A/N: This is my current baby, even though it's complete. I'm totally in love with it, and would love to hear what you think.

O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O

Midnight Drive

Inspired by “The Approaching Curve” by Rise Against

He reaches forward and flicks his thumb against the radio dial, shattering the quiet lull we fell into some time ago. The chorus of his favorite song roars through the car and overpowers the soft hum of the engine. I flinch, biting back a bitter and distasteful glare as my hands tighten on the steering wheel. Our tastes in music differ.

I lick my lips and say, “Turn it down, please.” I feel a quiet swell of pride when my voice remains impassive. My words whisper across the music, soft yet still forcing itself upon his attention.

He shrugs, then reaches out again and lowers the volume. “Better?” The pale leather of the front passenger seat creaks as he leans back.

I murmur an unintelligible reply and keep my eyes on the dark road. It glistens with fallen rain, but the sky stopped crying about the same time I did. He deserves to see my tears, but he will not. Black mascara smudges beneath my eyes ensure he knows they fell. I wiped the rest away before anyone else could see.

The road runs straight for miles, requiring little attention, even on roads slick with loosened oil. Stretches of asphalt where the oil sits especially thick glitters under streetlamps like metallic rainbows. The road lies empty save for us; everyone else in the world either sleeps or drinks themselves into oblivion.

“Why are you doing this?” he says, as if not expecting a response.

I decide to surprise him. “Doing what?”

“Don’t be coy,” he says, “You pulled me out of that party for a reason.”

The music pulses once, but gentle, like the faraway roar of a waterfall. I know how easy it would be to lose myself in it, just as I know how easily I let him get away with everything he puts me through. He doesn’t deserve forgiveness; he takes advantage of any sympathies he can charm out of me. I try not to hold it against him, though it’s hard. Manipulating those closest to him is simply part of his nature.

I don’t see him with rose-colored lenses anymore. Sometimes I wonder if I see anything but his faults.

“It’s late,” he says, “Let’s go home.”

“No,” I tell him. He wants to return to his party. “Not yet.”

He sighs and the sound resonates through the car, making the interior feel smaller than it actually is. To my surprise I detect sincere regret sketched into the soft lines on his face.

The heater’s stream of warm air lulls us both into a false sense of security, making us believe that everything will turn out for the best. Inwardly I scowl, scolding myself for letting the long night and comfortable air pacify my temper. I lean forward without taking my eyes off the road and turn down the heater. I lift my other hand from the steering wheel and open the window, ignoring his protests against the icy air. The light from a passing streetlamp flashes across the moving glass, causing invisible fingerprints to emerge before vanishing again.

The cold air whips across my face and flings the loose tendrils of my hair back. The sharp sting of the midnight air, still heavy with rain, immediately wakes me from my stupor. I want to remain wide-awake while dealing with his excuses. Liars can make emotions appear as if by magic, and he is one of the best.

“I’m doing this for same reason you make your mistakes,” I say. My voice remains quiet and simple, but still echoes against the leather seats. “I’m doing this because I can, and because you won’t try hard enough to stop me.”

He purses his lips, and he won’t look at me. He recalls saying those words.

I brush off the hurt. My attention returns to the road, and we lapse into silence. We drown in it.

“Pull over,” he says abruptly. “Let me drive.” When I don’t respond he coaxes, “Please, love. Give me the wheel.”

A curve approaches from out of the inky midnight air. My foot drops a little harder onto the gas, and the car presses on faster through the night.