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“I’ll be five minutes.”
“Gotcha.”
“Stretch your legs.”
“Take your keys,” Stephanie urged as she kicked the truck door open. Tim left without another word, already half out the door before he’d even pulled on the handbrake.
It was such a rusted thing that Stephanie could practically see the scattering of paint as she slapped the door closed behind her. The ground was dust and rubble. Getting to grips with where they were in relation to something - anything - was difficult. Nothing but an endless horizon, spliced in half by the road to the side.
They’d been driving for over a day now. One night in a mangy motel that Tim was convinced was committing drug racketeering in room three, but that was neither here nor there. Stephanie had needed a shower and a soft(ish) bed to sleep on.
They’d set off in the early hours, stopping once for breakfast at a drive thru coffee joint. Now it seemed Tim’s wake-up americano had caught up with him.
She leaned down, pressing her forehead to her left shin whilst she stretched the right leg back. The burn felt good. When she corrected herself, she tried to return to the truck, only for the door to not budge. She grunted, pulling once, twice, three times, only for no luck. She peered as best she could through the window, noting to her growing horror that the locking mechanism was up. Craning her neck, she spied the keys still in the ignition.
“Oh. Crud.”
The truck was old, at least twenty years by the time Bruce had granted it to Tim for their ‘trip’ to Ivy University.
They were nowhere near New England. They were somewhere very flat, and overwhelmingly yellow and dusty.
And locked out of the car.
Stephanie looked around frantically for Tim, noting with disdain that he was probably still peeing, blissfully ignorant of his buffoonery.
She snorted, walking to the open back to grab what she needed from her Spoiler suit, only to realize no actually, that wasn’t an option, as the suits were in the backseats. In a locked case. In the locked car.
“Right,” she murmured, hands on hips.
Cunning plan time.
Sun roof.
Tim returned to his truck to find an interesting sight. Stephanie - his beloved girlfriend - was stuck in ceiling of the vehicle. Her legs were all that were visible, kicking like a fish trying to squeeze through a tight hole in the window. Through the back windscreen, he could see her straining for the ignition.
He patted his pockets, ice freezing his chest as he realized why exactly his girlfriend had managed to pry open the glass panel in the roof. It immediately melted, as the idea of teasing her in such a silly position was far too tempting.
Still, it couldn’t have been comfortable.
“Sweetheart?” he called, contrite filling his tone.
“Oh!” she squeaked, body physically jolting. Her legs spasmed. Tim jumped on the bed of the truck, before climbing up to join Stephanie’s legs on the roof. He folded his own legs into a cross, feeling like a kindergartener soaking up the sun.
“Dare I ask?”
There was no hesitancy when she replied, “There was a bug.”
The lie was so obvious, so stupid, that Tim couldn’t help but smile. “A bug?”
“Big bug. Poisonous. Venomous. Deadly. I needed to kill it to protect you.”
“And you got it?”
“Naturally.” Her reply was punctuated by the swinging of her feet. Her left shoe flew off, the black ballet flat tumbled down into the dirt. Her groan, muffled as it was coming from inside the truck, was stifled and yet desperate all the same.
Tim stared at her for a moment, admiring her upside down legs.
“If you smack my butt I’ll kill you in your sleep.”
“Wasn’t even thinking about it,” Tim retorted.
“The threat remains my dearest love.”
She grunted again, and her hips slid further into the truck. Tim sat, quite content to watch as she strained, and strained and strained, until finally, her hips passed through the tight squeeze, and she dropped with a squeak, face planting into the driver’s seat. Her other shoe was lost, taking its place next to Tim’s knee.
The distinct sound of the window locks being pushed down sounded.
Silence ensued.
Tim swallowed, then dared to say, “So if I say I’m sorry”-
“Don’t,” Stephanie snapped as she corrected herself, “try to play nice with me Drake.”
Right. Last name anger. Not easily abated without a source of food nearby.
Tim coughed, then picked up her shoes, joining her inside the truck after slipping off the roof. She snatched the shoes back, slipping them on with a grumble. Her face was red with the exertion.
She turned the keys, flooding the engine in an attempt to start the car. It puttered, and made an odd noise. The couple stared at the dials on the dashboard, and Tim became as red as his girlfriend, albeit for a rather different reason.
Weakly, he began with, “I love you so much -”
Her resulting screech would have shattered glass had she not pressed her hands to her face the moment the rage took her.
Hmm, mused Tim. Perhaps food wouldn’t cut it today.