SYMPATHY FOR THE DEVIL, J.HUGHES

TEN

Yes, so it's not working and right now all I want to do is to get buried alive. I want to rip my hair out.

"Come on, start," I mutter through gritted teeth, my voice strained with effort as I pound on the dashboard in frustration. It's like I'm trying to summon a miracle from the depths of the universe, but all I get in return is the cold silence of my non-responsive car.

Beside me, Sam is on edge, her fingers gripping the sides of her seat so tightly that her knuckles are turning white.

You know this euphoric nervous feel we had when we were kids and screaming, doing the beacon and crying until our eyes would hurts. That's what we're both feeling right now.

And to make matters worse, we're stuck in the most awkward position imaginable – parked between the lines, but not quite aligned with the curb. It's like a cruel joke, adding insult to injury as we sit here stranded, waiting for a miracle that may never come.

Of course, leave it to me to throw flowers at my car and jinx the whole situation.

"Okay, so clearly nothing is working out. What do we do?" Sam's voice is laced with urgency, her eyes darting between me and the uncooperative car.

I try again, turning the key in the ignition, but all we hear is a disheartening ticking sound. It's like the car is mocking us, taunting us with its silent refusal to cooperate.

"I can't call anyone, because how do I explain why I'm parked in front of Jack's freaking apartment?" Panic creeps into my voice, my mind racing with a million different worst-case scenarios.

She looks like she's pleading me for me to call someone I know.

The thought of explaining the situation to anyone in my contacts list sends a shiver down my spine. 'Hi, Ced, I'm parked outside Jack's apartment because I was stalking him like a creep, and now my car won't turn on.' Yeah, that would go over well.

Who else could help me near here. Oh what about Luke? 'Hey, Luke, hope you're not busy because I decided to swing by your place for a little trip down memory lane – you know, reminiscing about the good old days when your brother and I were fucking. And now, as luck would have it, my car has decided to stage a protest. Care to lend a hand?'

"No, Sam, I can't just call anyone," I mutter, burying my face in my hands in frustration. "Okay, so let's call a tow truck," she suggests, trying to be helpful.

I can't help but laugh at her suggestion, though it's more out of incredulity than humor. "Yeah, because nothing says inconspicuous like a big, noisy tow truck parked in front of Jack's apartment," I reply sarcastically.

But despite her efforts to assist, I know she means well. It's just that right now, my brain feels like it's stuck in neutral, unable to process anything beyond the fact that I've managed to land myself in this ridiculous situation.

Stuck in neutral, just like my car... Get it? It's like my coping mechanism kicking in, reminding me that sometimes you just have to laugh at life's absurdities – even when you're stranded outside your ex's apartment with a malfunctioning car.

"Morgan, I think his father is heading our way," Sam gulps nervously, peering out the window.

Meanwhile, I'm practically sinking into my car seat, frantically attempting to coax the engine to life. "No, please, God, I'm begging you," I mutter under my breath. "I'll do anything, just please don't let this happen to me."

Relief washes over me as Sam adds, "Oh, never mind. He's just heading to Jack's car. Must've forgotten something." I exhale a sigh of relief.

We share a laugh, the tension from a moment ago dissipating as quickly as it came. I quickly glance down at my phone, Googling nearby garages in hopes of finding a solution.