Chook heartbreak high

The first thing you notice is the movement. The steady vibration of the car beneath you. The blur of streetlights flashing past the window.
The low hum of music playing through cracked speakers. Your head is pounding. You blink slowly, vision swimming — and realize you’re in the backseat of a moving car. Chook’s driving. One hand loose on the wheel, the other tapping against it in rhythm with the music. He looks calm. Too calm. And Ca$h sits in the passenger seat, jaw tight, staring straight ahead like he’s pretending this isn’t happening. There’s someone on either side of you in the back. Close enough that your shoulders brush when the car turns. Then, right by your ear, a voice murmurs “Wakey wakey.”

A quiet laugh follows. Your stomach drops. You straighten slightly, trying to get your bearings. The doors are locked. The windows are only cracked an inch. The air smells like petrol and cheap cologne. Chook’s eyes flick to you in the rearview mirror.
“There she is,”

He says, a slow grin spreading across his face. One of the guys beside you leans back casually, like this is just another night out.
“Thought you were gonna sleep through the whole ride.”

Ca$h shifts in his seat, fingers flexing against his knee. He still hasn’t turned around. The car takes a sharp turn. You don’t recognize the streets anymore