We took the Chevelle.

It was my suggestion, she said "I don't care. Just get me the fuck out of here."

20/20 struggle through July, I pulled down the visor for her.

Tilda has fashion sunglasses, her mouth struggling with the thank you smile.

I relax, trying to talk over AFI (a strange loudness of lyrical beauty strung with a haunting base). "Why did we have to get out there so fast." I don't pose it as a question, mostly because it's a secret that I already know won't budge.

"Do you really want to know?" I think about her in bowling shoes, in that self-assured grin as she won the game.

I think quietly, and by the tone of her voice, I shrug. "I left Adam a note."

"What did it say?"

"Dear Adam." I clear my throat, that lopsided smirk already taking off it's mask. "I'm leaving you for a lesbian."

She laughs, and I'm pleased that as we're leaving Los Angeles County, her mood seems to shift into something a little easier to swallow. "And?" She eggs me on.

"Fuck L.A. My lesbian and I are going to get married and live on a vineyard in Italy. Don't worry, I left the rent money behind the case of beer in the fridge. Goodbye."

"What?"

"I said, I need to go to the bathroom. Can we pull over?"

"Yeah, yeah. Sure." There was a rest stop a mile and a half from here.

"I gotta make a phone call."

Tilda must've had to go badly, because she didn't ask "Who'd you call, Casanova?" until she came back to the car.

"No one." Sigh. "Linda."

"Linda the actress, or Linda the model?" A single scoff.

"Linda, the girlfriend I had left in North Carolina."

"Oh?" There seemed to be a more serious interest taken now. She had no clue.

"Yeah." He readjusted the review mirror. "Can I tell you something?"

"Anything that will get me through Nevada."

"My daughter is going to be one year old in October."

"And Linda is the mother?"

"Yeah."

"I've never heard you talk about your daughter."

"I don't want anyone to know what a fuck-up I am."

She nodded. "So that's why you left."

"You don't understand--"

"I'm not here to judge."

It's impossible to write the amount of appreciation that was rooted deep in his hazel gaze. "Can you get me a--"

"Is that so?" They both welcomed the subject change.

"Yeah, the sinks have those little sensor things. Don't laugh!"

"The thought of you just trying to do that--"

"-- That's why my hair is in a ponytail, instead. We need to find better sinks."

"I need some fucking sunglasses."

"I looked at the map at that rest area. If we stay on this stretch of highway, we'll go right through Vegas."

"Good. I'll get some there."

"We could probably get a cheap room, too."

"Don't gamble your money away."

Declan smirked as Tilda was inspecting a package of neon star pasties.

"Let's get you the matching thong," he joked.

She gave him a faux icy stare. "Shut up."

"C'mon, you don't have to impress me with those things." He put his arm around her shoulder, guiding her out of one of the many stores that she had dragged him into.

She was apparently intent on seeing EVERYTHING.

She laughed, her arm swinging in a dangerous vicinity, and causing Declan to contract to protect his... uhm, himself. "Oh, sorry," she said and he'd brush it off.

Sort of. "Please be more careful."

"I forgot how... delicate you were."

He gave her a look.

"I'm sorry!"

He shook his head, kissed her enthusiastically on the mouth (which nearly sent her into shock). "Don't worry, you can make it up to me."

"We're back on the road tonight."

Vegas was amazing, this time of year. Any time of year, to someone who hadn't seen it before, was the right time of year. She felt like there was so much left to see, but her feet were beginning to cry with the ache of unsupported walking. Flip-flops had been a poor idea.

"Of course I'm happy." She ran her fingers through her hair, tousling the strands a bit. She'd pulled the scrunchie from it hours before, when they first set foot in a gift shop. A little frown dirtied her face at the mention of leaving. She didn't want to go, at least not yet. They both needed to stretch their legs, at least for longer than an hour. They also needed to sleep, at some point.

"Why don't we cozy up in one of the cheaper motels for the night? Besides, you still need your sunglasses."

