Page 79 of Money Shot

I covered my head in my hands, realizing fully that my actions got me into the predicament I was in, and no matter what his reaction was, I could get through it one way or another.

An hour and a half later, and I had convinced myself that I fucked up and fucked up bad. As I sat in the silent car, I heard the unmistakable sound of his motorcycle coming down the street. A quick glance over my shoulder confirmed my suspicion, and I saw him coming up the street.

Breathe, Sienna, breathe…

His motorcycle slowed, he glanced to the side, and upon what appeared to be his recognition of my car in his driveway, he accelerated past the driveway and up the block.

Oh no you don’t.

I started the engine, shifted the car in reverse, and backed out of the driveway. As the car came to a stop in the street, he was a block away at the intersection at the end of the block.

Think you can outrun this motherfucker?

I shifted the car in drive and stomped the gas pedal to the floor.

Think again, Vince.

The car lunged forward, and the tires began to spin. As the smoke bellowed out from the rear fenders and the car continued to race forward at a very rapid pace, Vince pulled away from the stop sign and crossed through the intersection.

I released the gas pedal, frustrated that he hadn’t waited on me, and slowed down for the stop sign. Upon seeing no cars coming from either direction, I opted to stomp the gas pedal again and run through the intersection without stopping. Within a few seconds, I had caught up with Vince and was following close behind him.

After a slow-paced cat and mouse game that included covering half of the city and consuming no less than another hour of time, it appeared Vince was riding back toward his house. Fifteen minutes later, and I followed him into the driveway and parked the car.

He parked the bike in the middle of the drive, shut it off, and sat on it staring at the garage. Upon realizing he had no intention of walking up to the car and talking to me, not only did I realize that he was angrier than I hoped he would be, but I knew that I was going to have to get out and talk to him about what had happened.

So much for having the comfort of my music and my car.

I pushed the car door open, cleared my throat, and walked alongside his motorcycle. “So, I was doing book reviews and I guess…”

“Save it,” he said flatly.

Still staring at the garage, he held his gaze for a moment. As his eyes shifted down toward the gas tank, he spoke again, and as he did, he closed his eyes.

“Just go,” he said.

Oh shit. He’s really mad.

“Do you want to come over later? Or maybe I could bring some pizza over here, and we could…”

He turned his head to the side and glanced upward. “No, Sienna, I don’t want to come over. You broke a promise. You left me sitting at my mother’s house like a god damned fool, and I had no idea…”

“Wait, I’m sorry, I just fell asleep…”

He raised his left hand in the air and held it between us. “Like I said, save it. I can’t do this.”

“Do what?”

He pointed his finger at me, and then wagged it back and forth between us. “This. You and me. It’s over.”

A lump rose in my throat and I felt hot all over. My throat constricted and I fought to breathe. This couldn’t be happening. As I fought for each choppy breath I was able to eventually take, I was sure he didn’t mean what I felt like he meant.

“Wait. Over? What?” the words came out as if someone else had asked them.

He reached for the handlebars, started the motorcycle, and shook his head.

“Yeah, over. Don’t call, don’t come over, don’t write, don’t fuck with me. You broke a fucking promise, Sienna. I can’t do this again,” he said.

My eyes welled with tears, and as much as I wanted to say, to scream, to grab him, to apologize, to hug him, or just stand and talk, I was paralyzed.

He released the clutch, slowly pulled forward, and turned around in the yard. As I heard the sound of his motorcycle’s exhaust fade down the block, I realized he was gone. I stood in the driveway staring down at my feet and crying, incapable of doing anything else. It seemed like a terrible dream. As I cried and shook from the heartfelt pain, I prayed for answers. Answers never came because I believe there weren’t any; but eventually, through the many tears, it began to make sense.

In Vince’s mind, I was no different than Natalie. To him, the circumstances didn’t matter. The depth or the latitude of the broken promise, as far as he was concerned, was irrelevant. I had unknowingly done the unthinkable. I had broken a promise.

And I had done so to the one man who would probably never be able to forgive me.