Firefly

09: one down, seven to go.

Chapter 09: one down, seven to go.

Justin

I'd promised Dylan I'd get her home by 07:00 pm. I glance at the clock on the stereo showing 07:32 pm now.

My frustration grew with every ticking second. I don't like losing time. Every second of my day is planned well before I get out of bed. I can't afford to lag behind schedule. I'm going to have to postpone the coding until after midnight. Privileges of an insomniac stretch greater than they are led to believe. I have twenty-four hours straight-out, with occasional three hours of sleep once in two days. 

But that doesn't mean I can abuse my liberty to disregard what I've committed. I press my foot further down the accelerator. I see that I'm speeding over 130 km/hr. I don't care if I get a ticket, I need to get her home before it's too late.

She's fiddling her fingers on her lap. I can make out how ineptly she's spinning the ring around the middle finger she flipped me with. 

I quavered my watch back to the road that suddenly curved. I take a sharp turn and steady the car. Shit, I'm losing focus. I can't afford to lose focus when she's in the car. Right beside me. Smelling like lavenders and vanilla. The scent is flat-out frustrating because I have a weakness for it.   

I'm fond of very few things in life. Her incense just topped that list. "C-Could you slow down?" She doesn't say please but her voice comes off as begging. My next favorite thing. 

Jesus Christ, I need to get a fucking tether on my mind. 

"I'm already running late." I glance at the time on the stereo. I see her doing the same. 07:37 pm.

I shouldn't have gone up to the treehouse. My hands still quake at the thought of climbing twenty-four rungs and twelve feet higher. Yes, I fucking counted. I have that count clocked. My eyes close longer than they're supposed to, out of sheer vexation.

I couldn't say no to her when she maneuvered a dafty monologue that made complete sense but it was far from legitimate. She wanted me up there with her. She was good at bluffing; I was good at detecting bullshit. 

I take another swift curve and I hear her exhale a shaky breath. "Speeding like this will barely make any difference." Her voice lacks confidence. Worry unfurls in my mind. 

I cut my focus from the highway to her for a quick second. One glimpse of her poise is enough reason for me to take my foot off the pedal, inch by inch. 

Pale knuckles, hard gulps, and quivering eyelids as she struggles to keep them shut. Nails dug deep inside the seatbelt strap and unsteady breathing. All signs of fear? Check. 

I scratch my jaw with my thumb as I steady the car, keeping it between 60 and 80 km/hr. If I go any slower, we'll reach after midnight. I pull my phone from the center console to text Dylan. I need to give him a heads up that we're going to be later now. I begin tapping on the keyboard, juggling between watching the road for four seconds and my phone for two. 

"Can you not do that while driving?" The certitude in her voice is back. I grip the steering rigidly. "I'm sure your flirting can wait." 

My teeth grit. I throw the phone in my hand on her lap. It hits her knuckle and she cowers, shaking her hand dramatizing the pain. "Text your brother you're alive and we're running late."

I didn't have to defend myself to her. If she thought I was flirting, I should've let her believe that. I don't owe her any justification. I hate that I did what I did. I give zero fucks about what anyone thinks of me. The more I try to stay obscure, the more she makes me vindicate.