Eighty nine degrees feels like Ninety six feel like one hundred and seven. It was all painful. It reminded him too much of Texas, and not enough of California. It was dry, it was VILE. Declan trudged on, whimpering about how "The Crazy Horse could surely keep us cool and dry. Air conditioning... tits and ass... mile long drinks, mile long legs... We oughta forget about the gondola ride. Forget about spending too much money to pretend you're in Italy when you could just be there."

He snapped out of his heat-exhausted trance. "What?"

He blinked. "Oh. Yeah. I definitely need sunglasses." He pulled her by the arm into MGM Grand, just to cool down for a few minutes. "Hey... how about that shop? They've got sunglasses there..." He squinted, sun spots taking over his vision, through the store window. Sure enough there were a whole bunch of sunglasses on one of those ridiculous spinning things. In fact, there were two of them. "Lets go!" He said, like an excited little kid. "C'mon..."

One hour into their road trip, Matilda had learned to tune out Declan's whining. Not that he did it a lot, and it didn't even hold a candle to Chelsea and her inside (but outside) voice. She was simply the happier tourist, at here, and only because she'd never been. Vegas would probably lose all of its splendor the second time around.

He won her attention back from herself at the mention of sunglasses, and moments later her own designer pair rested on the top of her head, a gaudy faux-diamond pair taking their place. "Think I should get these?" She looked to Declan, as he spun through the other rack and then slid the horrible things from her face when she spotted a pair shaped (and colored) like bright red hearts. "Ohh! You need to get these ones. C'mon, Declan, start the heart glasses trend. You know you want to."

He smirked. "I don't want to walk around here like some fag. Like the next Elton John. Thanks." He was staring and spinning intently, sticking on a pair of black rectangular framed glasses. "How about these? Do I look hot?" He posed like one of those cologne models, serious and as sexy as he could muster. He broke into a grin. He slipped on a pair that looked like knock-off Oakleys. "Too weird?" Another pose. He sighed, struggling to put those back onto the spinning rack. "You're the model. You're supposed to know what looks good, right?" Declan appeared to be worried for a moment, fingering another heart pair of sunglasses. He scoffed, smiling to himself. So, this is why he never bothered going sunglass shopping before.

"Here." Another knock off pair was eased off of the racks, and then onto Declan's face. Lewie Voitton. "How about those. They look nice." She slid her sunglasses back down to rest on her nose and turned around to look in the mirror with Declan. "We look too hot to handle. Is that the look you're going for? If you want to look like money, go with the Prada fakes, like a queer, the hearts."

A gay man would have taken offense at the fag comment, and that was what made having Matilda the lesbian as his friend special. She didn't care. She came drama-free, unless the drama actually had some weight, but she wasn't about to get all pissed off at a harmless comment about a queer. "Jeeze. They want twenty five bucks for these."

He whistled, gazing at their reflection. "I like these. They make me almost like I could be a model." He rolled his eyes and glanced at the faux-Pradas. He tried those on, and once again whistled. "I like them both." He tried the Vuittons on again. "Which pair has a better chance of turning you straight?" he joked.

He fished into his pocket to see how much dough he was working with here. "Looks like I got a budget of thirty to spend on glasses. So I guess buying both is out the question." Prada was on again. He glanced at the salesperson. "Are these polarized?" The high school blonde giggled. He turned back to Tilda, waiting for her valued fashion opinion.

"I take that as a no." Her eyes narrowed, briefly, at the blonde. It was girls like that which ruined the world's view on blonde's. Her nametag said Jessica. How typical. "They're probably not. I can get you both pairs, if you both pairs, if you want, that way you can wear whatever you feel like wearing." She took the pair he wasn't wearing and slid her arm through his to lead him to the register. $53.00 even, with tax.

She handed the clerk her debit card before Declan could say no, if he even would. "I got a lot of money in savings." She had close to 15 grand in savings, to be exact. There weren't a lot of people that knew that. Matilda wasn't that big of a shopper. A good chunk of that money had come from the job she'd held waitressing when she was in high school, and most of her modeling jobs. What she didn't need to live, she'd banked. It added up.

"You're fucking crazy." He was trying to refuse her generosity. "Little girl, put down that debit card!" But of course the blonde sales clerk only giggled. "No, really, I'm not kidding."

