S/D – If I owned DBZ, Vegeta would have his tail and beat the living daylights out of Goku just for shits and giggles.
Prey
Chapter Three
Uninvited
The rain was so heavy it almost drowned out my radio.
I turned it up.
I could still hear the drum of the rain. It was driving me crazy.
Incomplete thoughts ran freight lines in my skull, their air horns ricocheting on the bone in my head painfully.
I tried to pay attention to my driving. Tried to be careful. I knew I was driving too fast. I knew it was raining hard. I knew my car had bad tires. I knew... I knew...
But all that seemed inconsequential. I had to get home and get there now.
So intent upon my destination, I didn't see the following vehicle. It had most likely started tailing me after I left work. Maybe they waited for me in the parking lot. Maybe they just picked a random car. I don't know. But there they were, and I didn't notice.
I consider myself a pretty paranoid person. If I think someone's following me, I make a detour. I'll double back, take unnecessary turns, speed, or even drive very, very slowly. I've tricked more than one car on the tail. You know the one; you pull into a driveway, turn off the headlights and duck. Yeah, that worked all too well. Or sometimes just drive in a big circle and wait for them to give up. Once I ducked into a shopping center and hid. I watched the driver and passenger get out and follow my trail into the store. That's when I leapt out of hiding and drove off like a bat outta Hell. Sometimes I have a pretty good idea what they want from me. And sometimes I don't.
I didn't get the chance to determine that this follower was unwanted.
Track one started playing over again for the third time that day.
I wanted a different song on the radio. I fumbled for a different disk, trying to remember what songs were on what of my unlabeled collection. I turned on the overhead light and pawed through them haphazardly. I remember grinning to myself and shouting, "Found it!" when I saw the headlights coming for me. Yeah, so fucking stupid.
I don't know if it was me that veered into oncoming traffic. Hell, he could have been a drunk and driving in the far right lane on the wrong side of the road. I don't know. It might have been me. I wasn't paying enough attention. But I'm usually pretty good about staying in the lines at all times, even when I'm distracted. I can't remember a time when I drifted onto the wrong side before. But, I digress. There is some movement I am neglecting.
I can't exactly recall what it was that went through my head. I don't think I could have remembered had I taken a pen and paper an instant afterward and tried to write it all down. Needless to say, my heart jumped into my throat and I would have had to get the car's interior detailed had I not relieved myself at work. I grabbed the steering wheel and yanked it to one direction. There was a squealing of tires and a slosh of water.
I sat there, listening to track one again, my disk of choice forgotten, discarded somewhere in the belly of my car. The wipers groaned and pushed away the mud that had climbed aboard and sheeted across the windshield. The engine was still running on the side of the road. I had stomped down on the clutch and brake. Putting the car in neutral I attempted to gather the courage to look behind me. I imagined the twisted steel cages housing half- mutilated bodies and babies screaming for their mothers who had just greeted their god.
I turned the music off, silencing the interior buzz. The hum of the engine and the drum of rain on the panels echoed almost threateningly. The light above seemed to flicker. They were reminders that I was still there. I still hadn't faced the consequences. I still hadn't checked to see if I had killed anyone. That's how it felt. I was sure someone was dead and that it was my fault. My stomach tied itself into knots of dread and fear. I'd rather of jumped out of a plane again than face this.
I wasn't consciously moving my body - it had a will of its own. My mind was telling me, Hey, just sit tight a little longer. If they don't drive off, we know there's a problem. You don't have to go anywhere. They're just gonna drive off soon. But there I was, feet planted in the mud, the wet goo sinking into my socks and the soles of my shoes. The rain pelted down my hair and soaked my shirt to my shoulders in seconds. I was striding toward the car on the other side of the street.
Water dripped off my chin and ears, and I blinked furiously to keep my vision clear of the intrusive liquid. It was warm, the weather here always was, no matter the time of day or night, but I was chilled to the bone. I never would have thought in a million years that I would have found myself in this position: my hands wiping at the passenger window of another car to clear the gathering water, mud caked to my ankles and so wet, I might as well of jumped into a pool.
There wasn't anyone in the car. Surprise wouldn't be enough of a word to convey the feeling that swept over me in that instant. What was this? Some kamikaze car driven by remote? Designed to run others off the road in fear of their lives? Who the fuck does that? I'm so gonna kick some ass when I track them down!
I was thinking of what weapons I would use against my would-be victim when I noticed the driver side door was open. I stepped around the car half expecting to see an alien (my imagination is so wacky) or some broken body, lying mangled in the mud. I found, however, a rather obese woman sprawled out face down in the water. She wasn't breathing.
