bury me — r&v / in every universe
Aug 13, 2024 13:57:28 GMT -5
Post by lucius branwen / 10 — fox on Aug 13, 2024 13:57:28 GMT -5
They end up sitting through another ballad, the hit from The Cars, summer of 1984, one of the more divisive music videos between them, Roe thought it was bad, Mat thought it was inspired. They sat on the couch, reading a book through the argument, thinking nothing. Don't ask them.
It's one more slow song for the hour, and the three of them are perched around the half of the table that's facing the dance floor. The girls are still in the bathroom.
Prom's only partway over at this point. Another hour thirty to go. A little absently, they lean on an elbow, watching the disco ball spin, tapping against the tabletop in some kind of mild restlessness.
They drop out of the lean when a chair suddenly screeches back like a squeak on vinyl, right through the chorus, fault in the grooves. Roe's up and pacing, picking at the bright green shade of Mateo's suit, and they have to scowl, have to turn to Mat.
It's not bad, they're trying to say. It's a little bad. Roe scoffs loud enough to be heard over the music.
He pauses mid-sentence on the complaint, stares out in the crowd, drags a hand down his face. That's what makes them all look in the same direction. It turns out the girls are back, except there's the set of Antigone's jaw, the way she's marching over furiously. It's like the garage, and the lunch table, and the double date again. Mat makes eye contact with them.
The escalation is so abrupt, they're still sitting when the screaming starts. Kool & The Gang kicks in, Mateo tries his best to get Roe to back down.
It's almost surreal, the argument's punctuated by the little yahoo's. At some point, they stand up, at some point Arcadia comes around and grips their arm, sighing out a long breath.
They should break up, is what she said last summer. How many times have they watched them fight and make up. Over a year later, Antigone's screaming.
Then, she picks up the glass, throws the punch.
Little rivers of juice drip on the floor off Roe. It's suddenly just the music, just her voice, just her saying his mom, saying he's going to die alone just like that. And then they're very suddenly wrenching out of Arcadia's grip, snapping at Antigone.
"Shut up. What is wrong with you, shut up–"
Something thumping through them, dizzying rush as the disco lights keep spinning. They can feel it flare in their throat, pulse to their stomach a second later. Arcadia's just staring, hovering between them. They don't want to look at her.
Antigone rips off the corsage, tilted laugh, throws it at their feet. Pushes towards the opposite direction. Feels like they can't get enough air, the room sways as they move. They step over the ribbon of wilting flowers, heading towards the exit.
The drift of the music quiets as they get further from the gym, their ears are still ringing. There's people at the makeshift photo booth, lingering couples in the hall.
Roe's not in the bathrooms, he's not in the parking lot. Tremor in their chest when they finally sit down in the car, sucking in a deep breath, steadily turning the key into the ignition. The engine hums up their arms from the steering wheel, bones aching, and they drive beyond the few blocks around the school where the sidewalk ends around the bend.
No one walks in the midwest. Not built for that. Drive American. Support the automotive industry, you'll probably get run over if you don't have a vehicle.
They make it about five minutes down the darkening road before they spot him hiking towards the highway.
Roe's lit in the glare of their headlights. The streets are emptier now, three hours past the peak evening rush. They ease the break until they're right beside him, rolling down the window, leaning towards the passenger side. The air is cool, cold night for May.
Get in the car.
Well, he doesn't.
Flips them off and ignores them.
Funny, they could get out there and grab him by the lapels, the way that they're clenching the wheel. Funny that no one else can really frustrate them the same way, that no one else probably ever will. And yet, still, they stare at him flatly, lean on the horn, one long blaring note, until he finally looks at them.
"Get in."
He won't.
Good. Great. Fine, they can drive like this until he gets home. They can keep pace, no problem. They can fight through the window, if he wants to. A green pickup swerves around by them, honking their horn, but they just keep inching forwards on the road, hitting the hazard lights on the dash.
Won't leave this time, can't get them to. They end up stubbornly following him along the shoulder for about a damn mile before he relents. Roe finally swivels around to rip open the passenger door, uttering a string of curses that they ignore. He climbs in, and they reach upwards for the dome light.
It's still dim. They shift in the seat, move across the console to hold Roe's face still between their hands, staring at the enormity of his pupils. There's the pink stain of punch at the collar, that weird raspberry Listerine smell that makes them wrinkle their nose. Could barely catch what Antigone was saying over the music, halfway through a slow dance with Arcadia, but now they know.
Christ. "You're so stupid."
They drop their hands, leaning back, breathing out a short sigh that turns into a groan. The indigo emptiness stretches before them, staring out of the windshield at the suburban nothing. The houses turn into fields, the fields into the dark.
In the hanging stillness, it begins to occur to them that they took the van. The ride. Probably have to go back at the end of the night and get everyone. Mat. Arcadia. Antigone.
Arcadia can drive. They'll walk home.
They pull a hand through their hair, then on their seatbelt again.
"How long does it last." A very flat tone, they feel so very exhausted now.
Can't take him back to Mat's. Don't want to leave him alone either. The only good thing is it's not too late in the night, they'll just have to drive around until they can drop him off without Laurel zeroing in on how suspiciously early they're suddenly back. Another sigh, turn off the hazard lights, turn off the dome light. They glance over, glaring, gripping the wheel until their hands hurt. "Put on your seatbelt."
Silence from them. The fields and trees look purple in the shadows as they drive. They keep the window a quarter down to let the wind in, cold on their cheeks, cold in their lungs. It's another ten minutes before they finally say something.
"Are you hungry."