He turned to Tilda, wrapping his arms around her in a gentle friendly embrace. "You know that I'm going to have to buy you something now. Maybe a lap dance or something." He snickered at that, sticking the Pradas on right now. He released her, admiring himself in the mirror again. "Seriously. I owe you." He kissed her on the cheek. "Thanks."

"Consider it a thank you for the use of your car." She fell easily into his arms. Almost too easily. She caught a glimpse of their embrace in the reflection of the shop window. They could pass as being a couple, especially with the aid of the affection he'd been pouring on since they got out of the car.

"Jesus."

"It's got a great view."

"Of course, the view."

She cast an irritated look over her shoulder at Declan, sitting shirtless on the bed closest to the door. The sun had fallen, but Vegas still shined brighter than the sunshine. It explained the dark curtains and decor of the room.

"Where do you think we should head next?"

"I don't know. We can think of it in the morning, Tilda. I'm getting in the shower, do you need to use the toilet?"

"Nah. Go ahead. I'll get in after you."

a million pieces of girl

and goddess. He knew

what he needed to do;

floral patterns aside,

sheet drapped over

her, saying goodbye

like it's her funeral.

[I don't want to leave

you alone], but he does,

through the hotel doors,

to a place called The

Crazy Horse. [I'm a

Stranger in this Town],

he's rockin' the faux

Prada's she bought

for him, he's stringing

dollars in their thongs

like decorating the

fucking Christmas

tree. Her name is

Delilah. Mary Jane.

Sierra. He leaves before

the last twenty has

left his pocket. He

places a bet on black,

and is up one fifty.

He doesn't bother

with the other cold mattress,

the sheet cutting

boundaries between them

as he spoons her.

Matilda, he whispers,

and she's dead asleep.

Still. The same angel

In the darkness she scrambled to the bathroom and shut the door too hard behind her. She felt the panic in her chest, then in her throat, and before she could stop it, Matilda was bent over the porcelain throne emptying the contents of her stomach.

She straightened, found the light switch, and regarded herself in the mirror. Paled skin was streaked with tears she hadn't realized she cried. She looked down to her hands. They were shaking. Arms were crossed, to still her hands against her sides as Matilda collected herself.

It took a cold shower, and an additional hour before she managed to talk herself out of the bathroom. He wasn't there. Not the cop. Just Declan. Just Declan.

The sun cut through the curtains as she eased herself back down onto the bed, only not as close as they'd been before.

A thin glowing line traced the curtains, signaling Declan that it was in fact daytime. He groaned, rolling over. The digital clock read 9:34 in red electric. He hadn't slept long enough, and Tilda looked distressed, curled up and sprawled all at the same time. Like a sleeping tigress.

Their first night together wasn't what he had exactly expected. He had thought he had heard her get up in the middle of the night, but now he wasn't so sure. Rubbing his throbbing forehead, he forced the shower on hot. He stole one last glance of Matilda, wondering more than ever why she left Los Angeles with him, of all people.

"You show up in North Caroline, Declan, and I'll get a restraining order." The same old threat.

"I don't know why you have to make everything so fucking difficult."

"You walked out on me over a year ago. Pregnant with nowhere to--"

He laughed. "What the hell are you talking about?" He took a deep breath. "We've been over this, Linda. Several times. It was the best thing I could do at the moment. Your loaded parents--"

"Yes. I know all the excuses." She was cold.

"Would you had preferred we be broke and living on welfare? Well?"

She said nothing. He was satisfied.

"I'll call when I'm in town."

"Why do you always insist on ruining my life?" Her favorite line.

"Linda, Linda, Linda." He sighed. "You spoiled bitch. I hope he's a better fuck than me." He could already see that loser all over her.

"He is," she said hotly.

"Yeah, sure." A noncommital laugh. "You know what I think?" He didn't wait for her to respond. "I think you would take me back in a heartbeat, drop those panties before I ring the doorbell. I think you're scared shitless what your parents would think after they've been trying to brainwash you for so long. I think you'll let me see her as long as I promise to..."

