Viscious

What's in a name?

I wake about eight in the morning. I hurriedly leap from the bed in my underwear and run into the shower. I get to work washing up, I have no idea what time he meant that he'd be by this morning and I do not want him out there waiting. I only want to get the boxsprings and come home. The quicker the trip, and quicker it's over, the better for me.

Fresh from the shower I grab lotion, deodorant, toothpaste and all the things I need from the cabinet as I begin to get ready. I do only light enough makeup not to feel self conscious while out, and I blow dryer my hair just because I have no control over what it does if it dries on it's own. I grab my canvas shoes, a pair of jeggings and an old grey bleach dyed tee. I'm dressing for comfort. I do not want him to think I am in any way trying to impress him. I thought about asking to pick up some privacy fencing to try to start it this week, but I'm not sure how he'd react. So I plan to ask to stop for several lattice sheets instead. Similar effect without being obvious.

As soon as I come down the stairs and set Creature's food out, I hear him pull in. What timing. I grab my wallet and keys as I lock up and step outside. He studies me as I approach the truck. I go to open the handle, but it's locked. The window is cracked though.

"Good morning!" I greet awkwardly. He finally unlocks the door and I attempt to get inside. The truck has a high profile and I have to grab the seat and hop to get in. This makes Trevor snort as he shifts into gear and we leave the drive. When he looks to the road, I wipe my sweaty mitts off on my jeans. I should've brought water.

"You have great timing by the way." I blurt, just trying to disrupt the painful silence. It weighs on my nerves like a concrete block. He quirks a brow at me.

"What you mean?" He is a man of few words, none elegant. In my mind, I can pictures him hot boxing cigarettes, busting a TV over a ball game or even crushing beer cans with his head. I can also see him roaming the wilderness shirtless, with a weed eater and a raccoon cap on. Like a beefy, hostile Davy Crockett. "Speak."

"I was just saying that your timing is impeccable. I had literally just came down the stairs. I was trying to hurry so you wouldn't end up waiting on me."

"I guess it was, huh?" He turns to me. "You bad at laundry?"

"No. Why?"

"I don't know if you noticed, but your shirt is bleached out." Everything he says is to pick a fight. I swear to God. To God I-

"It was made this way! It's comfortable, and I like it. At least I wore a shirt. They probably won't even let you in."

"Course they would. I go out like this all the time. Why wouldn't they?"

"Health hazard. What if they serve food and you get your hamburger meat in it." He laughs.

"Hamburger meat?"

"Fine. Chest hair. Boob bush-" The truck lurches and my head slams the dash. "What the fuck? Take me home!"

"You were so busy bitching, you didn't see that chipmunk run out from the ditch. Sit up. Put your seat belt on." I sigh.

"Thanks mother."

"You're welcome. You aren't going to die by car accident on my watch."

"Something's got to take me out."

"I'd prefer it be me." I look to him in disbelief as he cracks up.

"Tell me how you really feel."

"You couldn't handle it."

"A car accident doesn't sound so bad right now." I counter.

"Where you from?" He asks.