Love Me Broken

 
 
 
 

Table of Contents
 

The night is especially black. I lean over the steering wheel, trying to peer past the swishing windshield wipers that can’t seem to keep up with the rain. The outline of a row of buildings appears. The tires squeal as I turn into the parking lot, slipping on the pavement, and I overcorrect with both hands.

“Damn you, Conner. Why did you have to get drunk
tonight
?”

I get back in control of the car and pull over to the side of the lot, not bothering to turn off the engine. The Pacific Ocean is in the distance, but I can’t make out the waves through the rain.

I don’t see my brother, and I start to panic at the idea of going outside to look for him. Not that I’m afraid of the rain—I live in Oregon, I’m used to the rain—but I was in such a rush after Conner called that I didn’t bother to change out of my pajamas. I flip down the visor mirror and look at myself. My eyes look sleepy, my features look too soft without makeup, and my auburn hair looks lazy, tied up in a ponytail with strands sticking out. I look like a little girl woken up during a slumber party. Except at seventeen, it’s more embarrassing than cute.

I blush, imagining Conner’s friends seeing me like this. They already think of me as a dork, but the way I’m dressed—I’ll never be able to face them again.

Plus I didn’t bring an umbrella. I nod at this more logical excuse for staying in the car, then take out my phone to call my brother. I hear his phone ring, and I grow tense at the idea of the call going to voicemail. It rings again.

He picks up on the third ring.

“Hey, sis.” He sounds like he’s been laughing, and his words are slurred. I can hear the waves in the background.

“I’m here,” I say with no amusement. I lean forward and squint out the windshield.  “Outside some awful tourists’ shop, the Laughing something—I can’t make it out.”

He laughs as if I’ve made a joke. “I think I see you. You’ve got your lights on.” I hear the sound of the wind loud on his receiver. Then there’s a beep, and I realize he’s hung up.

I’m already pretty annoyed, and as I sit there waiting I happen to glance at the clock. It’s 2:14 a.m.

At 2:19, he pounds on the passenger side window and starts pulling at the door handle. My brother is eighteen, with short brown hair, an upturned nose, and an impish smirk. He’s also soaking wet, with rivulets of rain streaming down from his hair. I press the button to unlock the doors, and he climbs inside. There is a rush of cold, damp air, and then he’s dripping onto the leather seats.

This is our mom’s car. I didn’t exactly ask permission to borrow it.

“You’re soaked,” I complain.

My brother looks over at me with a grin, and I look at him, his wet hair illuminated by the overhead light. He’s wearing only a white t-shirt, no jacket. It’s practically transparent, it’s so drenched.

He giggles. “I went swimming in the rain.” His breath has the warm scent of beer in it. “You could have come too. Derrick was asking about you again.”

Derrick is one of his friends. I have absolutely nothing in common with Derrick, but I blush a little anyway.

“This isn’t a joke,” I say, trying to change the subject. “If Mom catches us—”

“Oh, lighten up.” He reaches over to pull at my ponytail. “Let down your hair a little.”

I swat his hand away. “Don’t touch me.” Then I reach down and shift the car into reverse.

“It wouldn’t kill you to have fun,” he pouts.

“Yeah? Buckle up.”

He gives a labored sigh and fumbles with his seatbelt. We turn onto the main road without talking. The wipers are on full speed, but the rain is getting heavier. I switch on my brights, and it’s like a forest has appeared out of nowhere on either side of us. We live in Oregon, land of poor weather and poorly lit roads. I can feel my heart beating faster as I think of the long drive home. I hate driving at night.

Suddenly, the tense silence is broken by the sound of a guitar screeching. Conner has switched on the radio.

“Turn that off! I need to focus.”

He scoffs, but he complies. A moment later he’s shuffling in his seat. “I’m
bored
,” he whines.

“I don’t care,” I snap. The road slants to the right, and I see headlights in the distance. I switch off my brights and hold onto the wheel as we pass each other, going in opposite directions down the two-lane freeway. There are no streetlights this far out in the woods on the I-26—nothing but curves and darkness.

I hate driving at night so much. I’m nervous enough during the day. I’ve only had my license for two months.

“You don’t have to be such a bitch,” Conner mutters, drawing my attention back to him.

I’m hurt, but I remind myself that he’s drunk. It’s not worth a fight. “Just try to sleep,” I say. “We’ll be home soon.”

I get up to speed on the road, and Conner looks at the beads of rain on the passenger window. Then he shakes his head. “It’s stuffy in here.” His hand shoots up to a button above our heads, and instantly the sunroof whirs open. The sound of the wind rushes past, and the icy air billows down into the car.

“Conner!” I scream. “Shut that! It’s freezing.”

Instead of complying, he unbuckles his seatbelt.

“What are you doing?” I try to watch him, but the road bends and I have to face forward. My heart is hammering. “Get back in your seat!”

He ignores me and shuffles to stand and prop himself out through the sunroof. We have to stop; this isn’t safe. I look to the side of the road, but there’s no room to pull over. “Shit,” I whisper, but the curse has more fear to it than anger. I don’t know what to do.

Conner whoops into the night. This strikes a nerve with me, and I want to smack him. Can’t he act his age for one night? I got up in the middle of the night to rescue him, and in return he’s freaking me out.

And the worst part is that I can hear my dad laughing off the whole night—if he were to find out about it. Conner can get away with anything.
I’d
probably be the one that got in trouble for sneaking out with the car.

But that doesn’t mean I have to put up with this. “Conner, get down
right now
.”

He either doesn’t hear me or doesn’t care.

I take one hand off the wheel, my body tensing, and tug on the leg of his wet jeans. He tries to kick me away and almost knocks the gearshift into park.

“Shit shit shit!” This is getting too dangerous. I barely notice as the road curves to the left ahead, and I have to use both hands on the wheel to keep us in our lane. As we head into the curve, Conner’s whole body slides in the opposite direction in the sunroof. “Conner!” I yell, but he’s laughing. He sounds so far away.