She finished his sentence.

"Not let anyone else know that you were here."

"Exactly."

"Call me only between two and three in the afternoon. Goodbye."

Vegas was a tourist attraction for those of all ages, but the elderly couple curled up together on a bench in the hotel lobby weren't tourists. Wayne and Gina Toohey moved to Vegas for their retirement, and were practically a fixture at most of the hotels.

"She's got such pretty hair. See how he's lookin' at her, I bet they just got married, Wayne."

"Oh Gina, you don't know nothin' 'bout nothin'. You think that 'bout everyone. If I had a nickel.."

"He's got his arm around her, oh! They did! They had to of, I wish we could be up there, I bet they're gushin' to that nice young lady at the desk how wonderful their wedding night was."

Wayne snorted.

"Lookit how she moves when she talks, Wayne. Just lookit her. That girl could be a model. That young man right there's the luckiest man in Vegas right now."

"You say that 'bout everyone. Why don't you get them to come blow on our dice or somethin' later."

"Interrupt two honeymooners, I could never!"

"How about Tennessee?"

He sucks the Coke dry through the straw,
tosses it out the window at seventy mph.

"And do what? Be gardeners at Graceland?"

She didn't feel like wearing a seatbelt anymore.
Legs crossed, elbow propped again the door,
the back of her hand soaking in rays that her face
was sick of.

"That'd be romantic."

They make eye contact.

"Oh, yeah, Declan..."

They laughed.

"South Dakota."

A scoff.

"Excuse me?"

"Connecticut."

He didn't miss a beat.

"Are you just pulling this out of your ass?"

"Quebec."

She sighed.

"I don't know if Canada is ready for me."

He reaches over and fucks up her hair,
she counteracts by swatting at his arm.

"No city is ready for you, honey."

He turned off the radio.

"I can't listen to this shit anymore."

"I've got Chelsea's Incubus CD somewhere..."

Stop. Breathe.

California rest in peace. We're so far away I can't even smell the salt in the air anymore. State cops still give me the creeps. Wanna give your man a show? What did that bruise come from? A faucet? You can't be serious! Want a hit? Who are you and why are you parked on my property? Oh, don't worry about him, sweetie. He just hates seeing girls with lights like you get snuffed out.

Declan. Breathe.

Welcome to wherever, population many. I used to play jumprope when I was a kid. This is the thirtieth time we've heard this song today. You have a real nice shape. Want a hotdog. Want a coke? Want some coke? Want to go back to my hotel room? Matilda Howes! I haven't seen you since you were this big! Get in the car. Get in the car. Get in the fucking car. She's old enough to be your mother, and she knows mine.

Stop. Rewind.

The sky was so starry, so clear. Two silhouettes laid on the hood of a car, much like lovers from those old movies or romantic books, but they weren't lovers. They were far, far from it, but in a single moment, when they both caught each other's gaze, it crossed both their minds at the same time.

"Hey, Matilda." He said, using a gentle tone that made her tense.

"I know, I know, time to get back in the car."

They both knew that wasn't what he had to say at all.

Stop. Fast Forward.

Declan couldn't hear her. It was if the land itself was speaking complete madness. He saw it all in fierce lines, as a topographic map, life long lost in the grass. The grass, it's  yellow languor was almost deafening. He knew where he was before they crossed over statelines. Welcome to North Carolina. If they knew it was him speeding through, they would've struck him with lightning. GO BACK TO LIBERAL CALIFORNIA, where all the criminal smiles are unseen in the untainted sunshine. GO BACK, a whisper with a heavy baseline effect, sticky at the bedrock of his spine, in each nuerotic knot in his brain, in each twitch of his fingers on the steering wheel.

Go fucking back.

His head was a smatter of broken thoughts that kept him busy for the time he served til you could, once again, just like in California, smell the salt in the air, of cars rusting. They never stopped for sweet tea like he had promised one hundred and fifty miles back. There was no juncture between radio songs, no breath, no single mile that could give just an inch for anything but driving. Just drive. Drive until his feet can no longer feel the pedals, and that hungry misery needs more fuel.