Sure, part of me thought, Hey, what the Hell. If she chokes and dies, that's not my fault. She was probably eating some ham sandwich and got it lodged down her fat neck. Who the Hell thinks of these things?! Come on, help the woman! Kneeling down into the mud I struggled to roll the small whale onto her back. I still had time to check my sarcastic remark of 'When I weigh this much, someone kill me.' Sheesh.
I was suddenly glad I took those lifeguarding classes last summer as the ABCs of CPR came flooding back to me. I checked the woman's mouth and sure enough, I found a bit of half chewed cornbread on her tongue. Turning her head to the side, I applied my hands to her diaphragm (where I thought it was...) and pushed hard. Her body jerked and splashed in the pool beneath her. Poor Willy's mom! Someone shoot me for thinking that. The cornbread came out with a rush of air. I turned expectantly, thinking this was done and I'd saved her life. But the woman was still not moving.
Christ. I remember saying just that, "Christ." I nudged myself closer and began giving her mouth to mouth, thankful the rain had washed away the muddy water from her swollen face. I checked her pulse. I couldn't tell if it was mine or hers I was feeling. I was sure that my own blood pressure would have rocketed through the roof. I was amazed it wasn't drumming in my ears at that very moment. Maybe I couldn't hear it for the rain pummeling everything around me. Either way, it couldn't be determined whose pulse it was I was feeling. Sure, I did it by the book, pointer and middle finger pressed to the jugular, but damnit, I couldn't get a clear pulse out. She was either a humming bird trapped in an orca's body, or my own heart was beating like Hell.
The CPR began. It went roughly. I couldn't tell where her sternum was. There was a sick sound of something inside her giving way. I was sure I broke a few ribs. Must be doing something right.
Soon the woman was sputtering and coughing. Plunging my hand into my server's apron, I fished out my cell phone and called the paramedics, giving our approximate location. An hour had passed since I left work. I sat back on the edge of the blacktop, ignoring the fact my heels were buried in mud. She was writhing in the dirt and water, moaning about something. I didn't care. I wasn't about to haul her off the ground 'cause she didn't wanna get wet. Fuck that. I just saved her life. She can wallow in the mud like the porcine beast she resembled.
I've never smoked in my life, and right now, I wanted a cigarette.
I sat there, in the pouring rain, feeling rather put out that this woman had decided to choke on her dinner and run me off the road. At this point in time, I feel it's her fault. It very well may have been my screwed up driving that scared her enough to inhale rather than chew her bread, but I wasn't about to admit fault for the woman who gave Hoover a bad name. I weighed my options: I could sit there and wait for the ambulance and go through the terrible two hours worth of questions... or just leave. The woman was in the clear. Unless, by some miracle, was able to worm her way back onto her stomach and continue to breathe water. I looked again at her. Not likely.
Yeah. I should've started smoking right then and there so I could have thrown my butt right on that woman's third chin. I begrudgingly spare your life. I was a fucking super-hero. I didn't need credit. Some crappy picture in some worthless paper, yeah, no thanks. I got to my feet and clapped my hands on my thighs, "Well, it's been real. Lay off the ham sandwiches."
I removed my shoes and socks, rolled my pants up and got back into my car without a worry in the world. Or in mild shock. Whatever you want to call it.
I still hadn't noticed the single headlight that had followed me even after the accident. Hell, no one stops and waits for their victim to save the life of some tub of lard and then continue to follow them in the middle of a rainstorm. Don't stalkers even have better things to do?
I live in a gated community. Yeah, whatever. The gate on the bottom exit is never closed. Something about fire codes. All I know is that it's stupid. That's all I ever bothered to call it: stupid. Why have one closed when the other's constantly wide open? I think my landlord's a bad planner, just to start. So the single headlight follows me in, trailing behind enough to make me think it's just a neighbor. So much for being paranoid.
I parked the car and climbed the stairs without bothering to shut the garage behind me. My shoes thumped to a muddy pile at the door, leaving it ajar. As I walked up the stairs, I dropped articles of clothing, uncaring about their dampness or location. I was intent on my shower and would not be swayed.
The hot water felt like Heaven. I stood beneath the stream till I couldn't feel the flesh on my back. It could have been as much as an hour before I stepped out of the shower, my mind melted into a complete blank as both exhaustion and weariness crumbled my usually indomitable energy.
Wrapping a towel loosely around my wet frame, I padded off to the kitchen to nab a bite to eat and check for messages. It was such a routine behavior I almost didn't notice the change in my living room.
He was sitting there, one leg draped over the other, his arms crossed over his broad chest. "Why'd you save her life?"
I was so ...so ...so something that my hands flew to my face.
Naturally, my towel dropped to the floor unceremoniously.
