Joey drove a used and overly abused ‘09 3-series Beamer. The hubcaps had scratches as deep as face wrinkles of a lifetime smoker. He had various USB cords cluttering the center console due to the fact he upgraded his iPhone more than twice a year. The backseat and trunk were packed full of Amazon boxes (both opened and unopened). He already had a Spotify playlist on when Hannah found herself in the passenger seat; and yes, found herself. She had very little recollection of how she left the booth and restaurant except for a blurry reminiscence of Joey carrying her over his shoulder.
The drive was unsettling and made Hannah’s stomach turn in more ways than one. You would’ve thought Joey was a dispatcher with how often his phone was going off. He’d glance down at the notification, smirk and then jerk his head to the left for a second. At first Hannah thought he was reacting to the texts by shaking his head but, when he did the exact same thing every time a message popped up, she soon realized it was more than just a nervous tic.
Hannah couldn’t really get a good look at the specific messages coming in but she did catch where they were coming from. It didn’t appear to be from one particular person but a couple people spamming a group chat Joey had saved as Red Lotus. As they approached a stoplight, Joey picked up his phone and single-handedly thumb wrestled his touchscreen, scrolling through the unread messages under Red Lotus.
He jerked his head to the left as the car rolled to a full stop. Joey rolled his eyes at one of the messages and quickly sent a response before switching to a different conversation, then back to the group chat and then back to his Spotify playlist.
Joey dropped his phone in one of the cup holders and glanced over at Hannah. His eyes, dark like miniature eight balls, cast such a vacant stare that felt eerie and yet inviting to Hannah. At this point, she wasn’t really sure what was going on between the notifications on Joey’s phone, the unrecognizable rap music blaring, and the passing stoplights that looked like fishing lures hanging off a line.
Hannah’s mouth felt sticky and her eyes started to deceive her as she slowly dozed off to the sounds of Joey talking over his music as he teased, snuggling his hand between her thighs.
“Wake up, fucker.” Joey exclaimed as he threw the car in park and poorly sang along to half of a verse before turning off the car.
Hannah’s tongue felt like a brillo pad and her vision was spotty. It took her a few minutes of rubbing her eyes to realize she was at Joey’s (more like his fiancée’s parents) house.
Suddenly a garage door squeaked open, revealing a white Jeep Cherokee parked inside.
“Don’t forget anything in here,” Joey said as he grabbed his phone, money clip and one of the USB cords. “That’s our ride tonight,” he said, motioning towards the white jeep.
Hannah shook her head to clear her mind. Her mind felt empty but something weighed on her like a migraine. As she moved her tongue in her mouth to orchestrate moisture, she got a faint taste of the margarita she left at the restaurant:
Orange.
Bloody.
Regret.