Guns & Roses (WATTYS 2017)

thirty one - punch & buggy

We've been driving for what seems like days, me, sprawled in the passenger seat with Luka driving, and Roman snoring softly behind us. 

The car is silent, save for the sound of breathing and the occasional stomach growling. 

I turn to Luka, his gaze sharply focused on the road in front of him, his jaw tight with anxiety. 

I reach over, placing a hand on his arm, and he flinches, but doesn't look away from the pavement. 

"You've been driving for a long time, let me drive." I whisper, my voice croaking from lack of use. 

He just shakes his head. 

"It lets me focus on something other than..." He trails off, and his jaw tightens even more than before. 

"Where are we going?" 

"Somewhere, I hope." It's a whisper, I barely even catch the words. 

I sit back, beginning to twiddle my thumbs. Everything feels cramped, stiff, as if my bones have turned to wooden boards. 

The car was silent again, that is, until my stomach began to grumble like beast emerging from an abyss. 

"Damn, Kat." Roman yawns from the back seat, stretching his arms out so far that they touch either side of the car. "Hungry much?" 

I blush a deep shade of red and clasp my hand to my stomach, as if that will calm the monster for now. 

"No, I'm fine." I lie.

I'm freaking starving. 

"There's a diner at the next exit." He says, stretching his hand out to point to a rusted street sign. 

"Roman, do you really think we have time to-" I begin to ask, before Luka is jerking the wheel to the right, sending us swirling down the exit. 

"Luka, we need to keep-"

"I can't focus on driving with your stomach screaming at me." He says gruffly, and I see hints of humor crinkling the edges of his eyes. 

I open my mouth to retaliate, but I relent, slumping back into the plush material of the seat, crossing my arms over my stomach. My body might be hungry, but my mind is only focused on getting as far away as possible from my father, from Iago, from myself. 

The seedy diner comes into view, neon lights flickering on and off, motels all around it like guardians, watching over unsuspecting customers. 

Several motorcycles sit outside, their glossy paint reflecting each flash of the half broken "open" sign above them, the red colors blinking like a stop light. 

Luka curves the car to a stop, roughly slamming the parking break up. 

He switches off the car, sitting for a moment, staring down at nothing. 

Silence fills the car. 

I can hear my heart in my ear. 

"Come on." Roman whispers, and I jump out of the car, opening the back door to help Roman down into his wheelchair that I grabbed from the trunk. 

Luka is still in the front seat, not moving. He looks like a corpse, bags hanging loosely from under his eyes, coloring his fine skin with purple clouds of sleepless nights. 

I look to Roman, who shakes his head at me, wheeling himself towards the diner. 

I'm stuck at a crossroads, wondering if I should just go in, leave Luka here. Or to go to him, talk to him.