Vin wasn’t the least bit enthusiastic about climbing into the back of a truck that looked like it came from Fred Sanford himself, especially being driven by a kid who felt it necessary to pack enough heat for an army. However, these were, in fact unusual times for everyone, and desperation had a way of slipping into every situation, no matter how skewed it might be. 

He turned to Jennifer as she apologized in her own way, and reached for her extended hand without hesitation, helping her out of the back seat of the car that the group would probably never see again. A few minutes prior, in bouts of pridefulness, anger, and despair, part of him really wanted to blurt out accusations that essentially said to her, [i]Yep, it is you, not me.[/i], but those thoughts vanished when he met Jennifer’s glistening eyes again for the first time since they were back in Atlanta. Her expression was quite sullen and exhausted, and the mascara left small streaks of black running down her cheeks that Vincent wiped away with the sleeve of his shirt. 

“You’re a mess...” He said with a wink and a smile, cupping Jennifer’s chin in his hand. “But aren’t we all?”

Vincent bent down, wrapped an arm under her legs and the other behind her back and lifted her up. Jennifer’s face appeared a though she were about to protest, but Vin cut her off at the pass. “And no, you’re not too heavy for me, and [i]shut it[/i]...because I’m carrying you whether you want it or not.” He said again, his previous morose attitude replaced by positivity and a grin that didn’t seem to want to go away, as he walked over to the back of the truck, and placed her onto the lowered tailgate. Vin ran his fingers through her disheveled hair, pushing the tiny locks and strands out of her face, curling them gently behind her ears. 

“And if our lives are going to be a fucked up tornado of chaos for awhile, let’s you and I be broken together from here on.”