Oh shit

“What are you doing?”

The coldness of that question exaggerated some intensity, causing goosebumps all over my skin. I was certain it was a voice, but I was still not certain the question was directed at me.

Oh fuck.

It was at that moment that I remembered I had forgotten my pepper spray earlier at home today. God, this shouldn't be happening right now.

My brain was a haze and at this point, I was sure as hell going to pass out, giving whoever was behind me, which I bet was those street gamblers observing a way to two to snatch drunken ladies' purses or valuable items, the opportunity to carry out their ruse.

Perhaps not me.

I tried the fob harder this time, screaming inwardly at my bad luck and more at my doubling vision. I swear, this will be the last time I’m ever getting drunk.

I’ve never acted this way before. Just that, today was different. Well, different in the sense that I have just been diagnosed with cancer. The Stage IV Carcinoma. And my mother had little time left before I could save up enough funds to get her immediate treatment.

It seemed like I extended the weight of my frustration at the handle of my car, and when it still didn't bulge, I groaned, kicking the tire afterward.

But I immediately regretted it because the pain shot up singe every part of my veins.

Fuck!

“That’s not yours,”

I heard it again. The voice behind me is clearer this time. It was low, calm, and clipped with just enough wealth to sound annoyed and polite at the same time.

And I froze.

Then turned and stared at the man now standing just a few feet behind me. Black coat. Sharp features. Ink black hair. His strong cologne intoxicated me past the barrier of drunkenness and the kind of face that didn’t flinch at chaos, or drunk women trying to break into his car.

Then I looked at the car.

It wasn’t a Corolla.

It was a Bugatti Chiron.

Midnight black, sleek and obscene in a way that made my old car look like a junkyard relic. And I took a step back, suddenly aware of just how drunk I was… and how stupid.

“Oh,” I managed, blood draining from my face. “Shit.”

I was too embarrassed to the point that laughter escaped my throat, scratching the silk touch of my silver hair that ran across my fingers. It was supposed to seem like a fraction of chagrin, however, it appeared like the popular slang ‘Idgaf’.

Just-fucking-great.

He raised an eyebrow, almost amused. But he wasn't and I could tell. Maybe due to the scar on his left eye.

“If you’re planning to steal it,” he said, “at least wait until I’m not watching.”

Okay, that sounded cold.

I opened my mouth to apologize or maybe explain but the words got lost somewhere between my tequila-soaked brain and my pride.

The latter is gonna get me killed someday. I just knew it.

And then he smiled. Just a little. Like he knew something I didn’t. Like this night was about to get a lot more complicated.

Well, screw him. It was already a whole hella complicated.

Because I had cancer. And I needed money.

Alright, that’s it. This was my new mantra haunting me for eternity. Alex Warren needs to use that line for the upcoming album he’s about to release.

I was certain the world would mock a 20-year-old struggling girl with cancer. Just like there’s no cure for whatever-the-fuck I had been diagnosed with.

In my whole life, I never imagined that among the sicknesses in the world, I’d be stuck under the grip of cancer. Humanity’s cruelest monster.

And never visualized history repeating itself among the Hayes. Just like my mom ignored her symptoms for over 49 years, I ignored mine almost all my life.

When exactly did I have cancer? The doctor mentioned how vast it had spread, having advanced into the advanced stage. He said it was likely to develop at my young age, the age I was wondering the ways to get older quicker so I can save mama from the claws of Gabrielle.

Was it the times when I had fatigue? Chest pain? Sweaty palms? Gabrielle said it was the effect of stress. She said it was normal, and only if I stopped worrying too much about Mama, I would get better.

But I didn't. Every part of me worried extremely-beyond-extreme about mama. I wanted her to feel better and come home. But at the same time, I always hoped Mama would recognize me.

I stepped aside, battling with my betrayers, which are my legs, and searched for my car amidst the crowd of cars.

At that point, I was certain I could see my car in six different places.

And I sighed. This night is gonna be a long one.

I took another step forward, my face burning hotter than the tequila in my stomach. My real car, a battered Corolla with one hubcap missing and a cracked side mirror, was two rows over, parked crooked like I’d slid into the space sideways. Of course.

The quiet click of a key fob and its sharp ringtone whistled, unlocking the car and shattering the thick silence of the night. I knew it was the man whom I, allegedly tried breaking into his car, but I didn't turn.

The blazing music from the bar seeped into the outside world from the very world within those doors, revealing two figures actively making out.

Or was it my imagination- I almost staggered to the ground, my heels wobbling as I utilized the car beside me for support. My mind was hazy as fuck, and my vision worse.

