The rumble of the engine hums through the bottoms of my feet. The rest is silent. He stares ahead, eyes firmly on the road, hands stiff on the wheel. The white dashes zoom by, blurring into lines. Have we crossed a line? He won't look at me. Maybe we have. His hand no longer rests on my leg, but clenches and unclenches on his lap. His knuckles go from white to flesh. White to flesh. White to flesh.
We were friends. Are we still? Did we mess this thing up? What did I do? Why won't he touch me anymore? I love him. I can see him clenching and unclenching his jaw. Clench and unclench. Clench and unclench. Watching it makes my teeth hurt.
We reach for the volume at the same time. As our hands brush, he glares at me. Until now, I hadn't noticed that the music had been playing lowly. Our silence was too deafening. Why did our touch make him so angry? What did I do?
I yank my hand back, but he grabs it and intertwines our fingers. The action was nearly violent. Love is violent. It isn't soft.
YOU ARE READING
Between the Lines
Short StoryA collection of very very short stories and stories that I've started and couldn't finish. There is no ending to each. You have to read between the lines and decide for yourself what happens next.
