Magic Car Wash
Stories similar to this that you might like too.
It was a long time before the last car drove through and I took my hand from his. His face fell, and he stepped back. But when it was clear we weren’t going to talk about it now or ever, I got up off of him with a little sigh that made me feel like an old lady who’d just sat down on her favorite chair for a cup of cocoa after shoveling snow all day.
It had been fun while it lasted. “I’ve gotta get home.”
“So soon?” He stood up too. “You sure you won’t stay for dinner? I’m not much good at cooking but I can make something simple and then we could watch television in bed later.”
He looked so hopeful as he said this that it brought tears to my eyes. It was sweet how badly he wanted to do something normal, like sitting on the couch and watching some TV together, but I couldn’t let him go. Not yet. “We have to work tomorrow night,” I reminded him. “And besides, we’ll need sleep if you’re gonna be my bodyguard tonight.”
The look he shot me would have made any other woman’s heart melt—it made mine thud painfully inside my chest. He’d been working for me for months by then and still hadn’t figured out what I really meant when I talked about protecting someone from harm. He was such a nice guy, but also naïve about a lot of things.
When I nodded slowly, he put a hand over his heart and gave me one of those looks that made you want to give him whatever he asked for. And maybe more than just that. You know, if you were into that sort of thing.
But there wasn’t more for us, no matter how hard I tried. I’d never forgotten the pain of seeing the look on his face when I told him it was best we didn’t try again because I needed time to find myself after losing my mom.
Or the hurt in his eyes when he finally understood that nothing would change and we wouldn’t be doing anything else except being friends. We might be great at it, but it wasn’t enough for either of us anymore.
It wasn’t until years later that we found each other again, both changed and grew in ways neither of us expected. And though we had different lives now, sometimes I felt our past was holding us back more than ever.
Sometimes I even thought about giving up everything and moving away somewhere where no one knew us … if only I could figure out a way to protect someone I loved without having to kill them or anyone else for that matter, I might consider it. But right now, killing was the only answer. The only possible option.
“I wish we could do this every night, but duty calls,” I sighed instead.
His smile faltered. “Is it that bad?”
“It’s worse than that,” I said.
That night, I lay alone in bed staring up at the ceiling. I wished it were dark, but the moonlight seeping through my bedroom window kept me company.
There was nothing unusual about my apartment building—nothing special at least. But in my mind’s eye, the place had become something more, something bigger. It’d been a sanctuary since the day I first came here with my mother when we’d fled from the police.
A haven to which we could return when I’d escaped the orphanage and she’d lost her husband. Since then, I’d come here to relax, to think or cry if necessary. Now, though, it just seemed lonely.
I should’ve known better by now: I always end up feeling sorry for myself.
My phone rang beside the bed, interrupting my pity party. I rolled onto my side, trying to reach for it before remembering that the caller would see the glow of my screen on my nightstand.
“Hello?” I whispered, knowing that it would wake up my landlady—who was already likely awake anyway.
A pause, then, “Hi, it’s me.” My breath caught, and for a split second, my heart started beating faster. There was only one person I cared about calling me at two o’clock in the morning: my dad. He called me every single night around this time, though he never spoke much, just told me how beautiful the sunset was or how much he loved me and thanked me for taking care of Mom.
It meant so much to me that I never missed a call. I’d even stopped answering work emails so I wouldn’t lose the connection.
After all these years, it still made me happy that my father thought of me that often. “How are you?” I asked gently, hoping he would say something else. Anything more.
Another pause. Then, “Good. How are you?”
It was an old joke between us, and despite the silence, my smile grew. “I’m fine, Dad. Goodnight.”
The line went dead.
***
“Where do you want me to meet you?” Benji asked.
“In front of your building,” I answered, and heard the sound of keys jangling as he locked up. He’d been with me for days now; it was starting to feel like we’d done this routine so many times we knew it by heart.
As usual, I got into the passenger seat of the car and closed the door before I saw him buckle himself in on the driver’s side. I couldn’t help noticing how tall he was sitting behind the wheel, his long legs stretched out in front of him.
His jeans were faded black and frayed on the hem of his denim jacket, making him look younger than twenty-eight—like he’d stepped out of some indie rock band’s album cover. It was a good look for him, especially if that band was also known for smoking cigarettes on stage while they played guitar solos.
I looked forward, trying not to stare, but it was hard.
We drove silently for a few minutes, listening to the rain fall softly on the roof and windshield. I turned my head slightly, catching sight of Benji watching me out of the corner of his eye. When I smiled at him, he gave me a little grin of gratitude before glancing back forward, his lips pursed and eyebrows arched above those bright green eyes.
