07-21-2014, 10:06 AM
"GO BACK TO SERBIA!"
Oh, how I love riding in a car with Kara. It really is always an adventure, even when we're stuck in traffic because she's utterly fantastic at making friends. Take for instance the man in the car in front of us, who she's convinced is Serbian for some reason. Just a minute ago he was driving in the lane beside ours and then he decided to cut us off like a true gentleman. And oh boy, did Kara have some words for him regarding his gutsy decision, the first of which being to shout at the top of her lungs the phrase "go back to Serbia". Now, lucky for us, all the windows are rolled up but unluckily for us that can't do anything about her ability to flip somebody off. So, instead of trying to stop her tirade like a responsible person, I sit back and watch her flip out, laughing on the inside and not even making an effort to get rid of the stupid smile on my face.
"The fuck are you lookin' at?" she asks, finally seeing me almost crumbling under the pressure to not burst into tears of laughter. Bringing my hand up to cover my mouth for a second, I breathe in through my nose before pulling my hand away and breathing out, feeling all of my desire to laugh drain away in a flash. Breathing exercises, that's how I'm going to sober up. Definitely. I'd write that down, if only I had a pen and paper with me. Odds are good however, that by the time I actually get to a pen and paper I'll have "un"intentionally forgotten it.
"Oh, nothing. Nothing! Nothing at all! What could I possibly be looking at in the first place?" And just like that, the urge to laugh is back in full force. Though how much of that is at her road rage or my over the top response, I don't know.
"Right... Do you even know what you're saying half of the time or do the words just fall from your mouth?"
"Am I really being lectured about a lack of a mental filter from you of all people?"
"Difference: I know what I'm saying."
I shrug my shoulders and shoot her a quizzical look, "What's that supposed to mean?"
"That you ramble on like a fucking moron without thinking. What the fuck else could it mean?"
"Again, I really have to ask why you're the one lecturing me about this. Seriously, of all the stupid shit you've said and you're calling me out on not thinking before talking?!"
For some reason, this was pissing me off far beyond what it normally would; that being not at all. Seriously, this is the kind of thing she says all the time and I never have a problem, but right now my hands are shaking and I can feel my blood boiling against the lowest layer of my skin. Somewhere during my tirade I turned my away from here and towards the windshield that gave a perfect view of the back of the not really Serbian's Prius and out the corner of my eye I can see her expression. Shocked is the best way to put it; her eyelids look like they've been propped open, A Clockwork Orange style, and her mouth hangs agape. She keeps this look for more than a few seconds, unblinking. Then, for whatever reason she closes her eyes and mouth, and shakes her head before bursting out laughing and pushing herself closer to the steering wheel before rapidly pulling herself back until she hits the back of her seat.
"Case and fucking point right there!" she barely manages to say over her laughter.
"Okay, maybe I let my temper get the better of me sometimes, but it doesn't distract from the fact that you're much worse about it than I am."
And just like that, I'm calm. I, I have literally no explanation for this. None whatsoever. I choke out a laugh of my own, about a couple seconds after she stops, leaving me the only source of sound inside the car. Cutting myself off with a sigh, I point my head down to the floor of the car, looking up to her to see her with the confused look I gave her just a little bit ago.
"Heh, I really did get pissy there, didn't I?" I ask completely and utterly rhetorically without moving my head an inch.
"Just a tad. I thought you were gonna beat the shit outta me or something; seeing as though you're a big bad professional wrestler and shit."
"Hey! You got me that job."
"No, I would gotten you an office job if you weren't a sociopath."
"Ugh, don't remind me. What are the odds that Michael not only worked there, but would be my interviewer?"
"Well, I was always shit at odds but I can tell you the percentage. One hundred."
"You didn't..." I start before thinking through exactly what I wanted to say, inadvertently proving Kara true in the process, eyes widening with each passing second of silence and though my heart's racing and my blood's singing through layers of flesh, I feel a smile growing on my face. She nods, chuckling as I keep up my part dumbfounded, part angry, and part ecstatic facial expression.
"I fucking hate you."
"I saved you. That place is soul crushing."
"Right. Oh well, guess it all worked out for the better though."
"Speaking of which, are we ever going to move out of that shithole?"
"Yeah, right," I say with a chuckle, "I'd rather hold onto the money for a while before burning it on something unnecessary."
"Have you seen the apartment? I mean for real, not with your crazy person booze tinted glasses."
"What."
Yes, a flat what. A completely flat what. A what so flat that the mere prospect of whats not being flat is hard to fathom in its wake. Wow, sometimes I'm really glad that I don't open my mouth at every thought of mine. That'd be really embarrassing right about now.
"Seriously, what. What are you even on about?"
"You're awful at playing dumb. I really, really, really hope you realize this."
"So I've been told."
"Hey, if there's anything you can't accuse me of being, it's a liar."
"Anyway," I say, trying to swerve the conversation away from my alcoholism. Yeah, alcoholism. I'm not so deluded that I can't see it for what it is. Thankfully I'm not that far gone. "So, if you intended for me to bomb that interview, why'd you get so pissed with me when I did?"
That's a question I didn't need to ask, but it would certainly take us off the topic at least for a little while.
"Cut the shit."
Or not. I take a deep breath and hold the air hostage in my lungs. Tugging nervously at my hair, I try to fake my best puzzled look, which considering how confused I have been throughout most of this stalled car ride that should be easy, but with the overwhelming pressure of her unflinching glare pressing down on me, my resistance crumbles as my hand pathetically falls into my lap.
"Ask away," I mutter, defeated.
"You know what I'm going to ask."
Oh, that much was certain. I bite my tongue as hard as I can without slicing it off between my teeth and purse my lips as tightly as I can, which results in me probably looking like an absolute jackass but in my moment of immature unwillingness, I don't even care.
"What? What's wrong now? Do you want me to ask you, huh? Will that make ya feel better? Okay fine, I'll fucking bite. Why did you relapse? Why?"
I open my mouth, and lick my lips for no reason other than moral support I guess though I don't know how I'd attain that through such a, nothing action.
"You know the night at the restaurant, when Jacob mentioned his boss?"
"Yeah? How's that important?"
"Well..." I find myself struggling to find the right words. "Let's just say that around that time, I saw something."
"What? A big flashing neon sign that said 'Drink, you fucking idiot'?"
"No..."
"Then what?"
I dwell on the words about to come out of my mouth for a moment.
"My worst nightmare come to life."