"Between friends, unspoken feelings can feel like a fragile thread pulled taut; one denies its existence while the other hides behind its delicate weave, both yearning for the courage to unravel what lies beneath."
Ian and Julian, long-time best fri...
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The road stretched ahead, barren and endless, like it had long forgotten anyone had ever driven it. The time felt suspended—too early, or maybe too late, to tell. The only sound was the low, rhythmic hum of the tires against the cracked asphalt, a dull noise trying its best to fill the silence that clung to us like fog.
Julian sat next to me, one arm hanging lazily out of the open window, his face angled toward the blur of trees rushing past. His sunglasses—completely unnecessary at this hour—reflected the empty road. Occasionally, I caught him sneaking glances at me, but I always turned away before our eyes could meet.
In the back seat, Rory sat quietly, her presence a constant weight. I didn't need to check the rearview mirror to know she was staring at the back of my head. I could feel her there, folded into the silence like an afterthought.
None of us had spoken since we left the villa. Rory had barged in earlier and all but demanded we drive her into town, offering no explanation beyond the urgency in her voice. Whatever she needed, she wasn't sharing, but we understood. The tone she used—the way she carried herself—made it clear.
When we'd left, the others were still sprawled across couches and beds, deep in sleep. The chaos of the past few days had finally caught up with everyone, especially after the wild events of the previous night. It was one for the books, the kind of night you don't forget anytime soon.
The road stretched endlessly before us, a straight line into the horizon. Still, none of us spoke.
What was there to say? We weren't fighting—there was no sharp edge of tension to cut through. It was more like an undercurrent, something unspoken threading through the air. A low hum of awareness.
Rory had seen something. Something that didn't fit into the neat little boxes she had for us. And Julian and I? We were too good at pretending—at least until someone forced us to stop.
But Rory wasn't that someone. Not yet. Not now, I hoped.
I tried to focus on the play of light through the trees—the way it flickered across the windshield like a broken movie reel. But my gaze kept drifting. To Julian's fingers, drumming absently on the car door. To the restless way he shifted in his seat, as if waiting for someone to finally break the silence. His hand twitched every now and then, catching the breeze, but he didn't pull it back. His pendant hung from his mouth, caught between his lips.
My grip on the steering wheel tightened. It had been days since Rory caught us, and still, she hadn't said a word. Not one.
I wasn't sure if that was better or worse.
She hadn't asked questions or demanded explanations. But she hadn't looked us in the eye, either. Rory's calmness was unnerving. Calm Rory was dangerous Rory. I could feel her watching, judging, even when she wasn't looking.
