Zure usaina nire Artxea da.
100 mph. Back from Stansted Airport. Drunk as fuck.
But this time I am not the one driving.
The music is so loud that I need to shout to sing. I am OK with it. He raises the volume up with every chord I sing.
I suddenly realize that getting hit by or crash into the back of one of this huge lorries, would not be a problem. Not at all. I don’t fucking care. It would be so fast, so dirty, so silent.
No one would even stop. Not to see flesh that they could foreseen only by the smell of our indifference.
In that very moment, we are thinking in going to Tesco, or going to Hell. Is the fucking same. We laugh at ourselves. We laugh at everyone in this world. We are invencible.
But then, he smiles and starts it.
-See those red lights? Your girlfriend lives there.
He called her “your girlfriend”. Well.
-I see. So that’s north London, right? We are quite far away yet.
I try to move the topic away from our voices, but it stands still in my forehead as a 4 yard long nail. It’s obvious to him that now I am thinking on her, so starts focusing in the road for the first time in 25 miles.
I regret my selfishness. I regret my mere existence, even my own breath. I realize now that I don’t deserve this. Now I… have? a trigger that puts every suicide feeling away in seconds.
I don’t understand it well yet. YET.
I wouldn’t care crashing in your arms.
And I start smiling. All the way back home.