Crash - Part 1

(This is the first part of a short story I started.  Hopefully through the course of this blog I will finish it and it won't sound totally immature.)

PART 1

I saw the man in front of me, but for some reason it didn't register.  I looked back at my car trying to figure out what I should say.  But for some reason I couldn't formulate a word, much less a sentence.

"Are you alright?" he asked as he dipped his ever-famous sunglasses down his nose so I could see his deep, brown eyes, shimmering.  I couldn't tell if they were reflecting the sun or if the glow radiated from within his soul.

"Um...yeah...I mean, yes," I sputtered.

"I'm sorry.  I didn't mean to stop so abruptly," he said.

I vaguely remember driving behind a dark car with tinted windows and getting frustrated with the driver's seemingly distracted driving.  The next thing I knew I had slammed on my brakes way too late and rear-ended the car.  Thankfully I had my seatbelt on at the time and my airbag had taken the impact of my face and not the steering wheel.  I had come to my senses and taken off my seatbelt, checking to make sure I could feel all of my extremities. I got out of my car wanting to ensure the driver in front of me was alright, knowing full well, I would be at fault in this little accident.  I walked to the rear of the car in front of me. 

My eyes looked down to the body in the trunk of his car in front of me.  The impact of my car had dislodged the trunk latch.  There was a woman facing away from me and appeared lifeless.  I then see a faint movement of her shoulders and surmised that she must still be alive. The question was, "Why is there a woman in the trunk of the car belonging to Drew Roberts, Sr.

"I see you have noticed her.  I have a very good explanation for that," Mr. Roberts said as he strode closer to me.  He placed one hand on the trunk lid and, while blocking me from getting any closer with the other, shut the trunk firmly.

"I didn't mean for you to see that yet," he said.  He looked into my face as if trying to assure me of his concern and sympathy.

I was still trying to register the fact that my favorite actor was standing in front of me when the words he spoke caught me off guard. "Yet?" I asked.

I was frozen to the pavement as if there were lead in my brand new Jimmy Choos.  Mr. Roberts (as I could only refer to him) began walking back to the driver's door of his platinum-colored late modeled BMW.  He reached in and took out a pad of paper and pen and scribbled something on it, tore the sheet from the notebook, tossed the pad back into his car, folded the piece of paper in half and placed the paper under my windshield wiper.  He started back to where I continued to stand, immobilized.

"There is something I need to tell you," he said.  He took my right hand and began to lead me to the passenger door of his car.  It was a good thing he was standing so close because I thought I might faint right there on the spot.  I couldn't remember ever having felt this light-headed.

He opened the door and gently helped me in, handling me as if I were a delicate piece of porcelain.  He knelt at the door, getting dirt on his delectable Levis, and quietly said, "Let's start off with introductions, shall we?  I already know you as Marilyn.  I would like for you to call me Robbie."  He gently raised my hand to his lips and kissed my still-trembling fingers.