April 10, 2013
Day 10: Write a scene were SOME KIND OF EMERGENCY occurs.
* Well, it doesn't exactly have to be an emergency, just some sort of emergency, right?
I floored the red light.
For the very first time, I acted like one of those irresponsible red neck drivers my mother hated so much. It was also my third shot at driving. I didn't have a license and the possibilities of crashing this very expensive yellow Lambourghini.
An elderly lady driving a Volkswagon Beetle screamed profanities at me at the intersection. I think I even caught a glimpse of her leaning out of her car and flashing me the dirty finger in my rearview mirror, but none of it mattered.
I sped down the road like a hippie on crack. My hands gripped the leather clad steering wheel tightly turning my knuckles white. I pressed my foot on the accelerator, a million images running through my mind. I shook off a particularly vivid image of Zach crouched on the floor, bruised and broken and blood everywhere. A pulse throbbed at my temple, nagging at me. What happened to Zach? Where could he be? Should I call the police or 911? Something? But he's asked me to come. He didn't ask for help or back-up. Panic and fear clutched my heart in a death grip. I was never good at worrying.
I finally slowed down at the street Zach had mentioned, carefully reading the neon signs and the billboards for the place he had mentioned. There was no sound apart from the fast beating of my heart. I hit the brakes, making the car lurch forward, as I came across the vintage - looking building that was the cinema Zach had mentioned. I forgot to rejoice in the fact that I was actually alive and the car was fine, as my eyes looked out the car window.
I scanned the crowd anxiously, almost to the point of biting my nails.
Then, I spotted a mop of familiar, rumpled brown hair, a tall and lean frame leaning against a wall, mischievous brown eyes trained on me, and an arrogant smirk on his expert lips.
Zach was here!
...and he was completely fine.
Relief overwhelmed me as the realization of his stupid prank call dawned on me. I was angry and annoyed and scared and happy and al the emotion just flooded through me. I found myself getting out of his car and running straight at him.
Unexpectedly, I didn't slap him or punched him or scream my head off at him.
Instead, I threw my arms around his tapered waist and buried my face against his chest, letting loose tears I did not realize I had been holding back. I had not even realized how scared I was, or how worried I had been until this moment. I was just extremely happy that he was alright, that he was really here, that he was perfectly fine.
For a moment, Zach seemed stunned. He stood frozen as I bawled into his shirt. Then finally, he slowly wrapped his arms around my shoulders and tucked my head beneath his chin.
"It's okay," Zach hushed, "I'm here."
For a while, we just stood there, wrapped around each other. The movies were all starting, and most of the people cleared out. On their way to the theater doors, they gawked at us, but none of it mattered to me. I just wanted to rest my cheek on Zach's chest.
Finally calming down, and trying to salvage what little is left of my dignity, I let go of him and hit him in the chest. Zach released me and moved his hands on either side of my waist. He had a small smile in his lips. There was something different about it.
It was a genuine smile, one without the arrogance and the sarcasm and the malice, one that I rarely saw.
But suddenly, his eyes darkened and his jaw clenched. His grip on my waists tightened, bunching up the sides of my shirt, as his eyes carressed every inch of my body, making me squirm. His eyes travelled right up to meet mine, a sudden intensity in them.
"What the fuck are you wearing?" Zach growled.
