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Dom & Emmanuelle

Dom & Emmanuelle

“Dominique, oh, Dominique, my girl is so unique. I’ve never had a better one. She hides and makes me seek.”

Emmanuelle sings as he shifts between 3rd and 4th gear, the sleek black Porsche swinging through the city like a shadow.

“You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. The best. I was so scared I’d lose you this morning. But you’d never let me go, would you?”

“Can you slow down?”

“New year, new us. Stronger than ever. Let’s go over the bridge tonight. You’re the poet. You should appreciate that. It’s a metaphor. New year, new us. It’s a symbol.”


Slams on the breaks. The engine sputters then stalls under the street lights’ weak glow. A woman pushes a cart in front of the Porsche with bare, asphalt-black feet.

“Jesus fucking Christ, I’m driving here!” He honks his horn and, when there is just enough room, turns the car back on and speeds around her.

“What are you so…quiet for?” he asks.

Dominique looks out the window.

“You haven’t said a word all night. Not a damn word since we stepped into that white bitch’s mansion.”

“I did try to tell you something.”

“What?” Emmanuelle slows down in front of a red light and Dominique looks over at him.

“You know what,” she says.

“Oh, come on! That? That was nothing. Just a little snort. You’re not mad about that, are you? …Dom? …Dom? Are you? Ooohhh shit! Well, what did you want me to do? Everyone was playing with their noses. That was the whole point of the party. The second we left the bar, that was all that white girl could talk about. How she was gettin’ enough powder for everyone to—”

“I know, but with the way we talked this morning. You didn’t—I mean, you shouldn’t have—whatever, never mind. Just take me home.”

“Take you home!?” The Porsche screamed like a bullet. “What are you talking about? Are you crazy? I thought we were going over the bridge.”

“Don’t call me crazy.”

“Okay, hey, I’m sorry. I’m sorry, babe. I shouldn’t have said that. I shouldn’t have done that. God, I shouldn’t have done it. But you know me, Dom. Alcohol is my getaway. What did you expect from me? You put me in a room with all your friends, people I’d never met, and a bottle of Julio. I mean, what did you expect? Then, the rich white girl wanted to buy everything. I mean really, what did you expect? It’s just as much your fault as it is mine. Shit. Fuck. Don’t go home. Don’t make me take you home, Dom. You know you’re the most important person in my life, don’t you? You know before you, I felt like I was sleeping. No, no, scratch that. This is the dream. It’s just too good to be true. Don’t wake me up.”

“I don’t want to go across the bridge. We’ve both had a lot to drink. I just want to go home and sleep.”

There are almost tears, but Dom holds them in. Emmanuelle turns up the radio and exits for the freeway: I-80 Eastbound towards Oakland.

“Emmanuelle, what, the, fuck.”

“Oh, come on, baby. That ain’t right. You know that ain’t right. I can’t take you home now. Not before we fix this. Not before we fix us.”

Dom digs her fingernails into the leather and reaches for a cigarette.

“What’s the problem, huh? Cat got your tongue? You afraid of the big bad wolf? Ow, ow, owwoooo!”

“I shouldn’t have even gone out with you tonight. I should have fucking followed through,” Dom says more to herself. It is a thought she should not have let escape.

Now, it’s Emmanuelle’s turn to be silent. The Porsche speaks for him. 6th gear: 95, 100, 110 miles per hour.

“Please slow down,” Dom begs. “I didn’t mean it like that. You know I didn’t mean I wanted—”

“What then? What did you mean?”

The bridge comes into view. Then, they’re on it.

“Just that we shouldn’t have gone out. You were right. It was my fault. I shouldn’t have put you in a room with all those people.”

“You’re lying to me.”

120, 125.

“No, I’m not lying.”

“Yes, you are. You’re trying to make me feel better. God, I’m a monster. You just want me to take you home. But once I do, I’ll never see you again. You’ll probably call your girls and tell them all what a basket case I am.”

135, 140.

“Well, that’s not going to happen!”

Emmanuelle thrusts up the emergency break. The Porsche drifts to the right. Dom’s head knocks against the window. For a split second, she is convinced the car will flip over. But it doesn’t. It screeches to a halt. Smoke rises from the tires and the road. There is no one else on the bridge.

Emmanuelle steps out of the car.

“What are you doing?”

He walks to the side of the road and looks over the edge.

“Emmanuelle, what the fuck are you doing?! Come back to the car.”

Dom is behind him, in the street, running towards him. There are tears now.

“Please, please, I didn’t mean it like that. Please, Emmanuelle, get back in the car. It was my fault, you’re right. You don’t have to take me home.”

“This is what you wanted, Dom. I told you this morning this is what would happen.”

He pushes her away. She swirls like a storm cloud and tumbles to the ground like rain. Blood from Dom’s knee stains the concrete.

“Please, Emmanuelle, I’ll never leave you. I swear to God, I’ll never leave you. I’m always going to be by your side. Ride or die. We’re gonna get you better. I know you don’t want to hurt me. I know it hurts you to do it. You’re not a monster. Please just get back in the car.”

Emmanuelle steps away from the ledge. He picks Dom up and walks her towards the Porsche. They get inside, he starts the engine and drives at a steady pace.

“Dominique, oh, Dominique, my girl is so unique. I’ve never had a better one. She hides and makes me seek.”

Dylan Connell is an author and musician who seems to have wandered out of the classical canon and into the modern-day metropolis of the Bay Area. He writes fast paced philosophical fiction. His music explores a fractured psychology in relation to the troubled spiritual times of the 21st century. Dylan is an advocate of mixing mediums; his first book contained eleven stories and eleven songs. His work has been published in Ab Terra’s Best of 2021 Science Fiction, The Pointed circle, ¡Pa’lante! and other magazines. He is currently working on his second book: The Mask of Aphrodite. When he is not writing, or rapping, Dylan enjoys hiking with his blue-eyed Husky Shuka, and playing pick-up basketball.

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