Jude was too drunk to be bullied into submission. His eyes bugged out at the change in Near's tone, but they remained bloodshot, unfocused, and terrified. Jude had not truly considered the consequences of being apprehended until his apprehension was upon him; he did not really believe he could fail. He had not be so protected from pop culture that he had not internalized certain ideas about good and evil, and the triumph of the former over the latter. 'Good' was relative -- the Family believed itself to serve the greatest good of all -- but Jude was going off his own definition and what served it. The unspeakable agony of good being defeated by panicked driving shattered his brain. Also he was very drunk. Everything felt shattering.
Getting out of his seat was a battle. First he fought with his seatbelt (flailing) and then stretched out to climb across the cup holder and gearshift (the limbs of an ungainly octopus, uneven flexibility) to get to Near's side of the car. He cut his sleeve on something on the way over, some loose piece of glass, but there was no blood. Maybe there should be blood! Maybe he should slash his arm and lift up the car and drop it on Near's stupid head. Fuck! Fuck!
With total dismay, he looked down the road at the approaching headlights. "No!" he yelled, so loudly that there's a chance the car might hear. He looked back to their crashed car, which still contained his backpack in the backseat. He will not get anywhere without it -- not without money, not without directions.
"If it is them," he said sullenly, "Jump under the wheels." The suggestion was unnecessarily cruel, but at this point, Near was closer to an enemy than a friend.
Getting out of his seat was a battle. First he fought with his seatbelt (flailing) and then stretched out to climb across the cup holder and gearshift (the limbs of an ungainly octopus, uneven flexibility) to get to Near's side of the car. He cut his sleeve on something on the way over, some loose piece of glass, but there was no blood. Maybe there should be blood! Maybe he should slash his arm and lift up the car and drop it on Near's stupid head. Fuck! Fuck!
With total dismay, he looked down the road at the approaching headlights. "No!" he yelled, so loudly that there's a chance the car might hear. He looked back to their crashed car, which still contained his backpack in the backseat. He will not get anywhere without it -- not without money, not without directions.
"If it is them," he said sullenly, "Jump under the wheels." The suggestion was unnecessarily cruel, but at this point, Near was closer to an enemy than a friend.