Guns For Roses (Frerard)

Chapter 15

^He says you're beautiful. I think you're beautiful too.

me, singing: CUZ SHE'S THE GIRL ALL THE BAD GUYS WANT. THE GIRL ALL THE BAD GUYS WANT. SHE'S THE GIRL ALL THE BAD GUYS-
my brain: intro to Dirty Little Secret
me: why??
my brain: tell me it doesn't sound good

hey guys, it's first post of the new year whoop-whoop (this is over 23 thousand words oh my fucking god). how are ya?

Trigger warning: Needles. Vomiting. Violence. Fighting. Overdose. Talk of killing. Death/Talk of death. Mention of suicide and attempts of suicide. General fucking sadness.

"Frank," I said, glancing into the side mirror at the squad car following a little ways behind us. "are you... prepared to escape?"

"Do you want to pull over when they inevitably ask us to?" Frank asked, sounding amused rather than anxious.

I grimaced. "Hell no."

"Then yes, I'm prepared to escape... But you're not gonna like it."

So, to fill you in, we were being followed by the police because we (Frank) had just torched an abandoned MINI Cooper on the side of the road, and we got seen leaving it behind, and arson on public property is pretty looked down on. 

They'd been following us for a good six minutes, but they didn't have any lights on, so they weren't pulling us over. Yet. They probably weren't sure if we were the culprits yet.

So, in my defense, when I told Frank I wanted to do something exciting and stupid, arson and grand theft auto were not exactly the kind of exciting and stupid things I had in mind, but unfortunately, my boyfriend is a fucking loon.

I gave him an imploring look. "What are you about to do?"

He was grinning from ear to fucking ear. "I hope you have your seatbelt on."

I was going to ask again, but the cop car behind us flipped on their red and blue lights and the siren blipped, and then Frank just fucking floored the gas pedal, tearing us off down the road.

With the momentum, my back slammed back to my seat and I let out a surprised yell. "Frank!" I exclaimed. "They have our license plate, we're fucked!"

"Not for long." He said, laughing evilly.

The fuck was that supposed to mean?

With how well the kid normally followed the laws and rules of driving, I could have never expected the driving expertise he revealed that night. It was insanely fast, and somehow incredibly smooth. We were flying down the road, the needle on the speedometer was dancing around the 95 mark, and a quick glance to a sign whizzing past communicated a 45mph limit. But it was smooth sailing. He had complete control over the vehicle, and at that speed, damn, it was impressive.

"Holy fuck, Frank. What are you doing?" I asked.

"Getting us out of here." He spoke through gritted teeth. His eyes flicked around at his mirrors and met the road again, and our speed climbed even more as we sped downhill. "I'm sorry in advance."

I whipped around in my seat to see the police car disappearing around the curve we'd long passed, and I felt very little relief from it, as we were still circling a hundred miles per fucking hour.

Frank took the entrance ramp for the interstate highway, and after a few minutes speeding down the dark, empty road, he took the turnaround exit, taking us in the opposite direction. In theory, if the cops were still following us, they'd just keep heading down the highway, not knowing we'd turned around.