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The bright light from the cell phone illuminated her face. She blinked her tired bloodshot eyes as she clicked 'Set Location' and tapped through the rest of commands. A minute later she had finished. There was nothing more to do but she set her phone back down and wait.
She heard the car approach and slowly come to a stop. The door opened and a curious voice floated in the air.
“Excuse me, miss, are you alright? Do you need assistance?”
Karen Page, who was currently lying in the fetal position in the middle of street, in front of her totaled car, lifted her cheek off the cement and brushed away the loose dirt and gravel sticking to the right side of her face. “Are you my uber?” she asked.
“Uh, yes, miss that I am.”
“Great,” she replied hoarsely, wiping the tears from her face. “I need your help getting up, it hurts to use my right hand.”
“My pleasure,” the uber driver assured as he helped her up, “it looks like you survived quite an accident.”
“Accident,” Karen let out a bitter laugh, “God, I hate men.”
“Hmmm.” nodded the uber driver thoughtfully as he opened the back car door for her. “If it makes you feel any better miss, I too, hate many men. There is especially one man in particular.”
Karen smirked and said “Ditto,” before plopping herself across the backseat and repositioning herself into a curled up ball. Letting her cheek rest against soft fabric, it was a nice change from the cold ground. She glanced up to the seat in front of her and noted the driver's name.
“Dopinder?”
“Yes, miss?” called the driver as he settled into his front seat and started the car up.
“I'm going stay lying down on these seats but, I'd like to know, sir, for my own piece of mind, how many people have had sex back here? Because there is a suspicious stain very near my forehead.”
The driver looked visually offended. “None, miss! I don't allow that kind of behavior in my taxi.”
“Taxi,” mumbled Karen. “Yeah, I thought your car looked like a cab from the outside. Didn't I call an uber?”
Dopinder gave a guilty and sheepish grin. “Well, at night, sometimes I drive as an uber. People are usually too drunk to notice and this way I don't loose out on business. I hope you don't feel swindled miss. But I'm trying to save up for my marriage. That's her. My Gita,” he beamed and lifted up a photo for Karen to see, “we had a rough patch but I'm now certain that ever-lasting happiness will be ours.”
"I hate my life," replied Karen, looking at the joy on Dopinder's face.
He chuckled awkwardly before speaking again, “Now if you will be so kind, to buckle your seatbelt, and we can be on our way!”
“No,” moaned Karen. “I'm not moving until I get home. I'm lying down.”
“Can you, at least just, buckle it around it your waist miss--”
“Fine!” she whined, pulling the buckle from her leg to waist.
Dopinder, realizing this was as good as he was going to get from her, nodded.
Just then, there was a banging noise from the trunk.
Karen lifted her head up from the seat and looked around, “Did you hear that?”
“Ahahahha,” laughed Dopinder, “miss, you must be hearing things, you are so tired.”
“Mmmm,” she murmured.
Dopinder quickly chosen an upbeat song and turned up the music's volume, as casually as he could, while muttering, “Damn you Bandhu,” under his breath.
An uptempo Hindi song played and Karen found herself humming along.
“Mil gaye jo chora chori
Hui masti thodi thodi
Bas pyaar ka naam na lena
I hate love stories”
"I loved that song," Karen proclaimed when it had ended, "because I also hate love stories."
Dopinder's face fell and he looked at his passenger in his rear view mirror.
"Do you want to talk about it?" he asked kindly, "You know, Taxi Cab Confessionals?"
Karen snorted at the suggestion, before beginning to monologue on how Frank Castle was ruining her life in every possible way. Starting with making her sympathize with this loss and his quest for answers. How he had foraged a friendship with her. The way he came to ask for her opinion and teased her to make her smile.
"And then, he said 'I'm already dead' and shut the damn door in my face."
"Oh no, he did not!" exclaimed Dopinder.
"I know. Can you believe it?"
"Maybe he simply wished to spare you from witnessing another bloody murder?" he suggested optimistically.
"Yeah, right," Karen scoffed, "you know what kills me though? Did he even check on me after we crashed? Because my door wasn't open and my seatbelt - well I can't remember if I unlocked it or if it was already unlocked - but did he just go straight for the Blacksmith and ignore me?" Karen's vulnerabilities were brought to the surface again, "Tell me the truth, do you think he even cares about me not being in his life?"
"Well, if he didn't check on you, he's a scoundrel," he assured her. "I think he cares very much, miss. Sometimes people make silly mistakes, like when your own blood becomes your romantic rival and tries to destroy all happiness in your life," he let out a cough, "He'll realize the error he made and come looking for your forgiveness. How could he not want you in his life? You lied to the police for him and he jumped in front of bullets for you. True love always wins out in the end!"
“Dopinder,” began Karen, “in that last 48 hours I've been shot at, seen some two dozen men murdered, thought someone important to me died, realized that someone was alive, realized that someone wants to be dead to me, been in a car crash, almost got shot again, and have had only 3 hours of sleep. So, hey, take what I'm about to say with a grain of salt. But, you're an honest and beautiful person.”
“Thank you,” blushed Dopinder, "all compliments always make me feel so shy!"
"Wait," said a groggy Karen, "did you say something about love?" She let out a breathless laugh, "I don't love Frank Castle. I'm disappointed and hurt by his, his actions! Because, I thought we were, I dunno, friends..." Her voice trailed off.
"You know, Karen," he replied, "this sounds very much like the conversation you and Frank had in the diner over your ex? It is quite possible you are afraid to let yourself love."
"What?" retorted Karen.
Within twenty-five minutes Karen had arrived in front of her apartment.
“Are you positive I can't drive you the hospital? You're still bleeding from your forehead and clutching your arm.”
“Sweet of you but, I just need sleep.”
“Alright Karen, if you need a lift in the future, do give me a call!”
Karen nodded as she closed the car door shut. As the taxi drove away she could have sworn she heard another thud coming from the trunk. She clearly was delusional and in need of sleep.
She climbed her stairs slowly and took out her phone.
“Siri, remind me that tomorrow I have to call the insurance about a claim for my car.”
“Okay, I'll remind you.”
“Remind me to look up symptoms of shock and sleep deprivation tomorrow.”
“Okay, I'll remind you.”
“Set reminder to never speak to Frank Castle again.”
“Okay, calling Frank Castle.”
“No!” screamed Karen, quickly hitting the decline button. “Fuck you, Siri!” Karen yelled, "Jesus Christ! Can I get a break!", throwing her phone down her hallway. It suddenly dawned on Karen that she was screaming and throwing things in the middle of the night. She whispered an apology to her neighbors as she reached down to pick up her phone and made her way to her front door.
Once she was inside the safety of her apartment, she threw the phone dramatically onto her couch, “You know what you did! Don't even pretend to be innocent, Siri."
She continued her tirade as she grabbed a frozen bag of peas from the freezer and held it up against to her sore arm. "I'm not even going to charge you tonight. So, go ahead and die and see if I care!”
Sleep deprived Karen, again brought to tears, slumped over her bed, kicked off her muddy heels, and didn't bother to pull any blankets over herself.
The last words out of her mouth before she fell asleep were sung into her pillow, “Go ahead and be dead. See if I care... I hate love stories.”