Veronica [Zarry]

tire skids and sober thoughts

I circle another job in the newspaper, pen cap between my teeth.

"Son," he clears his throat and I stop chewing on the cap, feel my pulse quicken. My throat feels tight as he snatches the paper from my grasp. "I know school was very hard for you and nobody ever expected-"

"Dad," I warn through gritted teeth. "I'm not finishing. It's final, okay? I decided a long time ago. If I'm that much of a disgrace to you," my voice wavers.

"No," he softens, hand resting on my shoulder. "I understand your decision Zayn."

"Stop," I say brokenly. "You always say that. Please," I break a little, feeling like a disappointment, like the biggest fuck-up to ever grace the Earth. "I know you tell me to do what makes me happy, never to settle but all you really care about is me finding a job that pays well. I'm trying my best, I swear. Just give me more time."

"I love you very much but you need your own place, you have to get a job. Your mother and I are giving you one more week."

I slam the chair against the table in frustration, grab my keys and cave, fists beating the steering wheel.

"Stupid fuck," I hiss, warm tears blurring my vision. "Why can't you do anything right?"

I shiver, press my cheek against the cold window, trace patterns in the wet condensation. I can't seem to turn the key in the ignition. I feel stuck. The wheels of my car, my mind, my life in general. Time ticks away but I never move, just bury my nose in the fabric of my sweatshirt and cry until my eyes sting.

The sun starts to disappear behind the clouds and I exhale, start the engine and drive with no direction in mind, tires treading across the slick pavement. It's raining steadily, distorting the traffic lights, headlights shining in the mist. A figure streaks in front of me and I slam on the brakes, body lurching forward.

I'm okay. Everything is okay. I gather my senses, turn on my emergency flashers and rush to unlock my door.

"Are you okay," I ask frantically, kneeling in the rain beside the woman. Mascara streaks down her cheeks, her hair is soaked, clothes drenched. I gather her into my arms, rub the small of my back. "Everything is alright now," I whisper.

"I don't want it to be," her voice breaks. "You were supposed to hit me."

It's agonizing, the hurt in her voice. It feels like a weight crushing my body.

My heart sinks to the bottom of my chest. Suddenly, all of my problems seem so insignificant.

"Can you tell me your name," I ask softly.

"Claire," she says hoarsely.

"Okay Claire, I need you to trust me. I need you to listen to everything I say. You're here for a reason. Today wasn't your day. There are strangers you'll grow to love, memories to chase, songs to dance to."

"Okay," she whispers.

"Do you believe me Claire?"

She clutches tight to me, fists up my sweatshirt, "y-yes." I pull her up, wish I had a towel as her wet body sinks into the passenger's seat. "C-can you take me somewhere warm," her teeth clatter, she places her hands in front of the vents as I crank up the heat.

"Are you hungry," I question. "I'm starving." She nods silently. "Is there anyone you want me to call, let them know what happened?"

"Nobody cares," she spits. "God," she rubs at her temples "I wish I wasn't sober."

Silence settles between us but I don't hate it, actually I don't mind the patter of the rain.

"I dropped out of uni," I find myself spilling the pathetic truth. "My parents are riding me to find stable job and there's something I've been hiding for years but I don't know how they'll take it. Honestly, I'm terrified."

"You're a crazy axe muderer," she halfway smiles and I chuckle, easing my foot on the gas.

"Not quite."

"Okay so...you have drug problem."

I snort, wondering if I should be offended when she starts to giggle.

"What's so funny," I smirk.

"You seem super chill, not hard drugs or anything, just weed."

"Maybe," my mouth twitches. "Weed understands me. It doesn't judge me."

"Amen."

My nails tap nervously against the steering wheel, my favorite restaurant is up ahead, the thought of spicy chicken curry making my mouth water.

"Can you do spicy foods?"

"I live for spicy," she laughs. "Not saying I have you figured out but...you're gay."

I nearly choke on my own spit. "Is it that obvious?"

"No, it actually took me awhile. Did I upset you," she frowns. "I'm not just saying that because you seem sensitive, I know it's hard to talk about your feelings to strangers.

"What gave me away," I swallow.

"Nothing, it's just a hard thing to cope with...thinking your parents won't be supportive."

"I know my dad won't," my voice crackles like a bad radio signal. "He'll hate me."

"Is there anything I can do to make it easier," she questions, soft blue eyes flicking over my face.

I pull in a parking spot, let the car run as I search for a response.

"We don't have to be strangers," I whisper.

"Okay," she smiles gently, places her hand on my knee. "Friends Zayn?"

A single tear slips down my cheek. Why am I like this, why do I wear my damn heart on my sleeve?

"Friends," I echo.

"Try admitting to your boyfriend that you're a stripper...he dumped me like I was nothing."

"There's nothing wrong with being a stripper, it's just stigmatized. Does it by chance...pay well," I ask shyly.

"It does," she laughs. "Are you considering?" She wiggles her eyebrows playfully.

"If it pays the bills, maybe."

"So many cute guys," she gushes. "It would be so fun!"

"There's only one problem, I'm not a woman."

She rolls her eyes, presses her fingers to my lips. "But you could be, a very beautiful one."

"You think," I question, blushing furiously.

"I'm positive."