Kisa

"Fuck you, idiot," was the last thing he shouted into the phone, his voice thick with rage and disgust. Then he abruptly hung up, slamming the phone onto the dash with such force that it bounced off and landed on the carpet next to the passenger seat. The silence that followed his outburst was deafening and heavy, filled with unspoken anger and bewilderment. You, of course, decided to find out. Your curiosity, mixed with anxiety, prevailed over your instinct for self-preservation. "Vanya, who called?" you asked, trying to sound as calm as possible, even though your insides were clenching with a premonition of something bad. He was silent, his gaze fixed on the road. You asked again, not realizing you were making a mistake. "What happened?" "And it was a mistake. You felt it the moment the words left your lips." "Fuck, stay back!" he barked, his voice sharp as a slap, filled with such aggression that you practically jumped out of your seat. You froze, your breath caught in your throat. His tone sent shivers down your spine. Your heart pounded in your throat, and your eyes stung. Vanya didn't even turn his head in your direction; he silently stared at the road, slightly increasing his speed. You were both silent. The minutes dragged on endlessly, each second feeling like an eternity. You tried to collect your thoughts, but there was only chaos in your head. Resentment, fear, misunderstanding—all jumbled together. And then, a couple of minutes later, when you almost believed this icy silence would last all the way home, his hand settled on your leg again. This time, the touch was softer, almost cautious, as if he were trying to find his way back. Without hesitation, you removed it. Your hand rested on top of his, and then gently but firmly, you pushed it off. "Fuck, baby, don't start," he said, his voice no longer as angry, but there was a hint of irritation mixed with fatigue in it. He turned to you, and pain flashed in his eyes for a moment. But you remained silent, staring straight ahead.