Run Away

[Wild_Oats]

I always loved a good drive. I was leaving LA again, this time for the east coast, and the open road beckoned. My bag was under the bonnet and my tank was full of fuel. My furniture was loaded in the truck and away the day before. I threw my jacket on the passenger's seat and checked myself in the rear view mirror. My blue eyes flashed back at me and i ran my fingers once through my blond, neatly cropped locks. My smile was perfect as always. My grey long sleeve t-shirt with the red and black racing stripes across the chest put me in the mood for speed. I put my shades on and started the ignition.

My new black Porsche Targa purred to life and I rolled out of the gas station and onto Santa Monica Boulevard. Pulling out to pass a city bus I stepped on it to make the light. It felt sweet to throw myself back into the seat a bit.

The weather was great, the car was great and I had thousands of miles of pavement ahead of me. The only thing missing was a girl. I made a right onto the Interstate 10 and lifted off the throttle. There she was at the side of the on ramp with her thumb stuck out in the sun.

My Porsche: http://images.google.ca/imgres?imgu...org.mozilla:en-US:official&ndsp=20&tbs=isch:1

OOC: Looking for a young (18-20) impressionable girl hitching a ride, running from her family without a word, to a relative across the country that she hasn't told. PM first with bio and questions. Decent writing please, no 1-liners blah blah blah ...

 

[MadMissJ]

Fiona was an artist.

Only her canvas was her scored paper and her brush was her guitar. There were many times in your life when time froze, and Fiona’s was the minute she picked up that Meastro Gibson six-string, it had some heft and rested across her thigh so snug. Her painted nails had picked at it, letting the sound of it resonate against her chest, and she’d hummed in tune and knew, just knew, this was what she was supposed to do.

But like all young artists that escaped into their music, home was only the place that she had to spend time and would one day inspire her heartbreaking number one hits. It was June and she was done with school, she hadn’t even bothered to fill out college applications. Even if she could have gotten in, she didn’t have any money to pay for it, and besides, she had dreams waiting for her outside of LA.

She needed to see the lights of New York, walk the streets of Nashville, see Seattle and fall into the welcoming arms of Miami.

So all she’d packed was a back pack and a small duffle bag and her guitar case and hopped on the bus that would take her to the freeway.

It unrolled before her, clogged with cars of those that were more fortunate than herself, all headed out. Far, far away and maybe if she was lucky one would be taking her too.

She stood on the side of the on ramp, right in front of the sign that said she wasn’t allowed to hitch beyond that point. Her legs wrapped in little cut off jean shorts and a tank top, her skin was sun warmed and tan like many in southern California. She was a child of the sun and surf and sand, long blond hair swaying in the breeze around her waist, and little painted toe nails exposed in her pink flip flops.

But the most important part was her thumb, poked out over her shoulder with a shy smile on her face for the cars that were approaching.

 

[Wild_Oats]

I slowed to check her out. She was a modern day flower child in cutoff shorts and flip flops. A bag sat at her feet and a guitar case leaned against her hip. As I rolled past at about 15mph, I saw that she was just a kid, a sunbleached blond. I just HAD to pick her up, but I wasn't going to be so obvious. I rolled on another 20 or 30 yards and watched her in the mirror. A semi truck blew past on the freeway and the gust of wind lifted her mane wildly about her. Then I pulled onto the shoulder, stopped, tapped the brakelights 3 times as a signal and rolled down the passenger window to await her.

 

[MadMissJ]

There was a sickening moment that she thought that no one would stop, she’d seen so many people slow down, some opened their windows to shout things to her. But the little, fancy black car was the one that finally showed interest, flashing it’s lights indicating that she should walk up to it.

There was a spring in her step that only young girls have, she picked up her bag and guitar by the handle and practically ran to the open window.

She set the bag down with a flop on the street, putting her hand on the metal of the car where the window would eventually roll up, narrowing her eyes against the sun to look inside the tight exterior of the Porsche.

“Hi, Mister.” Her voice was soft, and a little tight, like she hadn’t said anything in ages. But her eyes were a bright sunny lavender, not quite blue. However her lips were pulled in a hopeful look.

“Are you on your way out? I need a lift, anywhere is fine with me. But I’m trying to get to New York.”

 

[Wild_Oats]

She picked up her things and hurried towards the car with a spritely gait, betraying the innocence in her. As she leaned in the window her hair spilled down and flitted in the breeze, spoiling my view as I tried to check her out. When she called me "mister" sounding so childlike, I suppressed my laughter and held a warm smile.