A/N: I have nothing of value to say. None of this is of value.
Prey
Chapter Three
Uninvited
The rain was so heavy it almost drowned out my radio.
I turned it up.
I could still hear the drum of the rain. It was driving me crazy.
Incomplete thoughts ran freight lines in my skull, their air horns ricocheting on the bone in my head painfully.
I tried to pay attention to my driving. Tried to be careful. I knew I was driving too fast. I knew it was raining hard. I knew my car had bad tires. I knew... I knew...
But all that seemed inconsequential. I had to get home and get there now.
So intent upon my destination, I didn't see the following vehicle. It had most likely started tailing me after I left work. Maybe they waited for me in the parking lot. Maybe they just picked a random car. I don't know. But there they were, and I didn't notice.
I consider myself a pretty paranoid person. If I think someone's following me, I make a detour. I'll double back, take unnecessary turns, speed, or even drive very, very slowly. I've tricked more than one car on the tail. You know the one; you pull into a driveway, turn off the headlights and duck. Yeah, that worked all too well. Or sometimes just drive in a big circle and wait for them to give up. Once I ducked into a shopping center and hid. I watched the driver and passenger get out and follow my trail into the store. That's when I leapt out of hiding and drove off like a bat outta Hell. Sometimes I have a pretty good idea what they want from me. And sometimes I don't.
I didn't get the chance to determine that this follower was unwanted.
Track one started playing over again for the third time that day.
I wanted a different song on the radio. I fumbled for a different disk, trying to remember what songs were on what of my unlabeled collection. I turned on the overhead light and pawed through them haphazardly. I remember grinning to myself and shouting, "Found it!" when I saw the headlights coming for me. Yeah, so fucking stupid.
I don't know if it was me that veered into oncoming traffic. Hell, he could have been a drunk and driving in the far right lane on the wrong side of the road. I don't know. It might have been me. I wasn't paying enough attention. But I'm usually pretty good about staying in the lines at all times, even when I'm distracted. I can't remember a time when I drifted onto the wrong side before. But, I digress. There is some movement I am neglecting.
I can't exactly recall what it was that went through my head. I don't think I could have remembered had I taken a pen and paper an instant afterward and tried to write it all down. Needless to say, my heart jumped into my throat and I would have had to get the car's interior detailed had I not relieved myself at work. I grabbed the steering wheel and yanked it to one direction. There was a squealing of tires and a slosh of water.
I sat there, listening to track one again, my disk of choice forgotten, discarded somewhere in the belly of my car. The wipers groaned and pushed away the mud that had climbed aboard and sheeted across the windshield. The engine was still running on the side of the road. I had stomped down on the clutch and brake. Putting the car in neutral I attempted to gather the courage to look behind me. I imagined the twisted steel cages housing half- mutilated bodies and babies screaming for their mothers who had just greeted their god.
I turned the music off, silencing the interior buzz. The hum of the engine and the drum of rain on the panels echoed almost threateningly. The light above seemed to flicker. They were reminders that I was still there. I still hadn't faced the consequences. I still hadn't checked to see if I had killed anyone. That's how it felt. I was sure someone was dead and that it was my fault. My stomach tied itself into knots of dread and fear. I'd rather of jumped out of a plane again than face this.
I wasn't consciously moving my body - it had a will of its own. My mind was telling me, Hey, just sit tight a little longer. If they don't drive off, we know there's a problem. You don't have to go anywhere. They're just gonna drive off soon. But there I was, feet planted in the mud, the wet goo sinking into my socks and the soles of my shoes. The rain pelted down my hair and soaked my shirt to my shoulders in seconds. I was striding toward the car on the other side of the street.
Water dripped off my chin and ears, and I blinked furiously to keep my vision clear of the intrusive liquid. It was warm, the weather here always was, no matter the time of day or night, but I was chilled to the bone. I never would have thought in a million years that I would have found myself in this position: my hands wiping at the passenger window of another car to clear the gathering water, mud caked to my ankles and so wet, I might as well of jumped into a pool.
There wasn't anyone in the car. Surprise wouldn't be enough of a word to convey the feeling that swept over me in that instant. What was this? Some kamikaze car driven by remote? Designed to run others off the road in fear of their lives? Who the fuck does that? I'm so gonna kick some ass when I track them down!
I was thinking of what weapons I would use against my would-be victim when I noticed the driver side door was open. I stepped around the car half expecting to see an alien (my imagination is so wacky) or some broken body, lying mangled in the mud. I found, however, a rather obese woman sprawled out face down in the water. She wasn't breathing.
