Page 94 of Crash & Burn

“I’m full of surprises,” I tease.

“I’m sure you are,” she answers, leaning her head back against the seat.

It is a short drive back to her apartment, only about twenty minutes, and the silence is comforting. The radio is playing low, and I have the windows open to let in the summer night air.

When I pull up to her complex, I have half a mind to walk her in, but I know it isn’t a good idea. Foreitherof us.

So, I don’t offer.

“Thanks for the ride,” she says as she unbuckles her seatbelt but makes no move to get out of the car.

“Anytime.”

She grabs her camera bag from where I set it down by her feet, and she pulls it onto her lap.

Still in no rush to leave.

“Everything okay?” I ask. It almost feels like she is working up the nerve to say something. Her blonde hair shines even in the darkness of my truck, and all traces of the tiredness I saw at Lenny’s is gone.

Suddenly wide awake and looking like she is trying to keep track of all the thoughts circling in her head.

“Yes and no,” she answers, and I’m confused.

“Do you want to talk about it?” I ask.

“That’s the thing,” she starts. “If I talk about it, right here, right now, everything will change.”

“Okay,” I say, stretching out the word. Even more confused now. Everything will change? For her? For us?

What the hell is she talking about?

She finally says, “I don’t want to be your friend.” My heart cracks in half. I finally have part of her to myself, and now she doesn’t even want that. I want to slam my head into my steering wheel because it would be less painful than this.

I can’t let her know the war happening inside of me right now, so I do what I do best.

Pretend that nothing can get me down, the happy-go-lucky part I’ve gotten so good at playing.

Hopefully good enough that it works on Mia too.

“No worries,” is all I manage to say, adding a small smile. I squeeze the steering wheel, hoping she doesn’t notice my knuckles turning white.

“You’re not going to ask why?” She asks.

“Are you going to tell me?” I argue.

“If you want to know,” she answers.

I let go of the steering wheel to run a hand through my hair, just now realizing I didn’t put my drumsticks in my back pocket after tonight’s show.

“I figured it was just because you like keeping me guessing, sunshine,” I try to add a lightness to my voice, even though a heaviness has come over me.

She doesn’t play along, so I know she is serious. A few moments pass, and I feel the silence that was comfortable five minutes ago now feels suffocating.

My voice is quiet but sounds so loud in the silent car. “Why don’t you want to be my friend, sunshine?”

“It isn’tenough,” she answers. My world stops. “I can’t be the only one feeling like there is something more here. Something worth exploring.”

There is a voice in my head telling me to shut this down. The same voice that never stops reminding me that I am no good for someone like Mia, someone who is all sunshine. She doesn’t need me to spread the gray dreariness of a rainy day on to her. I’m too broken, broken beyond repair.

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