Whispers in the Rearview

by Steven Sandage

The metallic smell of his Mickey’s tall can beer breath grabbed her nostrils' attention and sent confirmation that she needed to get out of the car as soon as possible. If she had known he was drunk then she wouldn't have called him; but toxic breakups are hard to process when there has been no closure and you're still awake at 4 am on a Saturday. 

She had to wait until the rural street they were on cleared out onto a paved two-lane residential road with stop lights for a chance to try and escape. She made peace with the reality of having to walk back to her friend Maria’s house alone and in the dark. She’d have to apologize profusely for the early morning disturbance that would wake up the dogs and, by extension, everyone else in the house. She’d have to apologize for the breaking of her promise to Maria to spend the night with people that cared about her and avoid all of his attempts to see her. She'd once again have to feel the weight of Maria’s sadness at what she was putting herself through. She'd have to take to heart what Maria kept telling her, the people around you get hurt too. 

As the car approached the first red light on the paved street she attempted to unbuckle and open the door. The sensor shrieked as the seat belt disengaged, alerting him to her desperate bid for freedom. He aggressively stomped on the gas pedal, the jolt unsettling her grip on the handle as the car hurtled towards an unsettling pace. 

“No, not this time! You always try to run away when I’m upset about something,” he bellowed, relentlessly accelerating. The speedometer surged, the residential street's parked cars morphing into blurry streaks.

As a set of headlights in the opposite lane began approaching them, he used the opportunity to torture her.  He loved torturing her and seeing her face painted with worry. He started to intentionally swerve so far in and out of his lane that he was almost hitting the cars parked on the opposite side of the street. 

She screamed “Let me out of the fucking car!” as she balled up her fists and threw them in frustration, connecting with his right arm a few times. 

Her panic intensified as the glaring headlights approached rapidly, illuminating the inside of the speeding vehicle with a sickly white glow. Her fear and frustration coalesced from the night and countless tumultuous ones prior. In a surge of adrenaline, she threw the hardest seated right hook of her life and connected flush with his front teeth. One tooth dislodged, another shattered, and two more cracked, transforming his mouth into a grotesque tableau of calcium and iron. 

Though dulled by his intoxicated state, the impact rattled him, prompting a sudden brake in the middle of the street. As he gazed in the rearview mirror, attempting to articulate the phrase “You knocked my teeth out you asshole, what the fuck?!” she bolted from the car, racing back across the street. 

In the middle of his denigrating tirade, she glanced back just as the impending collision with the oncoming car cut him off in the middle of his sentence. 

Left standing on the pavement, breathless and shaken, the metallic scent of blood and mangled car frames hung in the air, her escape sealed with morbid satisfaction.

The sirens would be approaching soon, as the words echoed in her mind: 

The people around you get hurt too.