The Unsecret Dialogue Chronicles: Grand Theft Auto. Part Five


Read Part Four Here

S scanned Red as he reversed his tow truck up to hook up the Mini. S had a pang of ‘this is a bad idea’ spike into her chest, and looked over at J, soaking in the magnitude of her colossal fuck up. It had become a trend. The impulse control issues, and the close call situations that S kept dragging J into. J’s undying loyalty, never wavering, now filled S with guilt.

S:  J?

J looked at S with a stern and anxious face. S noted her clenched jaw, and her eyes were filled with anxiety. J seldom looked this frayed, and S had to keep from unraveling herself when she realised that the root of all the fear in J’s face, was a direct result of her own idiocy and determination to do what she wanted, how and when she wanted. No thought for consequences. J didn’t answer S, while she grabbed a hold of the hoist to help Red get the car hooked up.

S:  J?

Red, through all of his thick skinned thug like demeanor, picked up on the remorse in S’s voice. He put his hand on J’s shoulder and gave her his weak equivalent of a smile, and a nod of the head.

Red:  Girls. You want this problem solved, you are in for a long night. Now let’s move.

J:  S,  this is the last time….

S: I know. I am sorry.

J: Heard that before…

S: I know….  fuck. I am really sorry.

Red the Undead started his truck, and it gurgled and grumbled. J climbed up onto the old worn leather seats, sponge bulging out of torn seams. She looked at S, and closed the door. J wound the window down and looked hard at S.

J:  You follow in my car. Try not to steal anything before we get there.

S:  It’s around the corner…    Oh. Yeah..   I wont. J..  I’m sorry..

J:  Prove it.

S opened her mouth to speak but chose not to. J was right. When was enough enough? How many times could S actually get away with dragging J through her adrenalin filled hedonistic adventures with out it taking it’s toll on J.

S climbed into the car and started the engine. The bobble head Michael Jackson stuck to the dash that S had lifted from a curio store a few days earlier nodded it’s head, as if in agreement with S’s feelings of guilt. S pulled the head off the bobble toy and threw it out of the car window.

S:  Shut the fuck up.

Smoke lit, head lights on, S pulled out behind the truck. Through the back windows of the pick up S could see how still and silent J was. They stopped at traffic lights one block away from the chop shop and a cop car pulled up next to the truck in the next lane. S instinctively grabbed the car door handle to get out to stand between any harm and J. Red didn’t move a muscle, and J didn’t either. When the lights went green, Red pulled off slowly, and the cop car disappeared up the road.

S’s phone beeped. It was a text, from J.

Message: Go home. I will stay with Mr. Undead.  Turn left at the second set of traffic lights ahead. Go the long way home. I will see you in the morning.

S dialed J. She cancelled the call, and almost immediately another text message came through: NOW IS NOT A GOOD TIME TO FUCKING ARGUE. GO THE FUCK HOME.

S took a deep breath and slammed her hands on the wheel. The lights changed again and S sat, for a long while before going home.

Still sitting in the car, in the front of J’s house, S sent a message back:

Message:  You know those epiphany moments that happen when the line has already been crossed? I am sorry… 

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