Held A New Adult Romance(34)

"Amber," I say, trying to hide the tremble in my voice. "Please put the gun down."

Where the hell did she even get that? Right away I know the answer will be waiting for me on the security footage back at the house. It’s the Bond gun, the one that was hung under the picture of Daniel Craig.

I always wondered if it was a prop or the real deal.

I feel the solid shape of my own piece digging into my hip. Unlike her, I know how to use it. Too bad I've already fastened my seatbelt - I could have reached for it then.

"Drive," she says, again. "I don't want to have to shoot you."

"That makes two of us." If that’s not a real gun she’s picked up the acting gene from her old man. Underneath my shirt I can feel the sweat run down between my shoulders. I'm conscious of every move I make, every flicker of my eyeballs, every beat of my heart. I'm nothing but bone and gristle and sweat, but I'm alive, I'm alive. Funny how it takes a gun pointed it at your brainstem to make you realize how much you're going to be missing. And worse, you might not even miss it. You might not even know.

I keep going north. "Follow the signs for Monterey," she says. "I'm sure there's an exit somewhere."

The engine roars as I pick up speed. The window is down a notch on the driver’s side and the wind whips past my ear, deafening me. I would have to turn my head to speak, so I don't. All I can do is keep driving and pray that she eventually lowers the gun. Sooner or later her arm will get tired.

We reach the exit and head for the Cabrillo Highway. Sunny Southern California is fading with the evening light. The orange trees give way to evergreens and the wide ocean beaches to rocky shores. I've never been this far north before and it seems like a strange set of circumstances in which to realize that it's beautiful. But it is. And I have to. I have to hang onto the beauty of the rocks and the trees and the sky, because they may be the last things I ever see.

Amber catches her breath in an impatient hiss. For a heart stopping second I think she's going to lower the gun, but no - she's just switching hands. She shakes her cramped left hand and holds the gun awkwardly in her right. Great - of all the fucking times to find out she's left-handed, one fumble away from blowing my brains all over the dashboard.

And now there's another pressing concern. I need to piss, and she's not helping shaking that gun barrel next to my head. I slow down, enough to make my voice heard over the sound of the engine.

"Amber, please. I have to pee."

I catch a glimpse of her eyes in the mirror. She's so out of her depth it's not even funny. "No."

"Amber, I swear to God - I am not fucking around. I'm not going to try anything. I just need to pee."

Out of the far corner of my eye I see the gun wavering. She shakes her head. "I'm not going back to L.A."

"I know that," I say. "And I'll drive you wherever you want to go. Just put the gun down."

She snorts. "How stupid do you think I am, Jimmy?"

"I don't think you're stupid at all," I say, through dry lips. My mouth is parched, a steep contrast to the other end of me, where my bladder feels like a giant watercooler. "I swear - we'll go wherever you want to go."

Her eyes are cold and glittery - her Dad's eyes. I don't think she understands exactly how scared I am right now. Can she even see past her own panic? What is she capable of? What the hell did she do? I think back to the paparazzi, to the questions they were screaming at her.

"You won't call the police?" she says.

"No."

"You won't call my Dad?" And suddenly she's a little girl lost all over again, a skinny Hollywood brat who can't even handle a gun properly. She would never hurt me. She's too soft, too sheltered. She wouldn't know how.

"No," I say. "I promise."

She presses her lips tight together and shakes her head. "And how do I know I can trust you?"

I have to think about that one. I could remind her that I brought her cigarettes, that I didn't go prying into the details of her life online. And didn't I tell her about the camera? The reason why she went tearing off in the first place?

"You don't," I say, eventually. "Isn't that kind of how trust works?"

She lowers the gun. "Keep driving. We'll pull in at the next rest stop."

I'm so keyed up it takes all of about ten minutes for my muscles to even start to relax, and when they do they leave pain in their wake - my shoulders, my thighs and back. Is this what it's going to feel like when I'm old?

The gun is on the back seat. She could still pick it up if she wanted to, but she doesn't. When I catch her eyes they've gone dull, defeated, like she knows this is over. And I hate that look, with a hatred as hard and sudden as an unexpected fist. Better crazy than beaten.