They had to be contacted, or maybe it was his eyes just changing color from time to time. Whatever it was, it worked for him. The way he stared at me made me squirm. He was cute enough that I didn’t mind being looked at but too perceptive for my liking.
He must’ve seen my discomfort because his eyes shifted to the road again. I sighed inwardly. This wasn’t going to be easy, but hopefully worth it.
“Hey, it’s okay,” Benji finally said after another minute of quiet driving. “You don’t have to tell me anything.”
“No,” I said, surprised. “But thank you for being so understanding.”
“Of course.”
“And you can call me Sam.”
I waited for him to laugh at that. I’d told him this before, and he’d laughed each time without missing a beat. He’d also told me he didn’t believe in labels or nicknames, though.
Instead of laughing, though, he just shook his head and said, “I’ll call you Samantha.”
My cheeks flushed with heat and I nodded quickly. If I let him call me Sam, that might mean something different. That might make things permanent—and we both know I’m not ready for that.
That night, when he kissed me goodnight, my heart had fluttered, but nothing more came of it. And that was all I needed, for now.
Benji parked the car on the street near my apartment. We climbed out, and I noticed that he wore no coat today. “Aren’t you cold?” I asked, looking over at him with concern. The weather was turning colder as the year moved toward winter, and we could get snow before Christmas.
“Not really.” His hands were stuffed deep into the pockets of his leather jacket, and he smiled easily. “It’s actually kind of nice out.”
He held his arms out. For an instant, it looked like he was asking me to hug him. So I did. Then we both broke away and laughed awkwardly.
“Well, thanks for coming by. It means a lot.” My words were sincere. Even though our relationship didn’t go beyond kissing, I liked having someone there for me every now and then.
As we stood outside the car, he suddenly grabbed the back of my neck and pulled me toward him, pressing my mouth firmly against his.
The kiss was unexpected and rough, sending a shock through my system, but one I welcomed. I felt his tongue press against mine, demanding entrance as he pressed harder. I parted my lips, inviting him inside.
When we finally broke apart, he took a breath, his face red. “Sorry,” he mumbled, embarrassed. “I should have thought about it.”
What the hell?
My heart was thudding in my chest as I tried to figure out what had happened. Had he forgotten that we’d never gone further than kissing before? I looked at his lips, wondering if I was just reading it wrong, that there was something else I didn’t see. But there was nothing else there; it had been a normal kiss, nothing more. Maybe he hadn’t meant to do it…
Or maybe he did, and he wanted to apologize, even though I was pretty sure he liked it.
“Yeah,” I said, my voice shaking. “Okay.”
I forced myself to walk ahead of him to unlock the door.
We walked inside together, talking quietly until we got to the kitchen. Once I put the kettle on, we sat down opposite one another.
“So where are we going tomorrow?”
He paused and looked down at his fingers, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt sleeves. He ran a hand through his hair and then shrugged, smiling sheepishly.
“You mean, the date?”
He nodded.
“I’m sorry,” I said honestly. “But you know I have work early.”
His smile faded, and he nodded. “Yes,” he said simply, his brow furrowing. “I understand.”
“Don’t worry about it,” I added quickly. “Just let me know what your schedule is next week, and we can set up another day.”
“Sure.”
After making tea, we sat in silence for a while. He watched me sip from my mug, and when I put it down, I noticed tears in his eyes.
My stomach twisted uncomfortably. “Is everything okay?”
He shook his head and reached for my hand. We sat in silence for a moment, staring at one another before he leaned forward and rested his forehead against mine, our shoulders touching.
“I wish things weren’t like this between us,” he whispered into my ear.
Tears welled in my own eyes, and my throat closed off completely. How could he say that after only kissing him once? Was it that obvious?
I tried to push past my embarrassment and tell him how much he meant to me. I wanted to show him. But before I could speak again, he leaned back and wiped away a tear that had escaped.
“I shouldn’t have done that,” he apologized.
“No…” I shook my head and took a sip of tea before continuing, trying to force myself to sound casual despite the ache in my throat. “That was… nice.”
His smile was shaky, and he squeezed my hand.
I waited until he finished his cup of tea, which seemed to help calm him a bit. I wasn’t sure why his sudden reaction bothered me so much. It made perfect sense for him to feel awkward or uncomfortable. It had been an intense kiss, and the first time we’d gone further than just kissing. And I knew it hurt him to know that.
Still, I was confused about why it affected me so deeply. Why was I crying over something that was supposed to be a simple kiss?
When we were both feeling calmer, we went upstairs to bed. As usual, we kissed lightly and briefly, and he climbed under the covers next to me and pulled me close, wrapping his arms around my waist.
I lay there with him for a long while, thinking about the conversation I needed to have with my dad and all the other problems in my life that were too hard to focus on right now. I wondered what he was thinking about.
The End