“Are you on your way out? I need a lift, anywhere is fine with me. But I’m trying to get to New York.”

"New York, huh?" I pondered aloud stretching my arm casually across the passenger seat head rest. I lowered my shades to peer at her. "I'm Atlanta bound. If you aint into Georgia, I'm sure I could still take you a long way," I grinned.

The engine purred a smooth idle. I motorcycle whizzed by. Then another semi shook the on ramp. There wasn't much room for carry-on. The guitar and one of the bags at least would have to ride in the bonnet. Something told me that this would be one hell of a trip.

"Coming?" I offered, raising an eyebrow expectantly.

 

[MadMissJ]

She watched her driver unfurl himself across the passenger seat and for the moment, Fiona felt like a small mouse in a fox’s den, the feeling was cemented again as he reached up to pull down his sunglasses, explaining that he wasn’t going north, rather south, but she could still ride as far as she wanted. It sped her heart rate, he seemed so much older than her, maybe as old as her brothers...and the way he smiled did remind her of them too.

“Yeah, that sounds great. I have no idea if I’m into Georgia or not, I’ve never been anywhere.” She explained, a little self-consciously, before he interrupted her as more traffic sped by and around them.

“Oh, yeah. Yeah I’m coming. Where should I stash my stuff?” She looked around for a moment, not ever having been near a car this expensive, could it even have a trunk? Fiona wasn’t sure, but she did open the passenger side door after stashing all but her backpack, which she put on the floor near her feet as she climbed in, brushing her hair back from face she turned, fastening her seatbelt.

“I’m Fiona by the way. Thanks for picking me up….ah…Mister…?”

 

[Wild_Oats]

“Yeah, that sounds great. I have no idea if I’m into Georgia or not, I’ve never been anywhere.”

She could not have made a more rubeish statement, to admit her naivetee to a complete stranger like myself. I kept my expression warm as not to spook such a babe in the woods, but she seemed pretty game for the ride.

"I don't mean to rush you," I told her as I glanced around for cops, "but hitching a ride here aint exactly legal." I pulled the catch to the bonnet (the engine was in the rear, the trunk was in the front) and got out to help her stow her things, shuffling my own stuff around a bit to make room for her instrument.

“I’m Fiona by the way. Thanks for picking me up….ah…Mister…?”

"Pleased to meet you, Fiona," I greeted her as I strapped myself back into the driver's seat. I looked over for a proper appraisal. Convinced enough that although she was young, she wasn't jailbait and that she got in of her own will (I sure wasn't kidnapping), I introduced myself. "Name's Doug," I said and put the car into gear, checked over my shoulder and kicked up a few stones pulling into the traffic.

I worked quickly through the gears and got up to freeway speed. Out of the corner of my eye I looked her over at my leisure, gaging her figure, the shape of her chest, her hips, the tone of her tawny skin.

"So what's in New York?" I asked.

 

[MadMissJ]

“Lights, lots of lights and action and it's as far away from here as I can get without starting to circle back.” Fiona turned to grin at her companion, nervously brushing her hair behind her ear.

“I figure if I’m going to be famous, I gotta get outta this place. It’s all fake, ya know? LA doesn’t have soul like New York does.” She said it so confidently, like she knew that as soon as LA was in the rearview mirror that it would wash away all the dust from her travels and make her a new person.

“Everyone seems to make it there, and I have a big brother who lives there, somewhere. I haven’t talked to him in a while, but I’m pretty sure he’s still in the Big Apple. I’m going to stay with him, he won’t mind at all.” She chatted on happily, with more than a little nervousness in her tone. Fiona shyly gave him a look from the corner of her eye, locking those curious purple irises on him, traveling over his hair to those shades and down his square jaw.

“What about you, what’s so special in Atlanta?”

 

[Wild_Oats]

So she wanted to be a star. She wanted to play her guitar and be adored by millions. I couldn't help but smile. It was like she was trying not to look at me but couldn't help it, a bit nervous and not sure what to do with herself in the seat beside me. She kept tucking that same lock of hair behind her ear, but did seem to find some comfort in voicing her honest thoughts. I soaked it all in.

“What about you, what’s so special in Atlanta?”

"Business," I said. "New job. We'll see how I like it in a few months."

I was stuck behind a minivan doing 55. I dropped it into fourth and hit the gas, pressing myself back into the seat, and pulled into the passing lane forcing the needle up to 75 before shifting back into high.

