THE BROKEN HEART [ONGOING]

2

I stepped on the brakes. “Kids,” I mumbled, reversing as I saw him on the side mirror, running toward my car.

I reached for my pistol in the open cubby hole, slowly unwinding the window, half way. “Oh, thank god,” the young man spoke, his face appearing from my window, while wiping his sweaty face with his inner elbow, which I recognised was covered with tattoos, in fact both his arms were actually covered with tattoos.  He looked much younger than I had expected, probably a college student.

“Hey,” he said his green eyes on me.

A rebel, it was just the nice companion I needed. “Where you going?” I asked ignoring his greeting.

“Shaville, just up ahead,” he replied.

“Come on in,” I replied, putting back the pistol inside the cubby hole, as I pushed it close.

“Thank you,” he said, walking around my car to reach the front seat.

At least he seemed educated to be able to thank me. He walked inside the front seat. His mint smell filling my car.  I heated the engine and sped up the quiet street.

I had just lost the sun. The moon and stars were now taking over the dark sky. Silence had filled the car from when he had entered. He moved his hand toward my radio but my hand slip and slapped it. “Ouch,” he cried.

“You don’t touch someone else’s radio,” I said bitterly.

“I just wanted a song,” he spoke sounding a little annoyed.

“Then ask, not move your scrubby hands onto my radio,” I said, my eyes shifting onto the rear-view mirror, to see his eyes staring at me.

“Geez old lady, it’s just a radio,” he rudely said.

I immediately stepped on the brakes. “Get out!” I snapped.

He had just called me an old lady, I hated that word. It somehow reminded me I was going to die pretty soon. Yes, I was forty-six and had two children who were in their late twenties but still, I couldn’t accept that word.  “Come on it…”

“Out!” pushing his door open, “Now!”

He pulled the door close. “No,” he replied turning to face me.

My eyes widened. “I’m not giving myself for the wolves.”

I quickly pulled the cubby hole open. “What are you doing?” he asked.

I pulled out the pistol and pointed it at him as his eyes widened. “Now! get out!” I demanded him.

“Come o…”

“OUT!” I yelled, but the burning pain on my chest caught my attention. “Aah,” I cried softly, the gun on my hand dropping on the floor, holding my chest.

“Are you okay?” I heard him ask, holding me.

I blinked, my vision becoming blurry. “Mam, mam,” his voice fading along with his face.