Every Move You Make [RDJ] - IN PROGRESS

Nine

So, apparently she doesn't like my driving.  

How can I tell?

"You're not going to die," I feel the need to tell her as she buckles the seat belt and holds onto it as if it won't stay latched.

"I don't know that!" she snaps, back to fiery Rachel that I've come to know and lo-

Just know.  That's it.

"I learned to drive in Manhattan.  Nothing is worse than Manhattan driving."

"Yeah, well this is Pittsburgh," she counters.

Not going to argue, I just roll my eyes and pull out of the driveway, purposely making her squeal as I gear shift to get myself out of the gravel.  

It's silent for like, ten solid minutes.  Nothing by the turn signals on occasion, the hum of the engine, and her steady yet loud breathing.  I'm certain it isn't even because of the car or my driving. Probably pent up shit from what just happened.

I can't blame her, you know?  That was...chaotic.  All of it.  Dude layed a lot of info out.  Also layed his hands all over her in a not so pleasant way.  Granted, none of it would be pleasant for me.  If he wasn't busy hurting her, he'd be trying to please her, and that should be...someone else's job.  Not his.

My mind wanders as I stare at the road and merge onto the highway.  Does she think I'm still using?  He seemed to think I'd get her to take something.  She's a fan, he knows that.  Is that something they've talked about? Did she say something in the last month about my drug history? That's why he hates me so much, huh?  I'm sure he hates everyone, but now I'm the target, because she has a crush, and he's threatened.  Right?

Doesn't matter.  She chose me.  She blatantly chose me over him.

At some point, she reaches forward and hits the dash, setting the radio off.  Then her delicate, soft fingers are toying with the buttons, sifting through the channels.  Her sleeves of her jacket ruffle up and I can already see the slight bruising on her wrist...  My hands clench the steering wheel far too hard, but I won't mention it.

Her eyes catch mine and she pretends they don't, and I can't stop the smirk on my lips from appearing.  She blushes; it's fucking adorable.

"What?" she accuses finally when the silence becomes unbearable.

"Nothing."

Eventually, she winds up...on a throwback station. Throwback to my childhood.  Early childhood, and I cringe a bit.  I'm old.  She's not.  Why does she know these songs so well?

Her head turns to the window as if she's embarrassed to be singing in front of me, but she still does, soft at first until I reassure her.  God, her voice...unparalleled to anything else.  Strong.  Smooth.  Jazzy, to an extent.  Does that even make sense?  It gives me chills, either way.

"Cause you know I've got, so much that I wanna do, when I dream I'm alone with you... It's magic..." she murmurs along with the ABBA song. "You want me to leave it there, afraid of a love affair, but I think you know, that I can't let go..."

Of course the song would reflect all of my fucked up thoughts.  It wouldn't make sense if it didn't. Because yes, I'm fucking afraid.  Afraid that I won't be able to stay away from her. Afraid that society will frown upon the two of us together, so what's the point in trying?  And either way, I absolutely cannot let anything go, because my world is fucking consumed by her right now, and driving her to a jet to randomly fly to New York has to let her know I'm interested, doesn't it?

But I can't be, and that's the internal battle.  Even if they just broke up - again - she's still so young and I'm so old, and..

Fuck, I'm only old because I'm acting old.  I'm being miserable, though today's a ton better than the last month or anything before...her.  To be fair, right now, I'm comfortable.  This is good company.  Dare I say I'm not shielding myself per usual?