Breathless

All The Things I Left Behind

I walked out of the tattoo shop, barely remembering when exactly I had walked in. I had worked at that job since I got out of college, and not one day went by where I just trudged through the day like it was some office work. I loved my job more than almost anything else in my life, but lately it's been feeling more and more like a hassle than my lifelong passion. I slid into my car and jammed the key into the ignition, twisting it and jolting the car to life. I sat in silence for a moment, my hands gripping the steering wheel as if my life depended on it. I pressed my head against the wheel, breathing in the distinctive leather smell. I drove a 1960 Thunderbird, my first and only car that was gifted to me by my mother, who had gotten it from her mother. I smiled against the steering wheel, losing myself in the thoughts of my mother for a while, only parting with those thoughts when I heard a tap on the window. I looked up and glanced out the passenger window, seeing Sal leaning over to look inside. My teeth sunk into my lower lip as anxiety festered in my gut, and I fought with myself as I tried to decide whether I should let him in or not. Of course I had forgiven him, but that doesn't mean that I was still going to trust him just like that, he had to earn my trust again.

Even though it had been a while since the initial incident, I still felt a wave of unease when he was around, like he was a time bomb waiting to go off, and I think he felt my uneasiness as well when he signaled for me to roll down the window.

"Addie, I'm glad I ran into you," He said, and I could tell that he was visibly shivering. It was April, but the air was still cold and sharp, snow replaced with rain, icy streets replaced by slick, wet ones. "My car broke down and I was wondering if you could give me a lift," He continued, ignoring my irritation.

"Sorry, Sal, I really gotta get home," I muttered, checking my mirrors as I put the car into reverse and started to pull out of my parking spot. Instead of letting go of the door like I thought he would, Sal continued to hold on, walking with the car as it moved. "You're not giving up, are you?" I asked, defeat evident in my voice.

"Not at all," Sal agreed, his eyes glittering in victory.

I couldn't believe I was doing this, but I gestured for him to open the door. "Get in," I groaned, tapping on the steering wheel as I waited for him to get in and buckle. My hair was standing on end at this point, every sense on high alert.

Once he was inside and buckled, I pulled out of the parking lot and onto the still wet street, following his instructions as he directed me to his house. It wasn't long before I pulled into his driveway, putting the car in park as I waited for him to get out, but he stayed where he was, turning his head toward me to speak.

"Would you, uh...." He started, clearly at a loss for words. "I would like it if you came in so that we could talk. Maybe have some coffee," He suggested, his voice quiet and hopeful.

I hesitated, not wanting to hurt the mending friendship between us, but I would be lying if I said that I wasn't afraid of what Sal might be planning.

He seemed to see my worry, and waved his arms to grab my attention again. "Don't worry, the other guys are here, too," He reassured me, not waiting for an answer as he stepped out of the car. I thought for a moment as he walked up the driveway and to his front door, turning around to see if I was following him. I groaned to myself, turning the car off and getting out, making my way up to his front door as I threw my purse over my shoulder. I reached in to put my keys inside, brushing my fingers over the cold metal that rested at the bottom of my bag. A little....insurance, if you would.

Sal unlocked the door and led me inside, greeted with several shouts from the guys. 'So he was telling the truth...'. I noted, stepping inside and pulling the door shut behind me. The house was neat, and everything had its proper place. Leaving my shoes at the door, I walked farther into the living room, kneeling down in front of a large shelf housing records, CDs, and a record player. I looked through the records, smelling the dust lingering on the sleeves as I inspected the covers. Sal seemed to have everything from oldies like the Rolling Stones and Lynard Skynard to more recent bands like Green Day and Kid Rock. I was surprised as I pulled out a Papa Roach CD, flipping it over to read over the song list. It had some of my favorite songs on it, music that I would listen to when I was angry or depressed, and I fought the urge to stuff the CD in my purse. I chuckled as I thought about trying to shove his entire music collection into my car and take off before he noticed, my fit of giggles stopping as I felt someone lean over me.