blood that she hadn’t considered washing away. If she closed her eyes he was still there, sitting at her side, singing along with whatever song was playing on the radio. He’d take a cigarette from his worn out leather jacket, adjust the seat back and sing even louder as the song reached its crescendo. At his side he held a bottle of whiskey, occasionally pausing to take a long sip. Sometimes he’d reach over to her, maybe he’d hold her hand, or he’d place a tender kiss on her cheek. But for the most part he sat in his seat, consumed with the music, pretending to strum along on his imaginary guitar. Feet would tap on the floor, old cowboy boots meeting the tired upholstery in unison. She’d steal glances at him every once in a while, a smile tugging at her lips and a laugh in her throat as she watched him howl along with some old rock star. When a song came on that he wasn’t particularly fond of he was up like a shot, manically turning the dial trying to find something he knew, they were usually old blues songs, the ones about heartache and despair. Sometimes they were classic rock songs, the music he’d listened to when he was growing up miles away from where he was now. In those moments she knew she loved him, whatever that meant anyway.
She clutched the wheel even harder than before, trying to hold back the tears that lay just below the surface. Any minute now they would fight their way out and she just couldn’t bear to cry right now, she was of a stronger breed. Frustrated, she turned on the radio; maybe music could drown out the memories, the rage. Lighting another cigarette, she looked in the rear-view for the last time; it was nothing but highway, bleak and consuming. There were no memories lurking in the mirror anymore, no lights for her to look back at in longing. Eyes focused forward and it was more of the same, she couldn’t see his face, just the ever-stretching road that would take her across the horizon.
Whenever she raised the cigarette to her lips she caught sight of the blood just below her eye line, her stomach clenched. She ignored it and turned the radio louder until she could barely hear the sound of the engine. Some radio station was playing a record she’d heard before, something about having sympathy for the devil. She hoped that was true, she could sure use some sympathy. Another cigarette finished and thrown into the night, these feelings couldn’t last forever, that was something she was certain of. To her surprise she started to sing along, just like he used to whenever he’d hear a song he recognized. She laughed quietly to herself as she sped across the desert.
She didn’t look back.
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