When Time Ran Crooked

41 hours, 23 minutes, and 29 seconds Until

"Okay, but if you think about it, chocolate chip cookies would totally be your girl next door, high school sweetheart type of ex-girlfriend."

"If cookies were like your typical ex-girlfriends," Claude added.

"Certainly. And everyone knows chocolate chips cookies- they've baked them with their parents and brought them for school lunches," I agreed, before returning to the topic at hand. "And if they were personified as an ex-girlfriend, they'd be that girl you knew in high school who was a straight A student and president of the student council. She'd have dirty blonde hair and the sort of body that is always swimsuit ready. You probably thought she was the most interesting person you had ever met when you started dating here. She had big dreams to change the world, and you thought you were fortunate enough to be along for the ride. But then you went to college and realize that every high school had one exactly like her. And like you."

Claude sat behind the wheel, his gaze intent on the frozen road beyond him. The rest of his features sat unturned, showing no response to my explanation, leaving his face incomprehensible to any analysis. I sat next to him, my long empty coffee hand still resting in my hand because it was warm; I had long ago given up the realm of sleep, even when I had already taken the drowsiness-inducing cold medication that Claude got me. I had offered to trade places with him, but he turned my offer down, insisting that he enjoyed the steady silence of driving (whatever that meant- I mean, I was practically chatting his ear off, so I don't know what he meant about his so-called steady silence). Translation: he thought I'd pass out behind the wheel because of the cough syrup I took earlier. I had to admit that was a valid point.

"I think you're assuming a lot about how many people I've dated," Claude said, after a moment. "I mean, I was also a kid during high school. I wasn't dating any girl next door types. And I certainly didn't have a high school sweetheart."

"I had a high school sweetheart," I mused.

"What was it like?"

I shrugged, which was much harder sitting down than Claude made it appear. "It's a lot more than movies make it out to be. But, I mean, it wasn't exactly the poster child for good relationships either."

"How so?" Claude peeked over at me, quite briefly, as he asked his question. He probably worried about how I'd response to his prying into my own life.

But this wasn't something I minded sharing. "We were both in pretty bad places during high school. We didn't give a shit about the world and preparing ourselves for it. So most of our relationship was built on doing drugs and drinking and partying. We, uh, had sex a lot. And we bitched. About everything and anything there was to bitch about. It wasn't healthy."

"Why did you two breakup, if you don't mind my asking?" Claude's tone was even more hesitant with this question.

Eventually I realized that it wasn't just my relationship that was toxic, but also the lifestyle," I explained to him. "So we broke up. And I cleaned up my act, got good grades, went to a good college. I'm here now because of it. And, last I heard, Sonja's a total heroin junkie."

"Sonja?" He repeated, and now his tone was tinged with surprise. "I thought you said you were straight."

"Hetero-romantic bisexual," I informed him. "When I was in high school, I identified as strictly bisexual. But since then, I've discover that I'm pretty much only interested in having relationships with men. Sexually, I'm not limited by gender, however."

And Claude just nodded. "Interesting. I've never met anyone who's labelled in such a way. But, if you don't mind, I have another question for you."

Ugh. What was with Claude Martin and all of these questions? I was pumped full of cough syrup and also coffee and sugar. I didn't know if I wanted to sleep for the next three days or if I was ready to run a marathon (okay, probably not (and never will be) the latter). Did he really have to interrogate me now?