The Love Album Series: Ride -BWWM- (SLOW UPDATES)

16

-Blame it on the Boogie by The Jacksons-

Denise tapped her hand on the steering wheel, nodding her head to the Jacksons as she drove down the road. It felt good to be in the driver's seat. It left Mark to play DJ, and she was always fascinated to see what music he was feeling at the moment.

He was in a Michael Jackson vibe, and that was more than okay with Denise.

She loved her some MJ. As troubled as he was, his musical talent was iconic. Michael Jackson didn't just write a song, he told a story through music. His creativity was so inspiring.

As much as Denise and Mark loved stopping in different states and exploring, their most intimate moments were in the van, playing hit after hit after hit.

Music was something that had been essential in their dysfunctional lives.

It pulled them away from the horrible experiences in the world and brought them peace, joy, even clarity at times.

Denise glanced over at Mark. He was sitting with his seat, leaned back, and his eyes on the road. He looked exhausted and in need of some caffeine.

Since it was noon, Denise knew he'd probably go for a Redbull once they stopped. He only drank coffee in the morning.

Denise wasn't one to worry about anybody but herself, however, Mark's laugh of sleep didn't exactly comfort her.

Finding his best friend dead, and getting sent to prison at a young age, she could only assume what he's been through - what he's seen.

If she were him, she wouldn't sleep either. But a human being can only last so long without rest.

Denise turns down the music, "how do you plan on fixing your problem?"

Mark raises an eyebrow, looking at her, "what problem?"

"Your lack of sleep problem."

"It's not a problem," he denied, "it's just -"

"This isn't a agree to disagree conversation," Denise interrupted him. "This is a I'm right, and you're wrong deal. You don't sleep, you know how I know? Because I'm with you for twenty-four hours. Now, I get it, trauma is a bitch, but what am I supposed to do when you're behind the wheel one day, and the next thing I know, you're slumped over, and we crash into a rig."

Mark chuckles.

"What's so funny?" Denise was serious, despite coming off as her usual dramatic self.

"Nothing just sounds like you only care because my 'problem' could also affect you."

For the first time since they met, Denise went quiet and actually thought about her response.

Mark was kind to her all the time that she started to feel bad about how she talked to him. Just because she wasn't good with her words or expressing herself, didn't mean that she had to come off so strong - at least not with Mark.

"Sorry," she apologized, "I didn't mean it like that."

In the corner of her eyes, she could see Mark smiling.

Gulping, she kept her eyes on the road, "please, don't make this weird."

"I'm not, I'm not," Mark ran his fingers through his hair and looked away. "Trust me, I've known you long enough to know what you say is not always what you mean. You don't have to worry about me, I'll be fine."

"Okay," Denise wasn't going to argue. "Just do me a favor and tell me when you hit rock bottom."

"Will do," Mark smirked, grabbing the pack of Malboros.