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CHAPTER TWENTY SIX. love song.
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I USED TO THINK conversations with JJ were easygoing. A river flowing solely on snark, sarcasm, and stolen side glances, all of which made my mission so much more enjoyable. Yet, in present time, talking to him feels like the hardest challenge I've had to face thus far, because we're becoming serious — to some degree, at least. That claim is objective, and definitely biased to his part.
Following his prompt, we've done exactly the opposite of what he wants. He wants words to be exchanged, presumably about what we are and what we're aiming for, and the silence only makes it clearer that we don't know. Well, I suppose he knows, but I don't. When I say I've never felt more clueless in my life, boy do I mean it.
"Well, what do you want us to talk about?" I say to diffuse the tension, still playing delirious.
"You know what." JJ replies with a bitter tone, resenting my act.
I scoff, facing the window, "Assuming gets us nowhere. If you want to talk, talk."
"Earlier." he states.
"What about earlier?"
"You know—" he stops himself before finishing the sentence, "You didn't tell me about your car. Why didn't you tell me about your car, Carmen?"
I shift my seated position so that I'm more front-on, though still looking anywhere but onto JJ, "I was getting to it."
"Sure you were." he comments.
"Yeah, I was." I bite back, volume louder, "I was busy."
His urge to respond with anger is noticeable, but he opts to take a deep breath and say, "Do you know who did it?"
"Yeah, it's—" Even thinking of the situation brings me unexplainable pain, to the point where I wince before I can expose the culprits, so I just mutter, "It's nothing. I'm fine, s'just a stupid car, right?"
