You Awoke With A Start {COMPLETED}

CHAPTER IV: What A Way To End the World

Chapter Four: What A Way To End the World

You stood leaning on the car, twiddling your thumbs and thumping your leg with tension. Aiden, who had insisted he didn't need your help getting in the car, had begun pulling himself into the vehicle with a death grip on the safety bar and a series of groans of displeasure. The moment you heard him let out a yelp of pain and saw him slip, you acted before you even really knew what was happening. You caught him under his arms and you both stilled for a moment, breathing heavy. "Fucking let go of me," Aiden said, voice uneven; you did.

After watching him attempt once...twice...four more times, you had to turn around. Upon that action, is when you saw a peculiar sight within the gas station. The wide window beheld Ryan (who had gone back in because he'd forgotten something), but he appeared to be shouting at the cashier. His mouth opened and closed as sharp demands left his lips and it was then that you noticed the gun his hand was wrapped around. "Aiden," you whispered. At first he didn't answer, he probably assumed you were trying to apologize for the previous endeavor and try to help again. You repeated yourself. And again.

"For Christ's sake, what?" he snapped.

You didn't answer, you just stared as Ryan shoved fifty dollar bills into a brown bag. The cashier's hands shook as he offered the crumbled papers to him, hoping he'd only take the money and not his life. Aiden followed your gaze. "Rachel start the car, we need to get out of here right now," he said quickly, fear creeping into his voice. This time he let you help him into the car. You folded his chair and practically threw it in the back seat, but the three of you had not gotten ready fast enough. Ryan was running out of the store, the gun waving wildly with a wicked smile pulling his face. "What the fuck are you doing, Ryan?" You shouted, pushing him back from the car. His smile faltered.

"Remember when I said you owe me?" he said hurriedly, trying to push his way into the car. He stopped after you hit him with a swift punch in the face. He stumbled back a bit. "Fuck, man, I thought you meant I could buy you a coffee or some shit, not be your  goddamn get-away!"

You heard sirens in the distance. "They'll arrest you, too."

"Just get in the damn car!" Rachel shouted, shifting into drive before either of you were even in the vehicle yet. You pushed Ryan into the back seat and jumped in, slamming the door behind you. Red and blue lights started getting closer, but Rachel drove faster than they were acceding. The car was dead silent, as you drove forty miles over the speed limit on a four lane freeway without a car in sight. Aiden was uncomfortable with the velocity, he tensed up. He hadn't liked cars at all since the accident, let alone with speed and tensions so high. He would never admit it, and you knew you had to do something.

"Rachel," you spoke slowly, "slow down. I don't think anyone's after us."

She didn't respond, and you glared at her intimidatingly when your eyes met in the rear view mirror. Her gaze flickered to Ryan, happily going through his dollar bills. You neared a small plaza. "Stop here," you told her.

She reluctantly obeyed, and the second the car was parked, you shoved Ryan out of it. He left without another word, and you never saw him again, nor did any of you speak of that night. The following drive home was rough, there was only silence between the three of you and though the radio was on and Motorhead relaxed you, there was very little pleasure in it.

You thought about moving out again. Perhaps that had been the final straw. Aiden never spoke of what he heard, nor did you ever ask. You admired his courage to forgive, though he had never verbally told you he hated you. You had a feeling the relationship between you two was only holding by a very weak and very vulnerable thread. You had hoped that the concert would ease the tension, maybe he could have hooked up with some chick, maybe found a noteworthy bar or got a new tattoo. But, of course, it ended the way things always did after Nicole died; mental torment and regret.

You got home at about four in the morning and you didn't look at Aiden when you helped him out of the car. You didn't thank Rachel for the ride, either. You just left.

After that last spat, your life divided itself into three equal parts.

The first part was about love.

You didn't really know where you were going, crisp wind bit into your legs through the holes in your jeans and your bare arms were exposed to the low temperature. Not that you cared. You were torn between walking to a coffee shop or a bar. You decided on the latter, and when you got there, you sank into a filthy chair and put what seemed like all your weight on your elbows, perched on the tacky counter. The bartender gave you a questioning look and slid you a shot of jaeger, as you'd requested. After downing the small glass, you noticed the woman quietly singing a cover of "Along the Watchtower" in the corner, softly strumming on a guitar that had seen better days. The harsh, high-pitched G-string and repetition began killing your buzz. "At least tune the damn thing!" you shouted angrily, squeezing the glass in your hand and turning to face her. She looked at you with less than caring eyes.

"Ever hear of Drop G?" she replied.

You turned around completely, "Key word: Drop. You tune it one and a half steps down, not up." Through your slurs you weren't entirely sure she understood the whole thing, but you didn't look away. she set her guitar, which was adorned with stickers and post-it notes, down and crossed her arms. "Who made you Guitar Jesus?"

You raised an eyebrow and took another shot, turning back around while lifting a hand in surrender. You didn't care if she didn't know shit about Jimi Hendrix, or basic guitar tuning for that matter, you just wanted her to stop plucking that string. "Nuh-uh, no way we're done," you heard her mumble behind you. She stomped up to you and shoved the guitar into your arms. "Go ahead, Jesus. Tune it for me."

When you did, you noticed that the G-string you thought she was plucking was actually the E, consequently meaning she had tuned it correctly. A smug smile took her face as you shoved it back to her and muttered some shallow remarks under your breath.

"I think you owe me a drink."

Two weeks later, you were dating.

Her name was Elizabeth, a name that she claimed to hate from the bottom of her heart. You settled for calling her Liz or, occasionally, Dumbass. Maybe a little more often than occasionally, because frankly, she was one. She was incredibly clumsy and didn't think things through. She tended to keep talking until somebody stopped her to avoid awkward silences. She was drop dead gorgeous in anything, but when she wore that Incubus tee with her hair tied up, something in you made you want to lock her in your room and never let anyone else look at her. She was yours. You would read Stephen King novels in bed together and drink tea at four in the morning and play strip poker. You would let her win.

You both loved each other in the deepest and truest forms of passion, and lust, and affection.

For once, you forgot about your past, you even forgot about Nicole, for a time. Life was good.

But all good things must come to an end.