Sure, part of me thought, Hey, what the Hell. If she chokes and dies, that's not my fault. She was probably eating some ham sandwich and got it lodged down her fat neck. Who the Hell thinks of these things?! Come on, help the woman! Kneeling down into the mud I struggled to roll the small whale onto her back. I still had time to check my sarcastic remark of 'When I weigh this much, someone kill me.' Sheesh.
I was suddenly glad I took those lifeguarding classes last summer as the ABCs of CPR came flooding back to me. I checked the woman's mouth and sure enough, I found a bit of half chewed cornbread on her tongue. Turning her head to the side, I applied my hands to her diaphragm (where I thought it was...) and pushed hard. Her body jerked and splashed in the pool beneath her. Poor Willy's mom! Someone shoot me for thinking that. The cornbread came out with a rush of air. I turned expectantly, thinking this was done and I'd saved her life. But the woman was still not moving.
Christ. I remember saying just that, "Christ." I nudged myself closer and began giving her mouth to mouth, thankful the rain had washed away the muddy water from her swollen face. I checked her pulse. I couldn't tell if it was mine or hers I was feeling. I was sure that my own blood pressure would have rocketed through the roof. I was amazed it wasn't drumming in my ears at that very moment. Maybe I couldn't hear it for the rain pummeling everything around me. Either way, it couldn't be determined whose pulse it was I was feeling. Sure, I did it by the book, pointer and middle finger pressed to the jugular, but damnit, I couldn't get a clear pulse out. She was either a humming bird trapped in an orca's body, or my own heart was beating like Hell.
The CPR began. It went roughly. I couldn't tell where her sternum was. There was a sick sound of something inside her giving way. I was sure I broke a few ribs. Must be doing something right.
Soon the woman was sputtering and coughing. Plunging my hand into my server's apron, I fished out my cell phone and called the paramedics, giving our approximate location. An hour had passed since I left work. I sat back on the edge of the blacktop, ignoring the fact my heels were buried in mud. She was writhing in the dirt and water, moaning about something. I didn't care. I wasn't about to haul her off the ground 'cause she didn't wanna get wet. Fuck that. I just saved her life. She can wallow in the mud like the porcine beast she resembled.
I've never smoked in my life, and right now, I wanted a cigarette.
I sat there, in the pouring rain, feeling rather put out that this woman had decided to choke on her dinner and run me off the road. At this point in time, I feel it's her fault. It very well may have been my screwed up driving that scared her enough to inhale rather than chew her bread, but I wasn't about to admit fault for the woman who gave Hoover a bad name. I weighed my options: I could sit there and wait for the ambulance and go through the terrible two hours worth of questions... or just leave. The woman was in the clear. Unless, by some miracle, was able to worm her way back onto her stomach and continue to breathe water. I looked again at her. Not likely.
Yeah. I should've started smoking right then and there so I could have thrown my butt right on that woman's third chin. I begrudgingly spare your life. I was a fucking super-hero. I didn't need credit. Some crappy picture in some worthless paper, yeah, no thanks. I got to my feet and clapped my hands on my thighs, "Well, it's been real. Lay off the ham sandwiches."
I removed my shoes and socks, rolled my pants up and got back into my car without a worry in the world. Or in mild shock. Whatever you want to call it.
I still hadn't noticed the single headlight that had followed me even after the accident. Hell, no one stops and waits for their victim to save the life of some tub of lard and then continue to follow them in the middle of a rainstorm. Don't stalkers even have better things to do?
I live in a gated community. Yeah, whatever. The gate on the bottom exit is never closed. Something about fire codes. All I know is that it's stupid. That's all I ever bothered to call it: stupid. Why have one closed when the other's constantly wide open? I think my landlord's a bad planner, just to start. So the single headlight follows me in, trailing behind enough to make me think it's just a neighbor. So much for being paranoid.
I parked the car and climbed the stairs without bothering to shut the garage behind me. My shoes thumped to a muddy pile at the door, leaving it ajar. As I walked up the stairs, I dropped articles of clothing, uncaring about their dampness or location. I was intent on my shower and would not be swayed.
The hot water felt like Heaven. I stood beneath the stream till I couldn't feel the flesh on my back. It could have been as much as an hour before I stepped out of the shower, my mind melted into a complete blank as both exhaustion and weariness crumbled my usually indomitable energy.
Wrapping a towel loosely around my wet frame, I padded off to the kitchen to nab a bite to eat and check for messages. It was such a routine behavior I almost didn't notice the change in my living room.
He was sitting there, one leg draped over the other, his arms crossed over his broad chest. "Why'd you save her life?"
I was so ...so ...so something that my hands flew to my face.
Naturally, my towel dropped to the floor unceremoniously.
A/N: I have nothing of value to say. None of this is of value.