Firefly

08: butterfly's nest

Chapter 08: butterfly's nest. 

Elena

"Hello, Summer." 

When Justin said 4 pm, I dogmatized his punctuality. He was neither a minute early, nor a minute late. 4 pm on dot. Promptness like this stirred my ground principles. 

Chiseled cheekbones and whiskey eyes, arrogance and danger all wrapped up in a grey t-shirt and black jeans. His tousled dark brown hair looked effortlessly messy. He keeked at the Rolex encased on his left wrist before shooting me his disapproval. 

I check my phone for the time. 04:03 pm. My faith in living a day free of his pique was crashed and burned down to ashes. Three minutes cannot be ruled as late.

"Get in," he moved away from leaning against the passenger door, directing me to the black Maserati car. 

He must be delusional if he thinks I'm getting into any car with him, let alone his car. He walks around the car and opens the driver's door. He halts before lowering himself to his seat. His eyes lift to mine, demanding what's taking me so long to obey his orders. 

"I'll ride behind you." I gesture to the key in my hand and my bike parked in the garage adjacent to the house. 

His eyes graze my bike, the key in my hand, and then my face. Emotions of little irritation, annoyance, and frustration simultaneously settled on his face with each shift of gaze. His hands rest on the top of the door and the hood of the car as he looks away with stiff jaws. "The path I'm taking is not appropriate for a bike." 

But it's appropriate for a car? This makes no sense. Every road in this town is suitable for the tires of a bike. Actually, I've found some narrow roads that are better to ride through on a bike than drive through in a car. 

He inspects me as I debate. He lets out an impatient sound as he drops into his seat and shuts his door. He lowers the passenger's window. "Be my guest. I'm not responsible if you get hurt."

I didn't need more persuing. 

I shove the key into my bag and sit beside him. "Like you'd take my responsibility if I drive with you," I scorn under my breath as I put on my seatbelt. 

The car smelled like rich leather and expensive spices, and it was eerily clean. No cigarettes, no condom wrappers, no half-empty soda cans, not even a speck of lint. I sank deeper into my seat and glanced at the irritant machine next to me. 

Justin rested his forearm on the steering wheel—an action that had no right being as attractive as it was. Especially after the act of impatience he displayed. 

He started the car giving me one last glance. My heart accelerated. I don't trust this car and all I feel for the driver is uncertainty. "You're sitting in my car. Your safety is guaranteed." 

I didn't trust his words even for a second. But that goddamn tone settled a trembling part of my chest into stillness and calm. My shoulders relaxed as he sped through the empty road in a smooth steer.

Dried orange leaves haphazardly scattered across the sidewalks, dropping from the tree. The mid-September sun welcomed the Fall with warm golden hour sunshine. I pull out my camera from my bag and click pictures in motion blur effect. 

A smile emerges on my face because the pictures turned out just the way I wanted them. I hear the window beside me rising up. He turned the air conditioning on and resumed the music that was connected to his phone. 

Scorn replaces my earlier smile as I glower at Justin. "Seriously?" 

"Dusty lanes ahead." He doesn't take his eyes off the road.