The Junk Drawer

08. Destination - Unspecified

08. Destination - Unspecified
CALIFORNIA [PENDING]
0700 HOURS
UNKNOWN LOCATION

➳

The majority of the car ride was spent in a contradicting silence: comfortable for him, uncomfortable for me. His right hand sat idly atop the gear shift, while the other kept a sturdy grip on the steering wheel. Every now and then, when I was confident his gaze was locked firmly on the desolate roads ahead of us, I would steal a few glimpses in an attempt to figure out his story by drilling my eyes into the side of his head.

It was futile in the end; though we had been driving for at least two or more hours, speeding past the desert terrain of sunny California at alarming speeds, I hadn't managed to piece anything together from what I had witnessed earlier.

Nothing added up; the untimely appearance of this Russian madman who unconceivably knew my father, Ronan, and myself. The fact that Ronan seemed to know something about whatever it was that my father was a part of - if he was even a part of anything - and I was still shell shocked at my martial arts feat that I had managed to pull off.

I glanced down at my hands, palms face up, and tried to recall how I acted on instinct ― like I just knew what to do. The only self-defense training I ever got was the simple, logical moves my mother had taught me when she was alive. It was just easy stuff like using your elbow and aim for the nose, run when you see a gun. Not whatever that had been. And what had that memory been about?

It was hard to think that it was only a day ago that life had been close to relatively normal, but now that was taken from me too.

Already curled up into a ball in the passenger seat, I caved into myself more, so much that my stomach joints burned in protest. I didn't loosen my hold, settling my chin on top of my knees and staring out the window. Our surroundings had consisted of dry, arid land tinged with red from the embers of the sun, a few cars that had lost their way, and only Ronan's unspoken location to guide us.

Some part of me wanted to cry again, as pathetic as it seemed, but I was fresh out of tears. Instead, I opted for closing my eyes and willing the past to return.

It didn't work.

"Where are we going?" I asked for the unpteenth time, my voice nothing higher than a whisper. Ronan's eyes flitted to mine for a split second before refocusing on the road.

"We're almost there." he said instead of answering my question. With a fluid motion of the wrist, he sent the car turning to the left, veering right off the road and onto the sandy terrain.

I winced at the sudden bumpiness of the ride, finally unfurling my muscles and biting my lip. My joints protested in pain but almost immediately a different pain began and I bit my lip harder. Glancing down at my hand - whose redness had faded by a fraction - I swallowed down bile from the sight. The skin was already charred off, but at least the wound had stopped bleeding. It did nothing to apease the pain in it if I moved though.

I had been fine for the first hour because the pain had dulled into a numbness I was thankful for, but now it was almost searing, as if the wound awoke and remembered how much it fucking hurt. I feared that if I didn't treat it soon, Ronan might just chop it off on the spot.

I snuck another glance at the boy in question, watching as his eyes flitted across the area as if searching for something. I tried looking for something too, but I could only pick out sand and assorted cacti in the sunlight. Then suddenly, the car screeched to a stop.

Though I still had my seatbelt on, the force had me jolting forward and nearly choking myself on it. Shooting Ronan a nasty glare, I was met with the back of his head as he glanced in the opposite direction out his window.