One-Shots

It's Surrender

It's Surrender

i.

 You pull him, tripping and frantic, to the car, his rough voice slicing through the air and hurling all his wicked hunger to the ruins. It fuels the burn; orange flames crackle and spit up into the dark night sky, striking your hair, your skin, your entire existence.

            The heat becomes a backdrop and you drive on. He looks back from the passenger seat as you steer - his mouth open, eyes bright and wide, glowing with power. He’s a wild thing with tousled hair and dirt smeared skin, staring at the fragments of the government building you’ve both just burned down to the ground.

            It's all you can do to stare, to drink him in. He laughs as he turns and your eyes meet as his hand moves to grip your face, his nails dragging through your long hair as he pulls you across the distance to kiss you. He’s careless of the way the car swerves violently due to your distraction. 

            “What’s next?” he whispers against your skin, and you swear you can feel the uncertainty radiating off him, but underneath that you feel his enthusiasm bubbling. “What are we gonna do now?”

            The world, sweetheart. Let's take on the whole freaking world, you say. 

ii.

It's a cliché, isn't it? Two lovers in a car, all worldly belongings thrown across the backseat as they run from the law. But you know there has never be anyone quite like you or the beautifully broken boy next to you. You're going to rule the world, aren't you princess?

            There's a pile of clothing, edges burnt and bloody, spread carelessly along the backseat of the car you’re driving. You travel all day and night, stopping only to eat and relieve yourselves and sometimes – only sometimes – to switch it up and let him take a ride in the driver’s seat.

            If he's homesick, he doesn’t admit it. You think you see it on his face sometimes but neither of you say anything about it because the past is the past and you both know there’s no turning back now. You’re both too far gone. You don't think you’re homesick. There was little to leave behind and your mother is probably better off now than she has been in years anyway.

iii.

 There was no map for this. There was no plan. There was just you and him.

             Your entire life has been lived by plans; it didn't matter if they were yours or everyone else's. You once liked plans; they gave you direction and made sure you weren’t thrown into the middle of things with no clue as to where you were going. But now it feels like you're in over your head and you’re relishing in it.

             It’s exciting, it’s adventure, it’s everything you’ve ever dreamed of and more. 
 

iv.

He was a great kid once. So seemingly whole. Perfect grades, fancy home, bad parents.

            The first week of the summer of your senior year you learned the reason behind the quiver of his fingers, the names of the ghosts that lived across his knuckles, and the shades of the bruises that thrived in his soul instead of on his skin and you think it was then that he was lost and turned off track – turned towards you.

            There is so much you can blame: like abuse, depression, and being different (in his case), and being cold, worn-out, and incredibly lonely (in yours). Or maybe there is nothing and it was just about time and fate.

            He starts the car and you revel in the sight of him, finally happy and a little bit dangerous with eyes that glint like razorblades under the streetlight. You tell him quiet, careful, afraid to break this, I love you.

            And he says it back, finally having someone to mean it to.
 

 v.

            
They eventually catch up to you in a coffee shop just outside of some distant and rainy city, miles from where you started. 

            You're reading today's paper and he's taking careful sips of his coffee. He stops, looking over your shoulder, and that's when you see them too – the cloud of uniforms, plastic shields, and more guns than needed (you were never intending to put up a fight anyway).

             They're coming in through the doors and you always imagined that you would be afraid, but you aren’t. You thought you'd freeze and crumple, but you don't. Instead, you take his hand and run, feeling more free than you have in years. He drags you behind a counter and smiles at you, a childish smile, dimples and white teeth.

             He's excited. You are too. 

            What do you want, love? you ask as you crouch, and he says kiss me please, so you do. As the sirens wail around you and the inevitable, destined end – not yours, never yours – gets nearer, you kiss him like you want to devour him, and he kisses you like he's stealing your breath, taking it and keeping it where you will never get it back. You don't want it back, anyway, it’s his for the taking. It’s surrender.