The Vituperator (NaNoWriMo 2015)

eighteen \\ polaroids

When I feel the car slow to a stop, my eyes flutter open on instinct. I try to sit up, only to be absolutely disgusted when I find that my arm is not only home to Tae's smushed cheek, but his saliva too. I sputter in surprise, quickly jerking away and shoving Tae off me at the same time. Without his breath on my arm, his drool is cold and glimmering as I inspect my arm. Tae snaps awake with a yelp and rubs his eyes underneath his glasses.

I mutter a string of curses and lean over to wipe my arm on him, my expression curled in discomfort.

"Augh — what the hell?" Tae squawks, his voice flying up an octave. He flinches away, only bump his head on the window. "What are you doing?"

Sasha cackles delightedly from the seat in front of him, watching the whole thing with some kind of morbid amusement. Nick stretches in his seat, cat-like movements and no attention paid towards the scuffle of the backseat.

"Don't ask me," I huff, smearing the last of the transparent goo off my arm and onto his shirt, "ask the goddamn fountain that's coming out of your mouth."

He whines pathetically, helpless against the disgusting feel of his own spit soaking into his clothes. He lifts a hand to wipe his mouth. "Sorry."

"Too little too late," I mutter, glaring down at my right arm. Though it's dry, it still looks tainted to me. Sasha opens the car door and slides out, still chuckling. I twist in my seat to look out the window, we're at a gas station.

"I can't help it!" Tae exclaims.

"Then at least don't lean on me!"

"I couldn't help that either! I'm a cuddler!"

"God," is all I say, staring upwards as if the whole universe has offended me.

"Where are we, anyway?" Tae murmurs, trying to open his door. He moves groggily, like his limbs weigh a ton. Nick's already out of the car and opening Tae's door for him, helping his sleepy friend out.

"Quick pit stop. We're almost there," he said easily.

My side's door pops open, Bryson holds it open and offers a hand. "Did you sleep well?"

I shrug indifferently, not meeting his eyes and ignoring his hand as I climb out of the car. He drops his hand and shuts the door with a soft click.

"Wanna —"

"I've got to piss," I say, shouldering past him. I walk towards the little gas station store, hearing a deflated oh okay from behind me.

Inside the store, the bright fluorescent lights make me wince. My eyes were still adjusting to light. The cash register is lined with bobble heads of dogs and lumberjacks, and the whole room smells like bubblegum. The woman behind the counter smiles at me as soon as the bell rings when I push through the door.

"Hi there, sweetie," she says in an overly-perky voice. I can't tell if she's genuine, or just pulling a face for her job. Most likely the latter, since everyone who works in some kind of customer service has no love left for humanity.

"Hi," I press my lips together, an awkward smile. "Where's the bathroom here?"

She leans over the counter and sticks an arm out towards the back of the store. Her name tag says KATHY and for a second I'm worried she'll knock a bobble head off the counter.

"Oh, just walk all the way to the left and go down the back of isle six. The ladies' room is right there."

"Thanks," I mumble.

Passing the counter, I spot a wall of photographs. Polaroids, all of them. Some of them are candid and some of them aren't. A man with a baseball cap grinning at the camera with his dog; a family of four on a road trip; a busy-looking man with his palm thrown at the lens; a girl smiling brightly with a cup of cheap coffee in her hand. Underneath the photos are names, dates, and sometimes a place. LOVELY TRAVELERS, the wall says. There are countless photographs.