[center][h1]Lucas Bray[/h1][/center]

[hr][b]Pointe Bordeaux[/b]
	[i]March 18, 2016[/i]
[hr]

Tying knots made the rope tug tight in his brain, coiling up his thoughts into stays and loops, rough around the edges where the ends had frayed, loosening into disarray every time he started over. But that was alright, Lucas wasn’t trying to think. He just wanted the distraction. Something to do with his hands, something to keep his mind occupied, out of reach of the spinning wheels and rattle-trap windows drumming a tune out of non-existent raindrops. Now and again, a stone pinged through the effort he was making, and he winced at the crack snapping across his skull. Slowly, all the rest snuck inside, too. Buzzing wind and tension in the seatbelts, an uncomfortable silence in the real world, broken much too readily by layers upon layers of radio chatter and favourite albums that combined into static. 

And all the gear in the back weighing in and pressing him into a seat where the leg room was already too short, but he was hitching a ride. No right to complain, and no reason either. Not their fault he didn’t like cars. Not their fault he could feel the gravel crunching beneath tires like sand between teeth. Grating. 

Still, for all his desire not to annoy them or be a bother, there was a reason the convoy had put him on a rotation, sharing him between cars, so to speak. Eventually, all that noise had to go somewhere, his head was too small a place for it. He’d already gone through the whole routine of shifting about noisily, relating shouting matches they likely could have done with keeping in the past, sleeping (with the help of a generously donated sleeping pill when he got to a few particularly coarse words), and telling them their tires squeaked in snow. Of which there was absolutely none around.

[b]“Hey! I know this one!”[/b] His head came up from its bowed position and he grinned crookedly at the dash, singing loudly over sound no one else could hear to try dragging out the song. [b]“Aware of what you mean by then, only ten years old, I close my eyes and brace myself, to cross out what I’ve become, erase myself but myself keeps slipping aw-Huh.”[/b] 

In truth, Lucas knew an awful lot of songs, lyrics that echoed incessantly could be hard to forget. But he rarely managed a full verse. And, twisting around to grin at his confusion, possibly grateful that he’d stopped, Harrison was obviously well aware of this particular difficulty. As well as another trouble that prompted him to raise his own voice and speak slowly, giving their passenger the chance to keep up. [i]“Only three songs that time, bud. But why not catch some more shut-eye, we’re still an hour or so out.”[/i]

And the ride, really, wasn’t going to get any better. From the way he caught the lyrics, it was pretty clear whose musical preferences Lucas had discovered, but he just grimaced at the man, rubbing his head and fighting the well-worn urge to cover his ears. Never worked. Someone was bothered though, and it made him a little braver, running on borrowed steam. [b]“Can’t, music’s loud. It’s all there twist-cap up like a scratched record. It’s loud.”[/b] He ended on a wilted note as the irritation turned into the hiss of escaping air. She had the stronger right to it, but her first words were too often said for him to ignore.

[i]“I’m tired o-”[/i] He broke in without really meaning to. [b]“Of this shit. Sorry. Sorry, I know it’s caught in the door open and get out. It just comes out.”[/b] The wrong words jumped from his mouth when he tried to apologise too fast, offering immediate proof of his explanation, but Lucas just cringed into his seat with his eyes shut as Lisa turned back to watching the road after shooting him a well-deserved glare. [b]“Sorry. You sing better…”[/b]

The uncomfortable silence reigned once more, Lucas biting at a thumbnail and shooting glances that were at once hurt and apologetic at the back of the driver’s seat. He’d made what peace offering he could manage and didn’t know if she’d accepted it or ignored it. They were all tired, he knew that. He’d spent half the day sleeping and [i]he[/i] was tired, so they had to be. But if he said one more sorry, they’d probably throw him out of the truck. There was such a thing as too Canadian, he’d learned. 

He actually jumped at the sudden crack of thunder, hands instantly over his ears, feet pulled up and knees braced against the back of Harrison’s seat. Curled in a ball and glaring at the roof. It wasn’t the echo of rumbling that got to him, but what came with it. The rain was back. Scattering his thoughts with lashing waves of hard drops and snare drum rattling. An ache like bruising settled in his skull and he was too busy wanting it gone to pay attention to the crackle of the radio.

He didn’t even notice when the truck stopped and Harrison climbed out until the man shook his shoulder. [i]“Lucas, hey, we figured you’d want to stay. We’re going for gas, but this is the stop.”[/i]

Blearily, Lucas blinked at him, looked around and realized they were half parked and the longer he took thinking about it, the more soaked Harrison was getting. He gave up looking for words and just unbuckled, careful with the seatbelt, and climbed out himself. And as soon as he was clear, Harrison climbed back in and off they went. Slouched, dripping and already shivering slightly, he watched them go, enjoying the, by comparison, gentle soaking that came with the quiet in his mind. 

In shorts, a flower streaked button shirt and sandals, he was hardly well equipped for the weather. Relief, however, buoyed him in the moment, so that he smiled quietly as he tilted his head back, arms moving away from his sides, palms up, relaxing into the rain and letting his mind run away on the edges of the rivulets forming in the cloth. Drifting down with gravity. 

Then someone honked and he started, back to the world, spread fingers hiding his face as he flinched and glanced over before moving aside. This was living… Shouldn’t stand in front of oncoming traffic. His face split into a merry grin beneath the sodden strands dripping into his eyes, and Lucas waved as he recovered himself and found a voice he wanted to hear. Still here and still breathing, child. Ha. Serena. Pushing the hair from his face, he trudged between the parked aisles in time to catch Tarvos leaving the old Camper that rumbled more about having to put in the effort than everyone else combined. Still there though, hadn’t gotten lost along the way. 

[b]“Hi, bye. I’m wet.”[/b] When all else failed, stating the obvious was his best bet. But the leader of this caravan was not the person he wanted to talk to, so acknowledging him was all Lucas felt obliged to manage. But as he leaned inside the camper to look at Serena hopefully, his words slowed to almost one per breath as he found just the right ones. [b]“You have my towel. It’s fluffy. Can I come in?”[/b]