Two sisters heading for a new life, escaping a troubled youth. Leading on directly from part 1.

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These guys were going down. Britney was too soft with this kind of man, let them get too close. She should know by now that you have to get physical; it’s the only language they understood. I’m not a chatty person.

“Let’s just get out of here, ‘Shell-”

She was calling out my name, trying to get me to stop, but the chi was flowing now, the sacred channel opened, warm vitae flowing down my wrist. It hurt, and I loved it, and I sensed my sister doing the same to herself. We were bound in ways that men like Frank would never comprehend.

“Now listen here you circus freak, take your fancy car and get outta here!” said Frank, reaching into a pocket on his oil stained workman’s suit and pulling out a stubby but heavy wrench. His two friends looked nervous but indignant. One with blond hair said: “They’s just a pair of dykes, man.”

That was it. They just forfeited their rights to a working body.

I suddenly found myself running at Frank, three pairs of scissors in each hand, pulled from the inside pockets in my jacket. I must have looked like some kind of cross between Wolverine from X-Men and a Silent Hill monster-tard as I ran past him, spinning, whirling. Daddy paid for me to take ballerina lessons. Frank spun and lashed out at me but I was way too fast, stabbing and sticking him with the scissors as I flowed.

snick under the armpit snick left arm snick lower back snick abdomen snick…

The cuts weren’t very deep but they hurt like hell and bled nicely. Frank might have gotten a chance to retaliate if Britney hadn’t come crashing down on him a few seconds after me, wailing like a banshee, smacking the heel of her palm into the back of his head.

Down? Oh yeh. Like a sack of shit.

Britney grabbed my wrist and dragged me away before the fight could escalate. She was keen on avoiding deaths, a very sensitive and caring woman. Her compassion gave me the faith I needed to carry on- without my sister I would curl up and die.

“Come on, Michelle, let’s leave these kind boys to lick their wounds,” she said as she bundled me into the passenger seat of the Mazda RX7. Head swimming a little from adrenaline and blood loss, I popped the glove compartment and took out the first aid kit and a bottle of vodka. I bound my wound, and hers while she reversed out of the place.

I put a CD on as we got back on the open road. Jack Off Jill, my favourite. Britney preferred Kidneythieves. She stomped on the gas and headed off to find somewhere to sleep tonight.

“We have to stop attracting attention, Michelle,” said my sister. “I want to cut loose too, but we are so close to our goal. Once we hit Miami, we can get wasted and do whatever we want. ‘Till then, let’s just concentrate on staying alive, huh?” She was always looking after me. I nodded and smiled, and she smiled back. She wouldn’t admit it but she enjoyed the fight. I knew her better than she knew herself.

The CD lyrics floated to my ears and reminded me of our early teens:

…she said kill me faster / with strawberry gashes all over…

I leaned over and kissed Britney’s neck, parting her blonde hair with black roots showing through. It was so soft and warm, and I could sense the blood pumping under the surface.

Yeah, that’s right, I kissed my sister. Don’t get me started. Free country.

This drive is actually kinda nice, relaxing. I put the gear back in the glove compartment and took out the letter that had started our exodus…

“Girls. I was able to find you both trial nursing positions at the Douglas Gardens Hospital in Miami. You’re qualifications weren’t quite good enough but I was able to pull strings. You asked for ‘far away’ right? Miami is pretty damn far.
I can’t do much more, not with the pressure from Dr. Bowen. He thinks you’re not ready to go out, and I’ll be honest- I respect his opinion as a psychiatrist, and I’m not sure if you guys are ready, but you cured my little girl when nobody else could.
I picked Miami because I know a guy who lives out there, a street racer, and you said that you’re into the scene. His name is Twist, ask at the M1 beachside bar for him.
Please be careful, and remember to take your meds.
Evan.”

The meds were somewhere in the first aid kit, but we didn’t need them any more. The world made sense now. We weren’t crazy, we just found out how to… operate on the cosmos. The truth had been within our bodies all along.

Wait… rear view… four motorcycles, ones that had been parked up at the bar. It looked like revenge time for sticking Frank fulla holes- a beat down, served hot, just like daddy used to make. I touched Brit’s arm but she had already seen and was moving into the centre of the (thankfully quite empty) freeway. They were around the car in minutes, some swinging chains. Bastards! A chain couldn’t hurt a car much, but a custom paint job and decals? Scratch this car and I swear you are dead men!

One of the guys who had leered at them earlier was with them. He came up close on his bike and swung his chain at them, smashing Brit’s window with a loud shatter and rush of wind. She shrieked as glass cut her face, making her swerve dangerously and forcing her to close one eye.

“Ah, fuck, ‘Shell help me!” gasped my sister between panic induced gulps of air. I reached over and cupped my hand on her face, trying not to obscure her vision, and hoped that the bikers couldn’t see what I was about to do.

Chi flowed. I cashed in my earlier blood sacrifice; one symbolic wound redeemable at any good cosmos. Ker-ching.
I closed the holes in her cheek and the glass dropped away. The blood went too, and she was suddenly fine again, beautiful as ever. We knew that our gift could be used to alter appearances, but we both liked each other exactly how we were.

I looked around again to see that the bikers were coming back for another round, but my heart dropped when Frank himself drew level with Britney’s shattered window and carefully levelled a pistol at her. FUCKER! I went to throw something at him or to cover my sister with my body, but fortunately Britney was one step ahead.

With the flick of a switch, nitrous flooded the car’s systems.

…I pissed in my pants / and I don’t feel any bigger…

I was literally forced backwards into my seat as a few hundred dollars worth of pressurised nitrous oxide, amphetamine for cars, pushed the Mazda way ahead of the wannabe hell’s angels. Way ahead.

“Damn, that was an expensive rest stop,” said Britney, making me laugh despite the absolute personal horror that had filled me when Brit’s life had been in danger. I wondered how far it was to the next inn so I could shower and sleep.

“About half an hour till the next inn, then we can kick back, see to the car in the morning.”

I love it when she does that! Were we psychic, or did all twins have this bond? Or was it something to do with that ritual we did when we were little? Hell if I know.

We passed a big sign giving the distance to Miami, Tampa, etc. Damn, still 333 miles to Miami.

Another sign read: ‘REMEMBER TO REST. Tiredness at the wheel can kill.’

Someone had sprayed ‘you can’t go back to sleep’ underneath it, and it’s true.

Hope you like. Not very long as i’m really tired myself.
As for the 333 miles to miami, check out google earth, it really is 333 miles from just outside suwanee to miami, approximately of course! give or take 30 miles!