Detour

41: All Clear?

Monday morning came and Vince and I travel back to Cambridge at the break of dawn. I was forced to prepare for school early because he said he has classes at 7:30 and being the spoiled, devil that he is, told me that it's my fault for not telling me that I don't have classes early in the morning and he could've just bought his car otherwise, and not mine—though in the first place, it was not me who asked to go home with him on weekend.

This time, he's the one who insisted to drive. I totally doubt it's his conscience telling him for bothering me so damn early. Travel time usually takes more than 3 hours to reach school and growing up, this is probably the reason why I don't want to go home at weekends anymore. Before I can get home, my body's already awfully tired.

"You can totally sleep, grumpy head. I won't crash your car."

I face him with my eyebrows narrowed at him. His smiling face only puts my mood in hell. "You better not, or I'll crush your face."

He laughed shortly. "PMS?"

"Fuck you." I turned my eyes to the window on my side. The sun's creeping in but it's still cold to not wear a sweater. My eyes are hot and I'm yawning every minute now. I just want to be in my bed, curled up.

"I didn't say anything yet—"

"One more word and I'll kick you out of my car—"

"Hothead—"

"I swear it—"

"Okay."

I'm not even mad at Vince. Not entirely—I'm just...I don't know, I don't want to feel this way. Being a... Hothead.

I tried closing my eyes to get back to sleep but everytime the surrounding gets too silent, and peace was all there was, the messages I read, to the words forming from the back of my mind came popping in to fuck me up and haunt me again. I snapped my eyes open and hastily turn my radio on. The channel settled where it plays songs that are viral nowadays. I didn't bother changing it.

In the corner of my eyes, I saw him eyeing my every move, and he's tapping his fingers on the steering wheel, in which I know he'd say something so I already cut him off.

"I don't want to talk."

"What? Didn't say anything here Shay." He stops tapping and checks his phone while driving.

"Eyes on the fucking road." I hissed, my headache starts kicking in. Again. Why did I even waited for that damn call?

"Alright, alright. Jesus, someone's bloody aggressive today."

I took a deep breath and closed my eyes to finally sleep. I still recall my anger on Saturday morning. What I don't recall is when did it subside. I can still feel my head aching with all the texts the girl has sent, the words he said, and everything that happened the next day.

I woke up late since it's already morning when I finally slept. My head isn't aching anymore but, my stomach is.

God, I'm starving.

I get up to see it's already 1 in the afternoon. With no messages. No calls. I suddenly feel I don't want to go downstairs anymore. It feels like my appetite's gone and my body drained itself.

Is he still asleep? Does he want me to think this way? Isn't he going to explain anything to me? And why would he, right? I mean, I'm not his girlfriend anyway.

I forced myself to go downstairs and push some food down my throat. Nobody's home so I decided to shower later at night, and watch some movies on Netflix. I was chilling along with the ice cream from the fridge when my phone rang. My senses shot up in my whole body that I sprinted towards the counter and almost broke my toes with the stool.