Author's Note: This will be a fairly tragic story in some ways. There will be some terribly upsetting violence (nonsexual), and the ending isn't meant to be very satisfying. However, different people have different opinions.
***
Bang!
Crunch!
Arthur's body was forced to lurch forward a bit, but when his heart stopped battering his ribs and his goosebumps smoothed out, he realized he wasn't hurt. His car was worse, though. He could tell. Still, he was able to pull over.
All this had happened in the hot summer daylight, on a quiet intersection with only two buildings in sight, a shop with Spanish signs and a gas station's convenience store. Arthur opened the driver's door and slid out of his now damaged gray car. What had collided with him? A huge black pickup truck with four doors. That truck's bumper was dented, but otherwise the vehicle seemed fine.
Arthur's car had more than a dent in front. It looked like something had tried to take a bite out of it, failed, kicked it with a giant foot, and moved on with a hateful grumble. His fingers slid up his brow and through his messy blond hair. This would cost money, and he wasn't exactly craving a visit to small claims court.
"Are you okay?!"
A man's voice. He genuinely sounded concerned. That was comforting. Arthur turned around to greet him.
Tall, tanned, muscular, and showing off shiny black hair in a low ponytail. Even though his gray eyes were pleasant to see, Arthur couldn't think of them as showing off. There were too many worried creases tightening around them.
"I think so." Arthur had to tilt his head back a little to meet the stranger's eyes, and he wasn't a short man. "What about you?"
"I'm fine," the stranger said as he reached back to get something. It turned out to be a cell phone in a case, probably from his jeans' pocket. "I've never rammed into anyone before. I guess I have to give you my number, right?"
"And I think we should call the cops," Arthur said as he opened his car's door again. "Hold on." He went to get his phone. "Okay, I'm calling them now."
After that was done, the man told him his name. Vince Jeffery. He had a fun loving smile. "Oh," here, he held up an index finger, "we can't just share numbers and leave it there, right?"
"You're right," Arthur said with a shrug. "Insurance, plate numbers, stuff like that."
It all went so smoothly, so cordially, that it felt like they were discussing something gentle and fun, like desserts. Even when the cops showed up, everything was perfectly fair and dandy.
"It's all my fault," Vince said to the cops. "I'm the one who ran into him."
And although Arthur thought his insurance would cover at least most of the damage, and even though he'd said this to the other man quite plainly, Vince took out a checkbook and said, "I got you. No worries."
"Dude, it's too soon for that." Arthur was waving his hands up in a very dismissive way. "You're supposed to wait for me to tell you how much I need to get it fixed."
The old fashioned sound of pen against paper dug into the air. "Yeah, yeah. I know, but I feel bad about this. I'll feel better if I give you something now."
Arthur took a deep breath and put his hands on his hips, looking down at the ground and shaking his head. Who uses checks anymore?! Seriously! This guy was weird. "Even if you handed me cash, I wouldn't take it. We need to do this right."
"Shut up and take the check," Vince said as he ripped said check out. Then he pointed it at Arthur's chest very smoothly. He held the paper between his index and middle fingers. Those fingers were so long. There were scars on his hands, particularly on the knuckles.
Arthur rolled his blue eyes and took the check, thinking he should tear it up right in front of the other man, but when he looked at the number hastily scratched out on the paper, he paused.
"Really?"
"Really," Vince said in a deadpan tone.
"Well ... okay."
They parted ways soon after that, and the next two weeks were surprisingly easy. Arthur got his car fixed in a short amount of time, and he had a bit of money leftover to cushion himself. Arthur thought of that odd man as a godsend. His rent was paid in advance and life felt less heavy. It was much easier to ignore his roommate's snooty stares when he was in a better mood.
At the end of those two weeks, just after Arthur got home from his job as a cashier, he got a text from that weird man. As he walked through the front entrance of the modern mobile home, he held his phone up to read the text.
"Hey! It's Vince. Did you get your car fixed?"
After Arthur closed and locked the door, he responded with, "Yes. Everything's fine. Thanks."
"Cool! Sorry for the trouble."
"Ok. Bye."
Arthur click the phone's lock screen into place and walked into the house's living room. The kitchen/dining room was to his left, and the only separation was a small bar-like area with two stools. His roommate, a young black woman named Tatiana, was braiding someone's hair in that kitchen. That was how she made most of her money, and Arthur thought that was pretty neat. He didn't know how to braid anything.
Wordless, he turned to his right and went down a small hallway. There was a little bedroom and a bathroom waiting on him. First, he freshened up in the bathroom. Then he went to his bedroom, where his bed, a small fridge, and a decent PC waited. He needed some stress relief. Work was typically dull.
Stardew Valley, Civilization V, Borderlands 1 or 2, any Witcher game, even The Sims 3, or even that weak ass number 4! He needed to do something fun. Even fooling around with the first three Princess Maker games would be nice.
He was also saving up a little money to get a console, despite the fact that he thought PCs were better. He just ... really liked consoles, as silly as it was. He'd been through a lot of shit recently, and he thought he needed a stupid treat.
Arthur sighed as the pad of his index finger pressed into the PC's power button. Then he turned on the monitor.
Holy hell did he need a treat.
All the treats.
If he was a drinker, he'd become an alcoholic.
If he was a tweeker, he'd be dead by now.
Arthur's vice was gaming, specifically video games. He knew better than to spend more than he could afford, but god damn he'd invested so much into gaming over his lifetime!!
And he knew he was going to invest so much more. Even when he was a delicate old man, he'd probably be stuck in a wheelchair or something, and he'd be playing with whatever the best new thing was, as long as it didn't suck ass, and so many games sucked ass. Not in a sexy way, at least.
Even when he was old ...
He'd need the treats.
Because ...
***
