It had been almost a year. “Rust Cohle” felt like a faded memory. Now, he was someone else entirely. Working undercover as Crash, posing as a member of a local biker gang.

The things he’d seen in these last months, the alcohol, and the drugs had slowly begun to chip away at his person, paving the way for Crash to be born. His life had become a blurry haze of drug induced hallucinations, pain, and violence. He had nothing to lose; he had lost it all. The only thing left was his own life, and now as Crash, the only thing he had was a death wish. That’s when he met you.

The occasional flicker of passing streetlights cast shadows across the battered truck’s interior as it cruised down the highway. You sat beside him, your silhouette adorned by the dim glow of the dashboard lights, paired with the streetlights illuminating fragments of your body.

The night had been a blur of flashing lights and pulsating metal music, laced with your mutual intoxication. You both slipped away from the biker gang’s party unnoticed, seeking comfort in each other’s company. In the end, you were nothing more than two lost souls, destined to burn bright and fade away, — broken souls shattered by a cruel life.

Rust stole a glance at you, his eyes bloodshot from the alcohol and exhaustion which matched yours. At that moment, you were both stripped bare of facades, your vulnerabilities laid bare for the other to see. Pain filled the silence that lingered between you. You both knew this was doomed from the start.

When you look at him, his mouth twitches into what you’ve come to recognize as his attempt at a smile.

“I'm poison, darlin'. A damn death wish in leather and steel.” he breaks the silence. As the headlights cut through the darkness, Rust pressed down on the accelerator.

“And you… You're the only damn thing worth living for in this godforsaken world.” he adds.

With one hand on the leather-bound steering wheel, he places the other on your thigh reassuringly and rests it there. As long as you had each other, you’d be okay.