I WAS JUST TRYING TO BE FUNNY | ✓

▬ 50: would I rather be animal or machine?

               Less than ten minutes later, a black Acura swerves into the opposite curb with the stench of burnt rubber. He's too early: the drive is supposed to take fifteen minutes. How much did he speed?

The thought of him caring that much doesn't warm up my insides, but rather fills them with corrosive self-loathing. He could've gotten into an accident and it would be my fault. He could've been arrested and it would be my fault.

Unless he was already in the neighbourhood. Doing what? Working? Does he work here?

Dal slams the door shut, doesn't lock it, and storms across the road without checking for traffic. An oncoming Toyota honks after it barely misses him. He doesn't glance at it.

He's staring at me. The look in his eyes is so scathing, even at a distance, that I hunch over and stare at the blood dotting my trainers.

'Fuck is wrong with you? When are you gonna learn to answer your fuckin cell? You press one button, Ziri. What the fuck are you doin here?'

I wrap my arms around my knees. 'It's calm. It doesn't even hurt.'

'That's not what I'm talkin about.' The shiver in his voice compels me to look up. His eyes dart from one rectangle of vellum paper to another with the natural expertise of a sixth sense I don't have. 'C'mon, I'll drive you home–'

'No. I don't want to go home. My mum's gonna overreact and–' I smack his helping hand away and root myself to the pavement. 'No. I don't want to.'

'Fine. I won't take you home. But we're leaving from here.'

'Why?'

'Cause there's three different people watchin and at least one of them is gonna phone the police.' Despite my resistance, he pulls me to my feet as though I weigh one kilogramme. 'Get in the car,' he seethes, and adds, 'You too.'

I've entirely forgotten Miles until Dal looks at him.

I don't dare to, so I drag my feet across the road with my stare fixated on the handle of the driver's seat. The clicking of zipper pull-tabs follows.

Dal himself remains outside the car, on alert like a guard dog, until both of us have our seatbelts fastened, me in the passenger seat and Miles in the middle at the back. Then he gets in and drives off, gaze glued to the rear-view mirror.

We reach a roundabout and he passes all three exits.

I lunge at the steering wheel to stop him from going back the way we came. The car swerves. We all collapse within it. 'I don't wanna go home!'

'Fuck's sake!' Dal shoves me back to my seat and manages to stabilise us into another cycle of the roundabout. 'Where d'you wanna go then?'

I slam myself into the headrest. The cold air from the AC scalpels my skin.

'I don't know. I can't– Nothing.'

Miles speaks for the first time since he handed me back my cell after his call with Dal. 'Our game was the last today. The Sports Centre will be empty by now.'

When I don't protest, Dal takes the third exit. The Centre is near and we reach it in under two minutes. Just as Miles promised, the car park is deserted. The windows in the swimming hall are empty and fog hovers over the football field, solidifying the air under our headlights until Dal turns the car off.

He pulls the key out of the ignition to reach over my knees and unlock the glove compartment. Why does he keep his glove compartment locked?

I try to peer into it but, reading my mind, he snatches a handful of medical towels and an instant cold pack, then slams it shut.