Page 105 of SNOB

Mac’s hand comes to my lap as my head hits the backrest in the passenger seat of his car.

It’s been a while since I’ve been in this seat but the tension I used to feel isn't there. Comfort replaces horror, the trauma from that night so far away from everything else that it feels like a dream.

“No one else will ever touch you again,” he says, glancing at me from behind the wheel. “Understand?” His hand tightens around mine, a wash of warmth filling me.

Is it weird to say we left that place with a good memory, the red light swaying above us as he gave me his all?

“Do you think we deserved this?” I ask, my voice soft as Mac’s blazer engulfs me. “After what we did to Beau?”

“Is that why you shot me?” His words hit me as I sink into my seat, but his grip tightens. “If you think another bullet is enough for me to leave you alone, you don’t know me like you think you do, Butterfly.”

A box of fast food sits on the dashboard. Fries and a burger. I’ve only been able to eat a bite. And that bite made me want to hurl. It’s funny how your body rejects something you haven’t had in a while. Food. Love. But my body doesn’t reject him. Even when I wanted it to.

“We still don’t know each other,” I remind him. “At all.”

“You know that’s not true. I know you inside and out. I know every inch of that body because it’s mine,” he says. “I know how you’ll react when I call you a good girl. I know how you’ll react when you give in to my touches and demands. I know that I bring out a darkness inside you. One I always saw. That’s all I need to know.”

“You sound so sure.”

“I’ve never been more sure of anything else. You’re beautifully deadly, Ember. I was always going to succumb to it. And you were always going to succumb to me.”

My mind flashes back to years ago when I stood behind that door. “We wouldn’t be here if you didn’t shoot my uncle.”

“You gonna bolt on me if I say I’m happy I did?” A smirk tugs at my face and I hate that it does. But Mac catches it. “Didn’t think so.”

“We are so fucked up,” I groan, sinking into my seat.

He chuckles. “You need to be more self-aware, Butterfly. We’re all the way fucked up. That’s why we fit. That’s why you fit. With me.” This car feels like a puddle of warmth, a contrast to Picasso’s lair. “Understand?” When I nod, he smirks. “Good girl.” A burst of fire ignites within me, but it fades as quickly as it comes when my mind settles on one thing.

"He's gone," I say, my throat closing in before I finally let the tears swell in my eyes. "Uncle Jake.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“He’s so fucking stupid.” A cannon of emotions fill me, everything from the last week and a half finally crashing together. “Alcohol poisoning?” Tears fill my eyes, that tightness in my throat coming back. “I knew it would fucking kill him. I fucking knew it.” My sniffling nose is the only sound to fill the car, but Mac’s hand doesn’t leave my skin. “He left me.” I choke on my last words, my hand coming to my mouth.

"I got you now, Ember.” The warmth from his words and his grip on my hand spreads through me until I feel like I’m sitting on the sun. “That won’t change.” Wiping my tears, I look at him through blurry eyes. Comfortable and confident behind the wheel of his car. “I promise. And I’m just as stubborn as you are. I’m not going anywhere.”

His words make something release in my chest. I still feel the heavy pain from the loss of Uncle Jake, but with Mac, it’s bearable.

I squeeze back, settling into my seat as I let that wave of grief crash against my heart and settle within me. He doesn’t turn on the music, he doesn’t tease me. He just sits there, the two of us together as he brings us away from my nightmare.

For once, I don’t want this drive to end, my eyes closing as sleep chases me. But something familiar catches my eye from the window, telling me where we are.

Sitting up, I watch the scenery going by. “What are we doing in The Valley?” We pass our old home before I turn to him. “Mac?”

“You reminded me there’s something I need to show you.” It’s not long before we’re pulling next to another familiar space. The same space we met. It looks different, most of this side of The Valley does. Cleaned up? Yeah. Gentrified? For sure.

Modern buildings, condos, and fancy bars line the streets where weathered signs and faded facades once stood. If it wasn't for the street sign at the end, I wouldn't know where he stops.

Cara’s Thrift Shop.

Mac doesn’t say anything when he parks the car and gets out. But he waits for me to follow, lighting up a cigarette.

Once I’m out of the car, I stand in front of the place we once called home. It looks so different. Large windows replace weathered brick. A glass door and golden handles replace the creaky wooden one on flimsy hinges. I can only imagine what the inside looks like but I can't see it beyond the covered glass.

“The McKinsleys really did a number on this place, huh?” I say, my eyes darting around the new fixtures. Golden sconces sit on each side of the entrance, casting a glow on what was once broken concrete. “Mac, I really don’t want to be here right now. Not after?—”

“Come on,” he cuts me off, heading towards the door.

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