These Demons

Chapter Twenty-nine

**I want to use my birthday money to get another tattoo, but I have several subjects in mind and can't afford them all, but don't know how to make my choice and it's driving me crazy**

"Andy, we have to talk about this," Zoe keeps saying when we make our way back to the car.
She repeatedly tries to stop me by pulling on my sleeve, but I shake her off and don't stop once until I pull out my car keys, always a cigarette between my fingers.
I don't think I'll ever quit smoking again because it's so calming.

The clicking sound of the unlocked car makes me sigh in relief and I climb inside without waiting for Zoe and already start the engine before she's even sitting next to me.
If I were an asshole, I would just leave her here, but I can't do that.

"I don't want to talk," I inform her and pull out of the parking lot.
"But..."
"It was a stupid idea from both sides, okay? We just shouldn't have done it."
"Do you regret it?" she quietly wants to know and I'm glad I need to keep my eyes on the road.
"Yes." My voice is so much stronger than my heart.
"Then why did you do it?" I swear she's biting her lip right now and I'm glad I can't see it.
"I didn't..."
"Don't lie to me again."
My hands grip the steering wheel harder.
"I don't fucking know."
A few seconds pass by until she speaks up again.

"You know that I really like you," she starts, but I cut her off: "Don't."

"Oh, come on. Why are you being like this? Why do you pretend to be such a rock when you're obviously not? Why don't you allow yourself to feel anything?" Zoe demands, her brows furrowed angrily when I watch her from the corner of my eye. 

Because I don't answer and press my lips together instead, she bumps my upper arm. "I asked you a question," she pouts. 

"Because..." Because it always ends horribly, no matter what. Because I have to focus on what's important. Because I feel like falling apart. Because I'm not worthy of any of this. Because I can't let anyone near me. "I don't have time for this."

"For what?!" She throws her arms up. 

"This!" is all I almost shout because she's getting on my nerves. Can't she just stop and shut up at least once? 

"This?" she repeats loudly. "What on earth is 'this' supposed to mean? This as in me? This as in feelings? This as in a relationship? What is 'this'?"

"Can't you just shut the fuck up for once?" I suddenly yell at her and show all the rage I usually hold back as much as possible, and when she scoots away from me to the car window out of shock, I immediately feel sorry for yelling at her and hate myself for feeling like that. I shouldn't get attached. To anyone.

"I'm sorry," I hear myself say and exhale deeply to calm myself. 

"It's fine" she snaps, but I don't believe her. "Just keep lying to both of us and keep it all inside. Because that's such a healthy thing to do," she sarcastically says in a petulant tone.

"Well, what do you want to hear from me?" I exclaim in frustration and slam my hand on the wheel to keep myself from shouting again. 

"The truth, you genius!" she claims. "The truth about what?" I follow up, sick of her inability to ever let things rest. 

"You kissed me, you twat! You always call me when you need someone! You want to be around me! You like me, for god's sakes! Why do you have to be so pig-headed and can't just admit it already?" 

These words are like a hand reaching down my throat and right into my stomach to turn it upside down, and if I had anything other than water and coffee in there, I'd want to puke.

"That's not true," I slowly hear myself say and my tongue feels numb. 
"Liar," she spits. "You're just too stubborn."
"Bullshit," I say flatly, but my knuckles have turned white because my grip is so hard due to my need to hold on to something.
The sight of the street mixes with dancing bright spots. 

"So what you're essentially trying to tell me is that there is absolutely nothing that you feel for me? Nothing at all?" she assures herself, her voice cold, but brittle, and that proves she is not untouched by any of this.

"I like you too," I admit, "But not in that way." The feeling in my gut says otherwise, but it doesn't matter and I stand my ground.
"Prove it to me," Zoe demands, her arms crossed. "What?" I affirm I understood her words correctly. 
"Pull over and say it to my face. I want to hear you say it when you look right into my eyes."

"You're kidding," I scoff in disbelief, but she shakes her head. "I'll believe you when you can say it straight to my face."
"Wait, you're really serious about this, aren't you?" I realize and can barely stay focused because of this nonsense. "You really expect me to do this?" 

She nods fiercely and I roll my eyes. "You're unbelievable."
Her only reaction to that is a shrug as I pull over to stop next to a meadow. "I'm not even sure if you can park here," she comments.
"We're not parking." I unbuckle my seatbelt to turn towards her. 

"Before you get your turn, can I say something?" she requests and I narrow my eyes. "Haven't you said enough already?"
"Just one more thing," she promises, but I doubt it. "Fine," I growl and try to lean against the car door frame, but my long legs won't let me. 
"I understand that you're scared-"
"You're not my damn therapist," I snap, but she holds up her hand to make it clear she won't let me interrupt her now.
"It's totally relatable that you're trying to hold on to what's familiar and what makes you feel safe, Andy, but it's not healthy or helpful, okay? You can talk to me."

I swallow the lump that has formed in my throat. "Are you done now?"
When Zoe nods, I catch her gaze and we lock eyes, hers so dark that it would be impossible for anyone to see through them and assume what might be going through the pretty head of hers. 

"I..." Looking at her like this really makes it hard. "Don't..." I don't think I can keep going anymore.
Our faces are so close, her breath on my skin, her flawless cheeks flushed, her lips so full and red that I can't think anymore.
My brain is flat-lining. It's pathetic considering I'm sitting in my old car at the side of some road, but Zoe is sitting in front of me, only the center console separating us, and the only thing on my mind is how beautiful she looks today in her dark dress. There is an inner conflict in the back of my head because I know I shouldn't think any of these things, but I can't help it.
Her plan to distract me (or whatever she had in mind) is obviously working because I can no longer say any of the things I wanted to say.

"You can't do it," she declares quietly and I wish she weren't right, but she is.

Her hair smells like a summer morning when I gently run my fingers through it.

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Aerosmith - Heart's Done Time