She’s right behind me. Her arms are around me. Her head is resting comfortably on my shoulder. She smells nice. That’s the first thing that comes to my mind. A mixture again. Vanilla and gasoline. I’ve always loved the smell of gasoline. It reminds me of that time we drove around a whole night, just wanting to be alone. To get away. My mother was throwing some party at home, forbidding me to even put my foot through the door and the Carlin’s resident was not an option. It rarely was. At least when Paula was home. She never liked me. Everytime I was there she’d always try to put me down. In one way or another. So we took my car and headed for anywhere. We made a stop at a gas station about 20 miles south. The scent of fuel was overflowing the air as I made my way to the gas pump. I loved it. I loved her. I don’t know why that’s relevant but I remember thinking that when I watched her through the window. She was falling asleep, resting her head against the glass. She was so beautiful. She always has been. But I have no idea why she’s wearing that scent now though. Maybe our car broke down. Maybe we’re stranded. I don’t know. But I do know that I like this. I like this view and I love her silky hands that are now drawing circles underneath my shirt. On my bare stomach. I pull her closer as I take a deep breath. She knows why. I need her closer. I need her closer then ever. I don’t know why. I don’t know why we’re here but I’m pulling her closer, afraid that she might leave. I don’t know why she would. But I’m scared. And I know she feels it.