The Passenger

By R.J. Tennyson

John gripped the steering wheel so tight the white of his knuckles threatened to illuminate the dark interior of his car.

“You’re such a fucking fool,” the passenger mumbled.

John’s jaw stiffened causing a dull ache in his cheek. His eyes fixed on the road ahead. The only time he let them drift was to glance at the rear vision mirror – to check that what he was running from wasn’t following.

“You know you can’t leave it behind, don’t you?” the passenger asked in a dry rhetorical whisper; expecting, nor wanting, an answer. John tried to ignore the question, but a slice of him knew the passenger was right; the past always waits for your return.

“It’s all your fault, John. You just need to face it, you aren’t good enough, and you’ll never be good enough. All the therapy in the world won’t change anything. YOU ARE A LOSER!” The passenger shouted at John.

John’s eyes stayed fixed on the road in front of him. He didn’t dare look at the passenger, but he knew the passenger was staring at him. Not just at him – into him. Deep inside where the real John lived.

The true John.

Not the John that revealed himself to the world – the John that would bleed if cut.

The passenger stared inside and saw the John that was formed from pain, and hurt, and anxiety, and lost hope – the John that had been broken apart and glued back together to be broken apart again, and again.

Although John sat upright, he felt as though something heavy sat on his chest. The weight of every thought, every idea, every choice, every emotion – good and bad. Everything that had led to today.

“Why are you wasting your time? If they cared they’d realise how you felt,” the passenger said in a sympathetic tone. “You’re invisible to them, John. As much as you want to be one of them, you’ll never be. If you drop dead tomorrow their lives will go on as though you were never there at all. How long do you think it will take until no one remembers who you were? A day? A week? You’re vanilla – never their first choice,” the passenger paused a moment, “but you’re my first choice. I won’t forget you. You can always rely on me to be here.”

John slammed his foot on the brake. The car’s tyres squealed as it came to a stop. Outside it was as black as pitch. The only sound was the car idling.

“Get the fuck out of my car,” John demanded. “Get out now!”

“You’re being a fool again, John. Don’t be stup…”

“I SAID, GET OUT!”

The passenger opened the door and slid out of the car, turning back to John and whispering, “you know you need me. You’ve always needed me. You’ll be back. You can’t survive without me.”

“But I can’t survive with you either,” John said as he drove away.