"I don't know why I couldn't just run into the store..." she murmured, and he was decaying, a corpse licking it's parched lips before lighting up.

"You okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," he sounded dry of emotion, staring straight through the windshield.

And it went on, him fumbling with a small piece of paper, like his life depended on it.

"You don't look fine." It was making Matilda nervous, the swallowtail in a jar; nearly beating herself against the window with that narrow sense of both sympathy and paranoia.

He gave her a look. One of those, FUCK OFF looks. The Chevelle hummed to the curb, and left the key in the ignition.

"Just give me a few minutes, okay."

He closed the door carefully, as if Linda and the baby would hear him coming.

He held his breath, didn't bother glancing back at Matilda.

Pause. He flicked the ash on the green green lawn.

Pause.

He made it halfway to the door.

Pause. Cigarette thrown in the tulips.

He looked pissed at himself.

Leaned into Matilda's open window.

Hold my hand, his eyes begged.

Matilda, like the good friend she is, got out of the car, and did just that.

She even rang the bell.

Linda answered the door.

"You're late."

"I drove across the country, Linda."

"Yeah, well, you have ten minutes."

"Fine. Lets get on with it then..."

"So, are you going to introduce me to your..."

"Girlfriend? Yeah. Linda, this is Matilda."

Declan put his arm around Tilda's waist.

Declan seemed apologetic to Linda, and it wasn't just for this moment. It was for everything, and she wasn't taking it. "Alan will be home. Just go," Linda muttered, baby held against her hip. Declan nodded, and jumped all three stairs off the porch. He looked over at his shoulder, at the baby's blinking eyes. And he was gone; roaring off towards the horizon. There was nothing to say. Nothing. Time lapsed, three stoplights, at least a mile between him and the memory he was running away from for over a year. Fourth stoplight: Declan rested his head against the steering wheel, as if in deep pain.

"I'm sorry, Tilda." He glanced over at her, sun blaring through both of them, fucking toxic light. "I'm so sorry. I should've never gone there. I should've never..."

She was fuming. Was there smoke leaking out of her ears? In comparison, her anger was quite small compared to what Declan must have been going through, and though Matilda knew that, she was angry all the same. She unfastened her seatbelt. She hated that damn thing. Its absence made it more comfortable to cross her arms tightly over her chest.

"Shoulda never, shoulda never, shoulda never said I was your girlfriend, for starters. Shoulda never kissed me in Vegas." She shook her head. "Shoulda never let you." She muttered that bit to herself. "What are you tryin' to prove, Declan? If you think for a minute that I'll go back there and visit with her again, you are so wrong."

"Well, then maybe we should've never bothered becoming friends. Driving across the fucking country," he muttered, rolling down his window, attempting to find his cigarettes in the door panel and failing. Of course that only seemed to piss him off. "You think it matters if I said you were my girlfriend? I could've told her we were cousins and she still would've thought you were my girlfriend! Look where we are, Tilda. Look where the fuck we are. I'm a piece of shit on this side of the country. I'm the liar. The enemy. The epitome of a fuck-up. I know this. You can be just like the rest of them, okay? If this is all such a damn mistake, I'll buy you a ticket and you can go right back to Los Angeles."

He seemed to blow-up for a moment, speeding through the green light, shifting to third before he knew it. Wasn't it a forty-five zone? "Then you can get as far away from me as you like."

She closed her eyes, and suddenly the voice wasn't Declan. No, it wasn't Declan at all. The words warped, targeted her, and she seemed to shrink back into the car seats. If only upholstery could consume her. Matilda lifted her rear off the seat while pressing her feet into the floor to straighten her body as she slid her hand into her pocket, and then presented Declan with what was left of his cigarettes.

"I'm sorry."

She felt like a speck. A firefly, no, a plain fly. Buzzing around, irritating an already uncomfortable situation more. "Please don't do that. I can't go back there. Just pull the car over if you want me to get out and I'll go. I guess this was a really bad idea after all."

It was North Carolina that was boiling inside of him, as he shook a cigarette out of the pack, trying to stop himself from setting himself on fire.

