...
...
"My dad doesn't like me."
You stop and glance at Audrey. Your next words, you pick out very slowly.
"He doesn't?"
"No."
You shrug.
"You say he hates you, but he gives you his car? You have any idea what that white, 1970 Challenger means to him? I mean your dad's just like that vet from Vanishing Point, from everything you said about him. You know what I think? Maybe he's just apathetic, but I think he still cares."
Audrey still looks saddened. She furrows her eyebrows, looking away from you. She shrugs.
There was nothing to say about it.
Audrey keeps to herself, but this was one of those times where for even just a little, you see through the cracks of her icy surface.
Audrey does not bother to elaborate on it. She simply lights another Marb Light to her lips and puffs another smoke.
After a while, you ask.
"Hey Audrey. Why do you smoke so much anyways?"
You expect another half-assed answer from her, another "because why the fuck not!" or something along those lines.
But she turns to you with an almost affectionate kind of look that for some reason, surprises you.
"What's the matter with it?" Audrey asks, then laughs in an ugly kind of way. "Hey, I gotta smoke. I need this shit to fill the potholes in my soul, dude."
"You are eventually going to get sick from all of it, you do know that."
"Hey. I'll smoke, I'll get the tumours, and I'll die. Deal? Deal. Thank you, America," Audrey mutters sarcastically.
After a while she clears her throat.
"Jus' something my daddy used to say," she says quietly.
.
.
.
