Nightcall

He was silent, both hands on the wheel, staring straight ahead into the orange glow of the city streets. I held onto my elbows, kept my head straight, but couldn't stop my peripherals from watching him. Silence, a game of second-guessing and over-thinking.

I could smell his cologne faintly under the thin blanket of cigarette smoke embedded in his shirt. A simple silver watch gleamed on his wrist, ticking louder than the vicious rain outside. I wondered where we were going, if he had something planned or if he just likes driving at night. We were getting farther from the city, and I wished I hadn't agreed when he asked me if I felt like heading out tonight. I was perfectly happy in my bed with a book, when he mentioned a "drive" I expected conversation and maybe some scenery. Not a silent escape to God-knows-where.

I felt nervous, like we were going to rob a store and throw the money out on the highway, or get sickly drunk and sling the bottles into Church windows. I pictured us, casually walking into a convenience store and asking the cashier to give us everything he's got. Intimidating, but sexy. The cashier wouldn't take me seriously at first, but he would pull out the gun and lay it casually on the counter. The cashier would probably get a little angry, but we'd keep our faces straight, maybe a little smirk here or there, and ask one last time before we shoot one of the liquor bottles on the back shelf- that would teach him.

I snapped out of my daydream. Was I the only one noticing the thick silence? I wanted to slice into it and set free all the conversations we could be having. Why was I nervous? How was he doing this to me? I hated his cool composure and his stupid jawline, and I hated my mind for wandering and thinking of stupid robbery daydreams.

Finally, the car slowed down. The bright lights of a convenience store portruded the darkness like blood from a fresh cut. He stopped the car and looked over at me.

"Lets go."