Test Drives ✓

i. desiderium

Note | this is not the most well thought out book in the world, nor do i plan to waste any of my time editing it. please do the both of us a favor and refrain from telling me how you think certain elements are irrational because i am not asking for your critique and i really can't be bothered with all the negativity in the comments.
DON'T LIKE IT, DON'T READ IT. simple as that.

xx tay

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s c e n e  o n e :

d e s i d e r i u m

desiderium (n.) • an ardent desire or longing, particularly for something once had; grief or regret for the absence or loss of something or someone

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I was seriously considering a reread of The Rules of the Road at this and each second of angry glaring from Peyton Evers made it worse.

He was in a delicate state at the moment, so I couldn't be too hard on him, but I honestly felt uncomfortable with the way he was looking at me.

"Can you look out the window," I pleaded, turning the corner into another street. It was dark out, meaning that there wasn't a lot for him to look at but the bright lights, but when you've spent every minute of your life beneath them, they begin to dull for you.

"No, Karis," he grunted angrily, his glare hardening. "I think I earned the right to glare at you as much as I want."

As if to further prove his point, he lifted up his injured arm that was wrapped up in a pink and frilly blouse that I thankfully had in my car. He wasn't going to take off his shirt and ride with me shirtless in the middle of a storm for hours and neither would I. As much as I felt pain and sorrow for the blouse that was soaking up blood from his scraped arm, I just had to move on, thankful that I could at least accommodate him while he was still impaired and it was all because of me.

It was accurate to say we were both at fault, but the damage on my car was surprisingly minimal, so I wasn't complaining. We had been caught at the scene of a delay on this misty and stormy night and in a reckless and uncalled for moment I had stepped on the gas and not the brakes like I planned to, sending my car flying into the motorcycle in front of me and the rider of that motorcycle flying onto the asphalt.

That driver was our school's very own Peyton Evers, the captain of our award-winning soccer team who was generally known for his casanova good looks and charismatic behavior. But he seemed different today, not just because he had been knocked off of his bike and had a bloodied and bruised arm, but at school earlier with his head buried in his arms instead of tilted back in laughter, sulking in the hallways during lunch periods instead of chumming it up with his many friends.

In my defense, he didn't have his lights on. But I kept my mouth shut. He was already mad enough at me.

"Fine," I said, looking over my shoulder at the motorcycle that was stashed in the back of my car. It was badly damaged, twisted almost, and to see it forced a pang of guilt to strike me in my heart. It looked really expensive, meaning that it would be even more expensive to repair.

"Keep your eyes on the freaking road," Peyton growled, making me spin around, my hands gripping the wheel tighter, issuing him an apology. He silently took it, sinking down into his seat for comfort.

I knew he wasn't truly comfortable, he couldn't sit still with his arm hurting as badly as it did. And with the pouring rain outside, no one would be able to lighten up their mood. He was basically trapped in his moodiness and I found it impossible to work with, no jokes or even mundane conversation from him whatsoever.