Animals

Day 7 Part 1

Saturday, May 16th, Midnight

The car was quiet again as we left from Stan's, but this time Mitch didn't let me turn on the radio. Something told me he was still pissed about before. Maybe it was the brood of his eyebrows or the tenseness of his shoulders or even the scowl on his lips. I wondered which part of tonight he didn't like. Was it the fact that Stan sided with me, or was it the fact that I might very well die? Knowing how much we disliked each other, I highly doubted it was the latter. However, if the roles were switched and I had some girl I didn't know risking her life for my job, I'd be pretty pissed off, too. It's just more spilled blood.

But just because I understood why he was angry didn't make me feel bad about it. Anger didn't give him the right to act holier-than-thou.

"You know, it takes a lot more energy to be angry than it does to just let it go," I murmured in annoyance, my eyes focused on the empty road next to me as I leaned against the window. As expected, he didn't answer me. With a heavy sigh, I faced him as best I could. "How much longer before we're home? I'm exhausted." Another silence. "Seriously? You're ignoring me now?" I gave up trying to talk to him when I was met with the same response. It was going to be a looong mission if Mitch kept this up.

It was frustrating being around him. I'd met my fair share of hard-heads, but no one quite like him. He was stubborn and erratic and thought he was too good to be working with me. I had a friend in college who was a lot like Mitch—they both pushed everyone away, but I got through to him. Why couldn't I get through to Mitch? I thought earlier that I made some progress, but it seemed for every step forward, we took three back. I suddenly longed for the days when I had no idea who Mitch Rapp was, blissfully living out my life as though nothing could ever stump me.

The car jolted once then sputtered until the engine died, leaving us stranded in the middle of the road. I blinked, not totally sure what was happening. Or maybe I didn't want to believe it.

"Piece of shit," Mitch growled, smacking his hand against the steering wheel.

"What...what happened?" I asked. His eyes glanced once at me before he ignored my question and got out of the car. I threw up my hands in annoyance but followed him out anyway, watching as he lifted up the hood of the car. White smoke hissed out and he waved it away before leaning over and squinting at the innards of the vehicle. "Please tell me you can fix it." I was met with a gruff 'humph', and I suspected that it was the best answer I would get from him.

Since I knew nothing about cars, I stepped out of the way, walking to the side to lean against my door with my arms crossed. Mitch was elbow deep inside the hood, his brows held together so firmly that it created deep lines between them. I briefly wondered if they would stick like that with how often he brooded. But as much as I detested him, I couldn't deny his beauty.

His thick arms bulged under the black shirt he wore, and his jeans hung on his hips. Whenever he leaned over, his shirt rode up enough to flash me the dark hairs disappearing into the front of his pants. His long hair, partly sticking to his forehead, was almost frizzy. The night was humid and his skin glistened with sweat the longer he worked, walking back and forth from the drivers seat to the hood. He never once asked me to help, instead choosing to act as though I wasn't even there.

He tried to start the car once more, but it still wouldn't start, so he groaned quietly and fell back against his seat with defeat. It was nearly 1 in the morning and I could feel exhaustion beginning to settle in.

Leaning down in the open window, I said, "I remember seeing a motel about a mile back. Let's go there and sleep for the night. I'll call a cab in the morning." He responded with a sigh that told me he hated the idea but didn't see another option.