Jesse's Girl

Chapter 11

When I stumbled back away from the car, I examined my handiwork with a heavy heart.

          The windshield was intact, but completely distorted with neon lipstick. I’d planned to write whore, but after realizing how dumb that sounded, I tried wiping it out and tried for bastard instead. However, any words I tried to write after I’d wiped that off was lost in the mess. I’d ended up rubbing the lipstick so much that it soon became impossible to distinguish any words within it.

          The scratch along the door was less messy. It wasn’t long or that deep, but contrasted so noticeably against the black paint of the car. It clearly ran in a short line from the middle of the door to the handle.

          My adrenaline seemed to slowly fade the longer I stood there staring. And eventually, all that was left was a shitty looking Camaro. I barely recalled dropping the lipstick as I brought both of my hands through my hair. I heaved, letting out a breathy, “Holy shit.”

          This whole time I’d been trying to implant it in my mind that I’d done this for a good reason. But maybe I’d really crossed a line. Maybe the keying was a bit much. Or maybe even the lipstick. Maybe I should have just held onto this idea for another rainy day, or until he’d done something drastic enough to really deserve it.

          I glanced around, relieved that I couldn’t spot anyone, and hastily shrugged off the flannel shirt I’d slipped on. The cool air hit the exposed skin my tank top left out in the open as I hitched a leg on top of Jesse’s car and tried, in vain, to wipe most of the lipstick off.

          I couldn’t help but call myself pathetic for trying to take back what I had already done, but I didn’t let it get to me. I wiped at the windshield until I could barely see the outlines of the seats inside, and I would have kept wiping until the only damage that was left was the scratch on the door, but the sound of laughter brought me short.

          I stilled atop the car.

          And then the laughter grew higher, more pronounced.

          I quickly slid off the hood, but just as I was going to make a break for it, the top I’d been using to wipe Jesse’s windshield got caught onto something. I growled as I yanked at it, panic suddenly seizing me, but it wasn’t until the article of clothing broke free and I fell backwards onto the pavement did I realize that I might have broken whatever it was caught on.

          I sprung back to my feet, seeing that it had to have been one of the windshield wipers. However, I didn’t get any time to inspect the damage, because as soon as I’d stood up, the noises were so close that it wouldn’t have made a difference if they were talking right in front of me.

          I stumbled back, casting the Camaro one last apologetic look, before I ducked behind a nearby Jeep and used it as a cover to get back to my car.

          And once I reached it, I started the engine and drove home faster than I’d ever driven in my entire life.

          “Stupid,” I kept muttering throughout the ride. “Stupid, stupid.”

          I was torn between wanting to regret or rejoice what I’d done.

          Rejoice, because I’d done it. I told myself that I would do it, and I did it. Albeit, I did it for reasons that, in reality, didn’t involve me. I’d done it on the belief that I was committing some sort of public service. If I was correct in assuming the results of the endeavor, though, Jesse would ease up on the girls he knew. He wouldn’t look at them like new meat, but maybe with the knowledge that some of them were capable of revenge and he shouldn’t be using them so carelessly like he always has.