Austin City Limits

To the Batmobile:: Ch. 11

Paisley responds almost instantly when I message her about going home due to a growing migraine.

Paisley: This headache wouldn't have something to do with a certain pop star hottie, would it?

Me: You mean cocky man whore, with a self entitlement complex?

Paisley: I'll take him and whip him into shape ;)

Me: Great, you've made my headache worse. Sad face...

I knew my mistake as soon as I let the doors slam shut behind me, but I had no intention of going back inside. I was trying to escape the club, completely over the night's events and only wanting to disappear for the rest of the evening. But the key to Porter's truck was missing from my back pocket and I wasn't super keen on finding him to explain the situation.

Opting out of going back to the center of the club, I went to the truck to see if I could possibly finagle a way in and hot wire the truck with a simple Google search. You can find everything on the internet these days, right?

The parking lot is desperately dark, with only a few dim lights highlighting the cars, but after a few stumbles and wrong turns I find my way back to Porter's truck. By some miracle, the little window on the back of the truck was cracked a sliver, if I can slide it open further I could hopefully shimmy through the small hole.

The tire acts a stepping stone as I maneuver myself into the tall truck bed and I notice that my eyes have finally adjusted to the darkness. From this position I can see most of my surroundings. Lines of cars are sardine-packed tightly in front of the building but void of other people. Deep bass is reverberating out of the club but the crickets are still merrily chirping while a few fireflies buzz around my head. It's almost peaceful, to be just in reach of the chaos but too far away to be mangled with the crowd. I don't miss crazy LA.

Turning back to the task at hand, I slip my fingers between the glass and the seal and push, but the stiff window doesn't want to budge. It's clear that Porter has left it in this position for quite a while and it has grown accustomed to its hold. But my determination doesn't subside so I slip a few more fingers in between the crack and put my body weight into the movement. A loud squeal blossoms as it finally snaps open and I hold my breath to see if anyone heard the break-in.

A minute of quiet suffering passes until I decide it's safe to proceed. The best option appears to move in head first, but this leaves my butt and feet exposed and hanging out the window when I hear a voice interrupt my sloppy execution.

"Well, this is something we don't see in Texas every day."

For the second time tonight, I'm startled senselessly and manage to fall further into the cab and bump my head against the steering wheel. The door is snapped open and from my semi handstand position, I see Porter's tall frame towering over me. Porter begins laughing at my distressed angle until I give him my best evil eye. "Is it a California thing?"

Well, crap. Did I leave the door unlocked the whole time? "Stop being a turd bucket and help me up!" My neck pops ungracefully when he flips me around so I'm sitting in the driver's seat but facing him while dizzy from the quick movement.

"Where were you running off to? You weren't going to tell us you were leaving?" Porter almost looks disappointed when he asks.

"I.. I just needed to get away," I gesture towards the club, "from all the hype and everything."

"Does this have something to do with your boyfriend?"

"Boyfriend? You know the whole Zackary thing is a ruse, right? Besides, no matter what he says, I'm not completely convinced he's over Lola."