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Showing me things and feelings. Things that words never could.
The assurance of the rest of today panning out in our favor, as it has so far, is hard not to think about. And true to form, it isn’t long before Rocco’s keen eyes spot something ahead after about an hour’s drive once we head west on the nearest highway.
“I don’t fucking believe it,” he growls, spotting a figure standing with her legs firmly apart, in the middle of the road ahead.
“What are you doing?” I ask, suddenly feeling alarmed when Rocco leans over, shuffling in the glove compartment.
Clicking his tongue when he finds what he’s looking for.
I stifle a scream when I see it’s a gun. My glasses tumble from my face to the floor of the car.
“I don’t fucking believe it,” he mutters again, slowing our speed. He makes me promise I’ll stay in the car no matter what happens.
I try to protest, but there doesn’t seem to be enough time, and it’s about as short as I think Rocco could ever be with me, but only because this is serious.
“Promise!” he says in a harsh tone, making me feel like I’ve upset him somehow, but drawing closer to the female standing in the rain, it all makes sense.
Maria Portello.
She’s standing, soaking wet, on the highway in the middle of a storm. Her European sports car parked at an odd angle on the curve.
The rear hood lifted up in distress, but I’m assuming that’s the extent of her mechanical skills.
All of this might be unusual, but totally okay.
Except for the fact she’s pointing a bigger gun than Rocco’s at both of us.
Andtechnically, I’m supposed to be the kidnapped version of her.
She’s obviously not expecting to see us out here either, which for some reason, makes Rocco relax before he fully stops the car.
“I’ll be damned…I don’t fucking believe it,” is all he can say, checking his gun before moving to get out.
“What are you doing?” I hiss, gripping him by the arm, silently begging him to just keep driving instead.
But I know it’s useless. Once Rocco has his mind made up about something….
And looking at Maria Portello, I figure she looks different somehow.
And not just because she’s soaked through, looking like a zombie panda with her running makeup. No.
She looks like the girl I was earlier today.
The girl whose world was suddenly turned upside-down.
I think both Rocco and I can tell at a glance that she’s beyond upset. She’s broken down and is clearly stopping the first car she sees the best way she knows how.
It’s either the safest or most dangerous way I can think of to ask for a ride, but whatever she’s doing, it appears to be working.
Rocco lets the window down, but just an inch. I fish on the floor for my glasses but figure it can wait.
Not like we’re going anywhere just yet.
“Get out,” Maria sighs, a slight tremor of emotion in her normally bored voice.
“Don’t make me shoot you, just get out of the car, gimme the keys and fuck off,” she says, losing patience and cocking the gun that’s way too big for her to hold properly, and it slips from her grip long enough for Rocco to make his move.
He opens his driver’s side door, pushing Maria one way and the gleaming handgun in the other direction.
