Animals

Day 7 Part 2

Saturday, May 16th

The backseat of the uber car didn't let us get as far away from each other as we wanted, both of us angled towards the window for maximum distance. Our driver, however, didn't seem to pick up on our lingering tension from the night before.

"How have you two been?" he asked after getting our directions, his accent reminiscent of Ireland. "Good, I'm sure. You seem like a nice couple. I like seeing couples out and about. It reminds me of me and my wife back when we were in college. I'll tell ya, we did everything together. She's the love of my life, you know. It's great when people find theirs." He paused for a moment, but I couldn't tell if he was expecting a reply or lost in his own mind. I could hardly speak as I stared at him through the mirror in awe of his ability to speak so fast. "Oh, you know, I know this really restaurant. Very romantic. You know, dim lighting, fancy food, slow music. It's certainly an aphrodisiac. At least, it is fo-." He thankfully stopped speaking when I sputtered out a shocked cough, choking on my own tongue at the thought of ever dating a guy like Mitch.

"We're not together," Mitch spat. "Just because people ride in a fucking car together doesn't mean they're fucking."

"Oh, sorry. I assumed. My wife says I tend to ramble, and I guess-."

"Look, man, I don't give a shit about your wife."

"Rapp!" I scolded. Mitch sent me a glare before rolling his eyes and facing the window, and the driver fell silent. I felt bad for him, but at the same time, I was grateful for his lack of words. "I'm sorry."

"S'alright. Least he's honest." The driver's shoulders shrugged once, but I figured it wasn't really alright. I knew just how painful it was to be under Mitch's wrath, physical or verbal.

I sighed quietly, unsure of what to say, so I sat back and closed my eyes. I hadn't slept well last night. At all, actually. I kept replaying Mitch's expression whenever I closed my eyes. The sadness behind the anger, the misunderstood boy who was hidden inside him. As much as I wanted to let it go and continue despising him, I still felt awful. Guilt ate at my chest whenever I thought about the terrible words I had said. What kind of a person would say those things? If my mother could see me now...

In my youth, I adopted a dog from the shelter. The dog was young, scruffy, and ugly. Her ribs poked through her skin so much that I swore I could see her heart beating. She never stopped shaking in her cage and her beady eyes wouldn't meet the gaze of anyone who walked by. She cowered from every hand that was raised to her. I couldn't tell what breed she was or what color her fur was because she barely had any. She was too small.

The page on the front of her cage said she was rescued from the street, but she hadn't been eating or drinking much over the last few days. My mom begged me to look at another dog, but for some reason, I couldn't let myself walk away from her. I adopted her, nursing her back to health. It took months to get her comfortable around me, even longer for other people, but she was the sweetest dog I'd ever had. When her fur grew and her stomach was full, it was clear that she was a Shetland Sheepdog. She died five years after I got her. I couldn't remember ever having as much trouble getting something to open up to me than I did with her, but Mitch was certainly giving her a run for her money.

"Get up," Mitch grumbled, waiting outside the car door. I licked my dry lips and tumbled out of the car, sleep still lingering on my eyes. I had half a mind to thank the driver, but Mitch slammed my door closed. He spun on his heel and walked towards his hotel, his hands deep in his pockets. I followed a few steps before he whizzed around. "Where do you think you're going?"

"The...the hotel? We should start researching and planning."

"Your car is there." He nodded in the direction of my vehicle. "Get in it and drive away. We don't need you."

My first instinct was to scream at him until I was red in the face, but I knew that wasn't going to work in my favor. I took a deep breath, contemplating my next words carefully. "I'm really sorry about what I said to you. It wasn't-." Mitch snorted quietly through his nose and continued the walk to the doors. I huffed angrily, hoping it would control my rising temperature. "Hey! I'm trying to apologize here."

"I don't give a shit."

Stomping after him, I said, "God! Why won't you let anyone be nice to you?! It's like you purposely piss people off."

"Fuck off, Walker." He pressed the elevator button, impatiently watching the numbers light up as the shaft came down.

"You fuck off!" There was a sharp intake of air from the woman working at the front desk, but I didn't care in the slightest. The door opened with a ding and we both stepped inside. Neither of us said a word, but I did cross my arms to let him know how I felt.

As we slowly began to move upwards, my fury began to seep out as I realized how alone we were. Mitch stood next to me, his arms down by his side and a bored expression on his face. It seemed like I was the only one who felt the awkwardness, and I shifted my gaze from him to our reflections on the fingerprinted-chrome of the door.

The longer I stared at us, the more I swore I could see a hint of a smile on his lips. But it was also possible that my mind was beginning to shift shapes and distort images. There was no way in hell Mitch would actually be smiling at a moment like this.

Less than a minute passed before the doors opened and I was the first one to sprint out of there, needing to be away from whatever cosmic weirdness has just happened. "And another thing! Where do you get off telling me to leave this case? It was mine first." Lies. Complete and total lies, but maybe he wouldn't notice. I stopped in front of his door and faced him, waiting for him to unlock it with my arms crossed and my brows pinched.

Mitch simply sighed with a roll of his eyes as he scanned his keycard. He went in first, and as I was about to follow him to fight with him more, he turned around and slammed the door in my face. I stared at the wood, my brain trying to decide if that really just happened.

"You're off the case. Stay the fuck away," he said through the door. There was a finality in his words, one that said this was the last time he would say it. I dreaded to think what would happen if I didn't listen. I wanted to fight against his ruling, to make him accept my role, but I was just done. I was tired of it all. The slam from the door seemed to send a rush of air that zapped all my energy.

I finally gave up, willing my feet to move back down the hallway. I went slowly through the entire hotel, hoping Mitch would run down after me and tell me I was back in the game, but it didn't happen. I made a stop at my motel room, packing up my things without much thought. I wasn't sad to be leaving Mitch. I was sad about the case. That was what was important to me. I couldn't give less of a shit about him. He was the reason my life was becoming so difficult.

Without checking out, I started the short drive back home. I was hesitant about staying in the motel knowing Gary knew where it was, but I knew that checking out would make him suspicious. I didn't want to give him a reason to think I had turned my back to him. That seemed more dangerous than anything Mitch could do to me.

My home was exactly how I left it, and it felt weirdly amazing to be back. It was like I'd been gone on a shitty vacation for months and finally things were starting to lighten up again. The place was empty, as usual, and as glad as I was to be home, I felt lonely. It was quiet, but that was nothing new. Mitch was pretty quiet, too. His presence was loud, though, and that was what was missing in the room.

A smile spread across my face as I realized that I was free again. I could go back to how things were, forget about Mitch and Stan and Gary. I could wipe my hands from the Midnight Anarchists. I could go back to being a private investigator. Easy as pie.

But first, a nap.