Blue knows exactly where he is going, and he hasn't even read the message on his phone. He turns into the gas station and is first to leave the car. He's filling up. His eyes dart around as if he's waiting for someone important.
I step out of the car, feeling the need to stretch my legs after the long ride. Olivia, engrossed in her Snapchat world, remains oblivious. I lean into the open passenger-side window and ask if she wants anything. She glances up, then utters, "A candy bar, please."
A grin stretches across my face. "Which one?"
After a moment of contemplation, she settles on "Snickers."
"Good choice," I reply.
I make my way into the store, casually strolling through the aisles. I snatch a Snickers bar, a bag of pretzels, and a couple of energy drinks. Balancing them in my arms, I head to the checkout. The man behind the counter has a scruffy beard, probably in his mid-twenties. He is seated on a milk crate, his shoulders rounded as he hunches over his phone.
"Just leave the money on the counter," he mumbles, his bloodshot eyes barely half-open. It's hard to tell if he's aware that he's wearing a perpetual grin. The scent of weed wafts from him. "I'm using card," I inform him.
He rises, approaches the counter, his balance nearly slipping. He gazes at his computer for what feels like an eternity, his finger hovering over a button. Eventually, he closes one eye, and the EFTPOS machine illuminates. I tap my card and say, "thanks."
Out of the corner of my eye, movement grabs my attention. I turn and glance out the large gas station window. Blue strolls toward a parked car, hands deep in his pockets. Two men emerge from a car, and Blue exchanges what appears to be cash with them. They must be the E dealers, I think.
Blue believes it's Olivia's first time trying E. He's wrong. He also believes it's my first time. He's wrong again. It only happened once, but I can still vividly recall every moment and detail. The ecstasy, the vodka shots, and the room filled with dancing colors. Olivia took me by the hand, led me upstairs, and took her clothes off. If Blue ever found out, he'd saw off my dick. I'm not even exaggerating. He'd cook it, feed it to his six cats and make me watch.
One of the tattooed men swiftly hands something to Blue. Blue is staring into his hand for a moment. He throws both hands into the air. Whatever was in his hand falls onto the ground. Its the size of a football. His voice a frantic shout, though I can't make out the words. The other man merely shrugs and heads back to the car. The tattooed man laughs, a cruel, mocking sound, and dismissively waves a hand at Blue.
Blue takes a few shaky steps back, drawing a gun from his pocket. His trembling hands grip the weapon, still shouting.
I step through the gas station's sliding glass doors, snacks clutched in my hand, and I stand here, frozen, my heart pounding. Olivia's door swings open, her eyes wide as she takes in the scene. She looks at Blue, the gun aimed threateningly, and rushes over, her voice trembling as she pleads, "What are you doing?"
I had never considered Olivia to be dumb. She consistently earned straight A's, and we have nightly conversations. She possessed an uncanny knack for grasping my emotions, fears, and aspirations. Yet, in this pivotal instant, my perception of her is irrevocably altered.
Olivia sprints in front of the muzzle of a gun, her stupidity replacing my preconceived notions. What is she doing? Why is Blue holding a gun? I didnt even know he owned one. Though simultaneously, I'm not surprised. The tattooed man lunges at Blue, and Blue squeezes the trigger.
A sharp crack pierces the air. Olivia crumples to the floor, lifeless, her body slipping from view as I stand here in front of the gas station's glass doors. I remain frozen, still clutching the snacks, unable to comprehend what just happened. The tattooed man's eyes dart around, panic in his gaze, and then he vaults back onto his car. He hastily reverses out of the parking space and speeds away.
Blue stands stock-still, the gun heavy in his shaking hand, his eyes locked on Olivia's lifeless body sprawled amidst a growing crimson pool. The metallic scent of blood fills the air. His face twists with unspoken anguish, and from his lips escapes a deep, primal cry.
My limbs go numb, and I involuntarily release the snacks. They tumble down the tarmac, their energy scattering towards the gas pumps. I can't tear my eyes away, as watching the snacks seems easier than witnessing the scene to my left. The once-pervasive scent of blood has now been overpowered, replaced by the acrid and unmistakable smell of urine. I think I've pissed my pants.
I muster the strength to walk back into the petrol station, though my entire body quivers so intensely that I think I might disintegrate into a thousand fractured pieces. The fact that I'm still on my feet seems nothing short of miraculous. My stomach revolts, and I vomit onto a doughnut stand, hunched over in my misery. After wiping my mouth, I feel an overwhelming desire to remain in this hunched position, frozen in time.
The gas station man sits on a milk crate, seemingly oblivious to everything. Or maybe he's pretending not to notice. I approach the counter, struggling to find my voice. I want to ask him to call the police.
"Just put the money on the counter," the man says. He doesn't lift his head.
Blue's voice suddenly cuts through the confusion, his call to my name high-pitched and urgent.
My steps are tentative as I make my way outside. The scene is a horrifying tableau, and my heart sinks as I take in the lifeless form of Olivia. I physically recoil, unable to suppress the visceral cringe. He kneels over Olivia, a haunting shadow casting darkness upon her lifeless face. Blue's jeans, hands, and sneakers are splattered with blood, creating a macabre contrast against the dark stains. Olivia's once vibrant yellow dress has turned a murky brown, soaked in her own blood. She's gone, unquestionably lifeless. I've never come face to face with death, but she is undeniably dead. Her wide-open eyes fixate on the sky above.
"Don't just stand there," Blue says, his eyes so wide they're sagging out of their sockets. "She's dead, Evan. She's dead." Spittle flies through the air as he speaks. "Help me pick her up," he pleads.
I maneuver around to her feet, acting and no thinking. I dont renember a time my head felt so hollow. Without hesitation, I grip her ankles firmly, my eyes fixed on her purple toenails peeking out from her sandals. Blue, secures her by the shoulders. "On the count of three," he instructs, "Three." Together, we lift her, following Blue's nod toward the car's trunk. "In the trunk."
