heart over brain

Part 7

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We don't get back on the highway, but drive east on the 67th. I know that should tell me where I am and where we are headed, but it doesn't. Geography has never been one of my strengths, I have GPS navigation on my phone. The few small villages that pass along the road also mean nothing to me.

Just how far has he already driven while I was passed out on the backseat? Or am I really that out of it?

I am, aren't I? Otherwise, I wouldn't have gotten back in that car.

I finish the coffee and turn up the radio for some music to break the awkward silence. But it's the news, Dr-whats-his-name comments on something someone said last night. Max turns off the radio before the sentence is finished.

"You don't like music?" I say.

"Who doesn't like music?" he snorts. "No, let's just say I am not a big fan of the upcoming elections. If I can escape the stupid campaigns, I gladly do."

True. Radio spots, online commercials, paper walls, election times are kind of annoying. "Who in particular are you trying not to be indoctrinated by?" I say.

"Indoc-what?"

He is a bit stupid, isn't he? "Who do you hate?"

"Uh – I don't know. All of them, I guess."

"Just like Elly," I chuckle.

"Who?"

"My friend. Her political opinion is that they are all shitheads." I don't entirely disagree, I am not exactly thrilled by all the empty promises politicians give these days either, but I know how important it is to vote.

Every opinion matters. Every voice needs to be heard. We fought too hard to keep silent when we get the chance to speak. 

"Oh. Yeah. They are," he says, but I can tell that he doesn't really feel like having a conversation. He stares strictly straight ahead. A bit side tracked. His finger keeps drumming on the steering wheel.

The seventh bus stop or so comes up and passes, and he does not drop me off. He doesn't even seem to notice it.

Or he is tricking me, and I signed myself off to a horrible, painful death by his hands. 

The cold reality creeps in. But only so far. 

"So what kind of music do you like?" I say.

"Hm? Uhm. We don't have to talk," he says.

I know we don't have to, but I kind of want to. What else is there to do? Apparently, I can't be left alone with my brain. Or more like, I can't be left alone with my hormones. Because sitting there, next to Max in the car, I don't fear for my life like I should or wonder if we'll get stopped sooner or later because of the stolen car. No, I am too aware of his presence for that. He is awfully close, with his arm about right next to mine. It would be so easy to touch him.

I really want to touch him. 

When I catch myself staring, I gulp and look out the window on my side. The weather is turning worse, it started snow-raining. Little half frozen droplets dance on the glass until they are blown away by the wind.

"I hate winter." I mumble. It is cold and wet and dark. Good thing spring is already starting.

"You – uhm – what's on Monday?" Max says.

"What?" My attention snaps back at him. What happened to not talking?

"You said you have to be back by Monday. Why?" His finger stops drumming on the steering wheel, instead he grabs it like he needs to hold on to something.