Page 13 of Malaise
He chuckles. “Yeah, I guess you did.”
“If you wanted to be alone, though, why did you talk to me at the log?”
Carver shrugs, slowing his pace as headlights turn out from a side road.
“You seemed familiar, like I know you from somewhere.”
“But we’ve never really met before now.”
“I know.”
He jogs ahead a few steps, waving his arms over his head as the car turns off down another road. Tyres squeal on the sealed intersection, and I watch the car reverse and straighten out while I ponder his words. Has he seen me before? Has he been watching me from afar the same as I have him?
Get a grip, Meg. As though a seventeen-year-old outcast would be worth his time.
An old, wide sedan rumbles toward Carver and me, the engine deep and throaty as it slows to a stop beside him. I freeze to the spot, hand on the drying T-shirt as I run my eye over the primer-grey-coloured Falcon. Fuck no. I’ve seen this car around before, and if I thought the rumours about Carver’s house were bad, the ones about this car are urban legend worthy.
“Meg?” Carver holds the back door open, the side of his face lit by the dull yellow interior light. “You okay?”
“Who is this?” I take a step back and feel grass underfoot. I could leap the fence; it’s only a three-wire.
“A friend. Are you getting in?”
I shake my head vehemently, backing toward the No. 8 wired farm fence. Should only be three or four paddocks max before I find the owner’s house.
“Meg.”
“It doesn’t hurt as bad now… I’ll just… um, thanks for your help.” The dirt scratches under the heel of my boot as I spin and hotfoot it back to the party. I can just hang around until someone sobers up. There’s bound to be more water that I can—
“Meg!” The steady crunch of the dirt road grows louder with his approach.
I duck and weave, trying to evade his grasp. He snags me by the hood of Jasper’s stupid fucking sweater as my bag slams against my legs.
“What the hell?” His dark brows furrow as he looks me over with blatant confusion. “You need medical attention, and that”—he thrusts his hand at the purring Ford—“is our ride.”
“Girls get raped in that fucking car,” I whisper yell, leaning in close to his musky scent.
His eyebrows damn near shoot off his forehead. “What the fuck?”
“Yeah, I heard the stories. And no, it wasn’t a rumour,” I argue defiantly. “Tennison Butler said that her sister’s car was tampered with and that that car came to help her jumpstart it, but the person driving it knocked her out fucking cold and dragged her in the back.”
Carver snorts. “Seriously. You need to stop watching Ripley’s Believe It or Not before bed.”
“Heard that Jacob Kluger’s sister was assaulted too.” I stick my nose up in the air, glaring at him. “Everyone knows that the driver of that car preys on women who’re stranded on the side of the road.”
“Jesus, fuck,” he mutters, taking a hold of my sleeve. “Move.”
I dig my heels in. “No.”
“Move,” he repeats more forcefully, yanking me toward the car.
My heart rate spikes; I can’t die out here. I hyperventilate as he shoves me toward the open door, forcing my head down with his large hand so I don’t smack it on the roof. I close my eyes tight as I spill over the wide back seat, his body heat following me in before the door slams shut and the light goes off. Fuck, I should have blown him off back at the log, lost myself in the crowd sooner.
“Open your eyes, you fucking moron.” There’s a lilt of humour in Carver’s voice. “You really are still pissed as a newt, huh?”
Why isn’t the car moving yet?I roll awkwardly on the seat so I’m sitting up, doing everything I can to avoid putting pressure on my bad arm. Left eye first; I crack it open and locate his shoulder inches from my face.
“Hi,” he teases. “You done being a melodramatic fool yet?”