Roadkill

Chapter5- Car flirt

“I already told you my name. It’s Diane. I married my high school sweetheart at 19, dropped out of college at 21 and am currently processing a divorce. I’m currently 25 and managing a hardware store downtown on the weekdays. On weekends, I teach kids ballet at the community center. Sundays are for finishing assignments for my new online college classes, binging Netflix miniseries and cleaning my place. I have a small apartment, and perhaps it wasn’t safe to tell a stranger my address. A handsome stranger, but a stranger all the same.

I looked at the branch I set carefully where I could easily reach it in case I needed to defend myself. Some of my dark hair was caught in it. So far, he didn’t seem violent at all. Hopefully, there will be no need for it.

He watched me with sharp, inquisitive eyes while I spoke, hanging on to my every word. Something about the way he looked at me made me uncomfortable, but it also made me crave more. I didn’t understand it. It is inappropriate, I’m sure, to stare at a stranger so deeply, like you were unraveling them, digging for secrets they did not want you to reach, confident that you could strip them bare and see what lay underneath. I could barely look away.

“Ballet, huh?” he asked, smiling, “You used to dance?”

“Yup. Still do actually, just not as frequently. These days I just teach.”

“Think you could teach me?”

He’s very clearly trying to flirt with me. I am not lost on his implication that we should meet again at a later date, so I can teach him to “dance”.

“Not with all those injuries on you, Lowell. I’m driving you to a motel where you can check yourself in and we’ll never have to see each other again, although why we're going to a place like that instead of a hospital is beyond me.”

“Don’t worry about it, it’ll be fun, I’m sure I can even teach you a few things as well.” His voice is sly and confident. I didn’t take the bait. “I don’t need a hospital really, just a place where I can rest.”

“Are you sure?” I asked, turning to face him a bit, “Those injuries look very serious. I have a first aid kit under the driver's seat. I could clean up the wounds, stitch them up and wrap them in gauze. We’d need to park for me to do it, but I’m sure I can manage it.”

“It’s fine really. I’m good. You don’t have to do that.” Whatever mischief that was in his voice is now gone. He sounds cold now, like I’m pushing too hard, but he doesn’t let go of my hand.

I keep my eyes on the road.