Trapped in a Car With the Man I Feared Most
<p>“Hey, I’ve got a taxi.” My boyfriend, Dan yelled from several feet away.</p>
<p>The black cab pulled to an abrupt stop in front of him as I stumbled towards the vehicle, trying to keep my balance in my three-inch pink heels.</p>
<p><em>Not my best look. Not my worst either.</em></p>
<p>Dan pulled at the backseat door, swinging it open and almost falling. After steadying himself, he crawled into the backseat to the far side making room for me to hobble in beside him.</p>
<p>We had been drinking at several obnoxious bars with our friends for the last seven hours and were struggling to cope with the large amount of alcohol that was coursing through our bodies. At 23 years old, we thought we could handle our drink.</p>
<p>Clearly, we were wrong.</p>
<p>I managed to position myself in my seat and close the door. My purse vibrated and I stuck my hand inside to feel for the culprit, while Dan recited his address in a slurred voice.</p>
<p><em>Real sophisticated, Babe.</em></p>
<p>My fingers grasped the phone and yanked it from the makeup-stuffed purse as the car began to move. I blinked repeatedly at my phone, trying to decipher the meaning of the slew of words on the screen sent by my equally drunk friend.</p>
<p><em>Something about rice. Or climate change. One of the two.</em></p>
<p>I was vaguely aware that Dan was talking but I knew it wasn’t to me. I picked up on phrases such as “busy night” and “fucking mad” coming from my boyfriend’s mouth. It was a standard drunk idiot and taxi driver conversation.</p>
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