Holding My Breath [Wattys 2016]

1 0 ~ R u s t y

                

Present Day ~ May 8, 2011

Blue drives a truck. Not just a truck, but the kind that suits my nickname, the kind with the rusty metal bumper and the hubcaps that look like they are about to roll off. The loud rumbling of the engine that warns me that this ride couldn't possibly be safe.

Of course, Blue doesn't hesitate and slides into the driver's seat after setting my case in the trunk.

The truck is parked at the edge of the woods, along a gravel path that would probably lead back to town. "You serious?" I let the weight of my bag drop, feeling suddenly like the grass is moving beneath me when my balance returns. "You can't possibly be serious."

"What?" Blue calls through the passenger window. I groan and toss the duffel into the bed of the truck, realizing just how common trucks are in this little town.

I slam the passenger door behind me when I climb in, feeling the entire vehicle rattle along with it. I can feel my palms sweating and the heat of the car is suffocating me. I never used to be this paranoid when in cars... but a lot has changed in the last few months. "Are you sure this deathtrap is safe?" I gasp, trying to get a breath.

"You okay?" Blue frowns down at me, and I glance away.

"Uh huh..."

"And sure it is; you just have to trust me." He smirks as he puts the gear shift into drive. He leans over and rummages through the glove box, coming up with a wad of napkins. He tosses them to me and I press them against my shoulder.

I glare back. "You shot me."

"Yeah," he considers that for a second. "But that doesn't mean you can't trust me. It was an accident."

My voice quivers as I see the red seeping into the napkins. Good to know I've got the old, cheeky Blue back, though... "Trust has to be earned," I grumble, trying to keep my eyes from his face. I'm afraid what I'll find there. "And I don't know a single thing about you."

"I don't know anything about you either, and yet I'm trusting that you're a good person. Why else would I be helping you?" He sits back and a loose smile finds its way past the smirk.

"Well, that's not how I see it." I shoot a glare across the truck, then go back to watching the window. "And I wouldn't exactly say that shooting me is help."

"Yet you got in the truck with me?"

I make the mistake of glancing at his expression, or should I say the amusement dancing in his eyes?

"You took my guitar. That's kind of like blackmail, or ransom."

He doesn't say anything for a second.

"I don't know you." I turn up the air conditioning and lean back in the sticky leather seat. "You could be a psychotic child abductor."

He chuckles under his breath and starts to drive into town. I almost ask what his name is, his real name. I shouldn't ask, though. Not that I should even want to know is name anyway. Blue fits him just fine.

"Most people would just say that I could be an ax murderer," he doesn't return his eyes to the road, waiting for a response.

I sigh, knowing that his negligence to traffic would continue until I say something. "That's exactly why I said psychotic child abductor. It's more original, don't you think?"

I don't look, but I can hear his smile return to his voice. "I'm sure I would have noticed you before now. Did you live here?"

This is what I fear, getting to person-specific questions that I can't answer. I could lie... but I suck at that. I suck at it because I hate it. My case file shows that. Dozens of cops could back up that fact.