Supercharged Love(3)
As we stood on the sidewalk next to my car, she took my hands in hers. Excitement and trepidation shone in her hazel eyes in equal measures. I knew exactly how she felt. Knots formed in my stomach and the excitement grew. Not only were we finally leaving behind our shitty life, but we were also about to embark on an adventure, a new life. We didn’t know where we were going or what would happen, but it was just the two of us. The start of our future and shit, if that wasn’t something to be excited about.
“You ready?” Meghan asked, looking happier than I’d seen her in a long time.
“Hell, yes.” I squeeze her hands tighter and her smile grows if that were possible.
“Let’s do this, baby brother,” she teases, knowing how much I hate that. Even though I was nineteen, she still took care of me instead of the other way around.
I reach for the handle on the passenger door, and she throws one last look over her shoulder at the sad looking house where we both grew up. She climbs into the car and I slam the door. I don’t spare a glance and round the car to climb in behind the wheel.
• • •
That was two years ago and we’ve managed pretty fucking well on our own. Of course, our mother never did try to contact us. Why would she? It’s not as if she gave a shit while we were there. Meghan works hard to keep a roof over our head, and I try to help out; when I’m not getting into trouble, that is. Things have been a little tense between us lately. Getting caught in an illegal street race didn’t go down well, especially when she had to come get me from the local station. Luckily, I got away with a warning, and a lot of that had to do with the way Meghan flirted with the policeman who had brought me in. The next week, we had moved. Packed everything up and taken off. Again. Don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful for everything Meghan has done for me and for not leaving me behind. But I’m growing tired of moving around all the time and not being able to settle down. I don’t understand why she can’t stay in one place for too long. I know I’m partly to blame; more than once she has warned me not to race, but as soon as I see the bright lights and hear the growl of a V8 engine, all sense flies out the window. Meghan uses it as an excuse because I know she doesn’t want to settle in one place for too long. Maybe that’s why I race so much. I know we won’t be here long enough, and I am less likely to get caught.
As far as places go, this is not bad. There is a good street-racing scene, and I’ve been careful not to get caught this time. I don’t want that to be the reason for us moving this time. I glance at the clock on my dash and accelerate; it’s late and I don’t want Meghan asking any awkward questions about where I’ve been until this time. I hate lying to her, especially since I’ve been racing and cleaned up. Every time I win, I slip her the majority of the winnings. I don’t know whether she realizes it or not because she never says. I slip it into her secret hiding place, the cups, or one of her Wonderbras where she’s taken the padding out. Yeah, not the most secure place, but that’s where she chooses to hide all her money.
The light is still on when I pull up outside our small apartment in a not-so-nice neighborhood. Not thinking anything of it, I climb the stairs; too busy wracking my brains, trying to think of a plausible place where I’ve been until this time in the morning. I push open the door and all excuses dissipate into thin air when I see Meghan pressed up against the living room wall with her boyfriend’s forearm pressed against her throat. She has started to turn a funny shade of red, her eyes and mouth are wide open, but she can’t get any oxygen in.
Without thinking, I grab the closest thing I can find, a wooden chair, and swing it back, bringing it crashing down on the back of his head. The chair splits and he falls to the floor, letting go of his hold on Meghan and she crumples to the floor in a heap. Gasping for breath and holding her throat, her hazel eyes are wide and frantic as they dart from me to him and back again. “He’s not dead.” I try to pull her up, but her legs refuse to hold her weight as she struggles to catch her breath. Red marks are starting to form on her neck and I give up trying to move her.
The adrenaline is still pumping, and I am wired, my brain racing with what to do next. One thing’s certain; we have to get out of here. Now. Before he comes around. He’s a mean son of a bitch. At first, he was nice, as they all are, but as time went on, I started to see the mean streak, but Meghan wouldn’t listen. I wouldn’t be surprised if this wasn't the first time. Meghan remains seated on the floor not moving once while I pack. Stuffing all our belongings into two canvas duffle bags, I slide my arm along the bathroom counter so all her makeup and girly crap falls into her vanity case. No doubt, she’ll complain when she finds all her clothes crushed, but I don’t give a shit. We have to get out of here.