folklore: the novel

3. illicit affairs

It has been... a long time since James was alone with a girl. A girl besides his girlfriend, anyway.

His girlfriend. James shakes his head, stopping that train of thought real fast—but there's another right behind it, rolling straight into the station. His girlfriend who was dancing in the middle of a crowd with another guy, laughing at some joke that probably wasn't even funny.

He just... doesn't want to. Doesn't want to think, to pretend, to exist when he feels like this. He doesn't want to do anything—be anything.

A mindless distraction, that's what he'd wished for and then... There she was, as if he'd simply thought her into existence. A figment of his worst intentions, only...

Is it actually so wrong for him to not want that feeling in his chest? The pain that accompanied his thoughts? Is it so wrong for him to want that all to disappear, that he'd wished to be away from Betty if that's what it took to make it happen?

Looking at the girl beside him, her dark hair wildly blowing around her heart-shaped face thanks to her open window, he isn't so sure.

The roar of her older model truck is the only companion to their silence. She has the radio off, something Betty never allowed the few times they were in his car because she loves singing along to—

No. Nope. He doesn't need to think about Betty right now. That's the whole point. He isn't with Betty. He's with Augustine.

Augustine.

It isn't bad, necessarily, being alone with her.

A little uncomfortable, sure, because in the abruptness of their plans, neither of them had really stopped to consider that they don't know each other, that things could grow awkward the further away they drove from the school dance. The longer the silence lingers, the more obvious it becomes that neither of the teens had put much thought into what would happen once they actually left together, unnoticed by everyone else.

Now, neither of them jump at the chance to be the initiator of a conversation—Augustine because she's still trying to wrap her head around the fact that she was bold enough to invite the cute boy out (and he agreed) and James because he's so accustomed to crude, obnoxious male company that he just isn't sure how to talk to this girl without coming off as rude himself.

Clearly, he's already made quite the impression, if their interactions thus far are any indication.

He isn't sure what caused such ire to stir up both times they'd bumped into each other, but he isn't in any hurry to unintentionally piss her off again. Not when she's his only shot at a somewhat pain-free night.

And because he has no idea where she's taking them.

He just... doesn't know what to say. With Betty, he can always rely on her to strike up conversation, her bubbly personality enough to bring even a statue to life—

Dammit, not again.

Forcing his first thought out of his mouth, James blurts, "Maybe you should pull your hair back so it's not in your face while you drive."

She glances at him from the corner of her eye, brushing away errant strands that stick to her black lipstick. "I don't mind it. We're almost there anyway."

Right. Their destination. Probably what he should've started with instead of... her hair.

"So you actually have a destination in mind?"

"I do happen to know where we currently are and where we're heading to, yes."

Great, thinks James as he looks out at the darkened, rather desolate backroad they've been traveling along for quite some time now, because I have no earthly clue where we are—and he's lived in this town his whole life.