𝐋𝐢𝐚𝐫, 𝐋𝐢𝐚𝐫 | 𝐉𝐉 𝐌𝐚𝐲𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐤

25. immaculate vibes.

T W E N T Y - F I V E
immaculate vibes.

With my head leant against the open window, I freed my brown hair from the messy ponytail, letting it cascade behind me, blowing in the warm breeze.

My eyes shut so my eyelashes don't blind me and a small smile spreads across my lips.

I can't hear the talking inside the car more than a faint buzz – partly due to the wind, partly due to me wanting nothing to do with it. I'm so sick of this all, it's got me so stressed I think my hair's falling out. And I could not pull off being bald.

The mood in the car lifted once we booted the wanted killer from the car. Some of the stress drained away, but knowing we were still very much involved made sure my mind wouldn't stop racing.

I guess, with my mind being so full, I've forgotten the other disasters currently rotting my life. The fact Rafe is a psycho murderer has now overtaken the stress of Rafe being my psycho ex-boyfriend, and the stress of that, mainly being that I know that, after I publicly embarrassed him with the whole cheating thing, he's going to hit me back – figuratively, hopefully. My father's also going to be on a warpath, he pushed so hard for me to be with Rafe. Because this isn't the first time I've "dragged the Marcus name through the mud", he was apparently "so lenient" the first time. My being with Rafe was meant to fix what I fucked up.

Lies on top of lies on top of lies. Just about all I can't say even to myself in the mirror.

The utterance of them wouldn't just hurt my reputation or relationships, it would crush my soul. To acknowledge all the hurt, it would make it real. And I'm really great at pretending it's anything but.

There's also whatever Barry's probably going to do. But that's low on the list of disasters. He's a low-life drug dealer with an ego complex, I can deal with him.

"Frankie," I hear the word drift through the car. I ignore it, hoping they leave me be, enjoying the wind, my eyes shut as I enjoy the last pieces of today's sunlight. "Frankie, you want some?"

Colour me curious. I pull my head from the window, my hands instantly smoothing my hair. As I sit back into the car the smell hits me in the face. Pot.

When have I ever turned down drugs?

I don't say a word, my answer coming in the form of me reaching out a hand. Pope obliges and hands over the shoddily rolled blunt. Someone was in a rush. I don't judge the bad roll and instead put it between my lips and fill my lungs, my eyes lift to the rear-view mirror, and I could just feel it – JJ staring. I exhale the toxic smoke out the still-open window. I look down at him, I sit behind Kie, and he sits in the driver's seat. His hands tighten around the wheel and he sits up a little straighter.

I lean forward, putting my head between the seats, elbows on the armrest, "Want some, JJ?" I ask.

He clears his throat, "Uh, nah. I'm driving."

"You're high as a kite right now, JJ," Kie scoffs. Who pissed in her cornflakes?

I sit back, looking at him through the same mirror as he flicks his eyes between the road he should be completely focused on, and me as I put the blunt between my lips and fill my lungs once again. Blowing the smoke out the window, I pass the joint back to Pope, who takes it eagerly.

JJ's created a monster.

Someone needs to show Pope the Stoner Sloth ad. It may actually work on him.

"Eyes on the fucking road!" Kie snaps as we almost vear off and into a stream. "What is wrong with you?"

"Just a leg cramp," he mutters, shifting in his seat again. I don't miss the way his hand adjusts his shorts.

He really is the most desperate person I know. I know he's a teenage boy, but fucking hell. Not that I mind, it's nice that one look has someone almost swerving off the road. In a weird way.