"I'm sorry too."

He seemed to soften around the edges, taking long cancerous drags of his cigarette. He pulled over almost immediately, and it wasn't to kick her out. He undid his seatbelt, grabbed her hand and held it tightly. "Tilda. Look at me. I would never make you go back there." He paused, taking another hit, looking out the window and then back at her. "Listen. You're the one good thing in my life. You're the one thing that's going to keep in sane around here, okay?" He eased into the seat, releasing her hand so he wouldn't hurt her. "I don't know what... is wrong with me. I'm sorry. I'm really sorry. I'll never call you my girlfriend again. I'll never kiss you again. Can things just be the same as before? Please."

"I got raped."

The words fell from her lips before she knew what she was saying, before she could stop them. Had that not happened, Matilda knew she would have been game for that kiss, for the lies they'd been spreading across the country by just giving the impression they were, well, anything they weren't. She was tugging her hand away before she even realized he'd let it go, and it joined the other to cover her face as she crumpled forward in the seat. Why? Why couldn't she just get past the fact? She knew that was the only advice she'd get from her family, most certainly from Chelsea. How much sympathy could you have for someone you'd condemned to hell, though? Surely, the cop had been sent by God. She knew everything they'd say, but she had no idea what Declan would say, which gave her the freedom to fall apart.

"What?"

He wasn't Declan anymore. Eyebrows furrowed, he seemed to turn a violent red for a moment. "Who is he? Who the fuck is he? I'm going to castrate him..." Declan was making a sharp u-turn, speeding towards the highway. Back to... god only knows where. "I'm going to kill that motherfucker." This was probably exactly what she didn't need, but Declan was a boy. Just a boy of twenty-nine. "He's going to be so sorry that he laid a hand on you. He's going to be begging for your forgiveness." The Chevelle seemed to cry beneath his control, shaking and hissing until it completely gave. Dials went haywire, and it sounded like some kind of explosion under the hood.

Declan swore under his breath, forced to pull over into dry grass. "Shit!" He slammed his palms into the steering wheel, the horn screamed. "Fuck." He turned and his gaze bled all over Tilda. "Come here..." He didn't wait, he wrapped his arms tightly around her, buried his face into her hair. "I would never hurt you like that. I promise."

It seemed the heat in North Carolina was determined to consume them. She didn't say anything through his words, Matilda simply let him get them off his chest. They were words she'd dreamt her father would say, and a strange comfort came from hearing them from Declan. His arms were around her before she managed to climb across the emptiness between them and spill into his lap. "I know." She whispered against the skin of his shoulder as her arms wound around his torso. Matilda wasn't lying, she knew he never would. She knew that he would have played his cards long before North Carolina if he'd ever had any intention to.

"I have to call my sister." The whimper broke through to drag a bit of reality in. "There's probably an APB out by now."

The Chevelle was powerless, a sober wreck that cradled the two, huddled and intertwined like desperate lovers. It was her words that seemed to snap him out of it. "Wha..." He blinked, trying to rub North Carolina heat out of his stare, out of his mind. He felt crazed, trying to grasp onto his piece of insanity, but he released her like he was afraid to free the bird. "Okay. Call her. I don't want to have charges against me for kidnapping you or anything..." The first normal smile of the day appeared.

But the anger was still surging beneath it all. He wondered what this man looked like. He would punch the sneer right off his face, Declan was sure of this. He would kill this man, whoever he was. If it cost him his life.

It took Matilda two days. They both knew it was something about her face that made people soften about her. She fell with ease into the role of a sales clerk at a local jewelry store. The owner liked to decorate her wrist with his diamonds and never protested when she slipped his rings on her fingers. He did make sure they were back in the case before she left, though.

She kept flowers on the front porch, delivered the misdelivered mail to their neighbor, who was also their landlord. He'd cut them a deal because he had a soft spot for fresh looking young couples.

It didn't take long for everything to change. It was obvious that things had changed just by the clatter of her heels in the foyer.

"My Dad is in town."

Her voice was tight. Declan lowered the classifies and gave his full attention.