But still, I caught them again. Yep. Making out in broad nightlight.

God, I was going to puke.

It was either the disgust of watching the people fantasize in their own world or the previous shots I had taken. Or even both.

It was on the verge of passing out after an eternity of searching for my car, when a familiar honk blazed through the thick air, the sharp illumination of the headlight causing my body to shrink and my face scrunched at its intensity.

Was that my car?

I was already halfway there when a pair of headlights flooded the lot, sweeping across the cars like a lighthouse beam. I lifted a hand to shield my eyes, squinting into the glare.

Then I saw another car. And another. But the same shape. Oh shit.

Am I about to get kidnapped while drunk? For the nth time, I thought about the pepper spray I left on my couch. I was not only drunk, I was vulnerable.

Easy for those night preys looking for ways to seize a vulnerable catch.

God, I was even exhausted of my thoughts.

I felt goosebumps on my skin. And it was at the moment I swore never to drink again.

The vehicle slowed, turning sharply into the lane, the tires whispering over wet pavement. I recognized the growl of an old Range Rover before I saw her, that familiar engine hum like an impatient dog.

The headlights hit me full on and I raised my arm higher, blinking fast.

The Range Rover came to a stop beside me. The engine idled for a beat, then cut and a door slammed. And there she was, my best friend in her ridiculous fur-lined coat, boots that clicked like threats, and hair that looked like she hadn’t run out of reasons to care about things yet.

The illumination suddenly dimmed off, and what followed next was a familiar voice.

“Olivia!” Thank goodness, Sophia.

Before I could stagger to the ground, she charged forward, maintaining my stance. But my knees felt so weak. And slime. “God, you look like shit.”

“Nice to see you too.”

I managed to say, putting my weight on her which she accepted. I wouldn't say gladly. It seemed like my shit had always been something she had to take care of without batting an eyelid.

“Your lipstick’s halfway to your chin. And your coat’s on inside out.”

I glanced down. She wasn’t wrong.

“Was it that bad tonight?” she asked, quieter now.

I didn’t answer. Just looked out over the lot, at the rain-slicked concrete and the distorted reflections of red taillights in puddles. The tequila had settled into a steady throb behind my eyes and the fire in my stomach had gone cold.

Sophia followed my gaze. “You weren’t answering your phone. I figured either you were dead or you’d crawled into a bottle again. But this is the first time I’ve ever seen you wasted.”

“Both might still be true.”

She gave a soft snort, but there was no humor in it. “Come on,” she said, nodding toward her car. “I’ll take you home.”

“I have my car.” Shit, I could swear I was seeing the clouds and stars before me.

“You can’t even find your car.”

I exhaled through my nose. She wasn’t wrong on that either. “Found it now.”

“Sure. And next, you’ll tell me you’re good to drive?”

I didn’t answer that one either.

Sophia reached out and took my keys, easy and practiced, like this wasn’t the first time. She pocketed them before I could even think to protest.

“This again?” I asked. “You’re going to babysit me all night?”

“No,” she said. “Just long enough to make sure you don’t end up wrapped around a telephone pole.”

There wasn’t a sharp edge to her voice, not like there could’ve been. Just exhaustion, and worry wore thin.

She tilted her head toward her car. “Get in.”

I hesitated as the weight of the night pressed down harder. Or maybe that was just the weight of me, the version of myself I couldn’t shake loose no matter how much I drank.

But then I nodded. Just once.

Sophia guided me and opened the passenger door and waited while I slid in. The seat was warm, soft leather wrapping around me like a sigh.

And I released a deep sigh.

She got in on her side and started the engine again. The heater kicked in, humming low and steady. For a moment, neither of us said anything.

Then she glanced over. “You good?”

I didn’t know what to say. Was I? Well, apart from my supposed diagnosis, something I couldn't even process before breaking it down to my best friend, my mother was having a very difficult time. And my boyfriend— ex-boyfriend— happened to break up with me when he found the report lying on my table.

Yep. No one wanted to live with someone who’s going to die anyway.

At the end, the question hung in the air between us. I just turned my head and watched the Bugatti disappear down the road like a ghost too rich to haunt anyone for long.

Sophia didn’t press because she never did. But something told me she was going to.

She drove in silence, one hand on the wheel, the other resting near the gear shift. Her nails were perfect, red like war paint, the type that matched her aesthetic.

Urgh, my head was a total mess. Before I realized, I was already falling asleep. However, the last thing I thought of was how bad my hangover is going to be tomorrow.

Fuck.

***