"So do you write your own songs then?" I nodded forward over the bonnet alluding to her guitar stashed beneath. "What style?"

 

[MadMissJ]

Fiona couldn’t help but enjoy the little car he drove. He definitely seemed like the sort that would go looking for expensive things, she decided. The blond turned a little for face him more, turning her shoulder square to him, shifting her hips in her seat so one of her feet could be brought up next to the swell of her backside beneath her tattered shorts.

She made a bet with herself that he liked those fake women she’d been talking about, the ones with the silky hair that draped themselves over their man’s arm. She smiled at the thought of it; she bet he was one of those kinda men who rented watches…for a night.

Those were the dreams that she was cooking up when he began to ask her if she wrote music. And if there was anything that could pull the dreamy girl from her daytime voyages it was music.

“Depends on my mood I guess. Pop I suppose…not like the bubble gum, Hannah Montana gooey crap either. Rock I guess too…like I said, it depends.” She grinned and tilted her head to the side to rest it on the head rest, wrapping her long arms around her bent knee.

“I write songs all the time, I have whole notebooks of them…But this can’t actually be interesting to you…” She blushed a little when she realized she was rambling on.

“What kinda music do you like?”

 

[Wild_Oats]

I listened to her little spiel about music and about how she wrote. I thought about how maybe later she could serenade me. It'd be cute. She got comfortable in the seat and turned towards me a bit and I got a good view of her tawny thigh. She seemed to like the car. I liked it to. That's why the way she sat bothered me.

"I'm sorry, could you like, not put your feet on the upholstery?" I requested. Corinthian leather was expensve. I didn't need footprints all over it.

There was some putz doing 55 in the left lane. I geared down, following him close waiting for the truck in the right lane to inch by. Then I whipped in behind it and followed him past the slow car. Sure enough the driver was some clueless chink dame who hadn't the slightest aware that she was holding up a line of traffic. I darted through the gap between her and the truck and resumed pace at 75.

"What kind of music do I like?" I resumed the conversation with a hint of a smile. "Pop I suppose, but not the Hannah Montana gooey crap either. It depends," I said with a laugh reassuringly. I didn't want her to be totally freaked out over the upholstery thing.

"You'll have to play a song for me later," I continued as I passed two more cars.

 

[MadMissJ]

Fiona jumped a little when Doug told her about the expensive leather on his car. There was a small part of her that wanted to blush with embarrassment, but she pushed down that little nagging voice with a gulp. Her ride would be rather short if she was annoying him already.

“Ah, I’m sorry…I didn’t mean to.”

The blond, smiled when he said that she could play him a song. Most people just said it to be nice, like they would say ‘let’s get together some time.’ You both know that it will never happen, you’ll forget or conveniently bee out of town for their housewarming. But still she nodded silently, and turned to look out the window, at the cars slowly falling behind them. Doug wasn’t a horrible driver, just fast. But as far as Fiona was concerned it wasn’t fast enough.

The girl settled in again and started the twirl the ends of her long hair around her finger, brushing the wispy ends of it against her palm, aimlessly.

“So, do you do stuff for fun? Or are you all business?” The question bubbled off her tongue softly, distractedly. But that didn’t mean that her eyes weren’t watching him in the peripheral. He was broad shouldered, comfortable behind the wheel of his expensive car. Powerful engine, powerful hands. He drove it with purpose, in an “I’m here now” way. She wondered if his life was like that too.

 

[Wild_Oats]

“So, do you do stuff for fun? Or are you all business?”

"Business is fun," I said with a smirk. I had to change lanes. We had just blurred past Pomona and the I-15 interchange was coming up. I geared down and dabbed the brakes for the exit.

"I travel," I said. "Not as much as I used to. Caribbean, Australia, Holland." I swung the car to the right, neatly around the clover leaf and opened up again to merge with the northbound traffic towards Barstow. Fiona was playing with her hair. I couldn't tell whether she was flirting or just nervous enough to not know what to do with her hands.

"The last few months I started working out again," I continued. "Haven't done that seriously in almost 10 years."

I loved the throb of the engine and the sound of the tires on the pavement. I few more miles and the LA traffic would begin to dissipate. I'd be able to up the pace. I glanced over at my passenger, still twirling her hair, and took in the shape of the young lumps under her top breifly before making eye contact. I wasn't sure if she could see me through my sunglasses.

"Have you eaten?"