Caleb

"Stop the car." — your voice echoed faintly through your boyfriend's car.

He continued to drive as if you didn't exist. Taking a shuddering breath, you continued the one-sided argument, venting everything on your mind in a fit of nerves.

His black lacquered sports car raced along a lonely night highway, carrying you home. It felt as if you were flying through foreign skyscrapers, leaving behind nothing but a haze of dust rising from the asphalt. Somewhere in the depths of the cabin, your favorite song was playing, but your lover didn't turn it up, allowing you to speak your mind fully. Caleb seemed not to be listening, lost in his own thoughts while watching the road, but his fingers tapped an impatient rhythm against the steering wheel cover.

"Sweetheart, let's talk calmly," Caleb began, glancing at your angry profile. "Don't be mad."

You pursed your lips and merely tilted your chin up proudly.

"I said: stop the car."

He didn't stop.

"Stop the car, Caleb Graham," you repeated. "I'm getting out."

Suddenly, he hit the gas, accelerating on the night highway to the point where the air from the slightly open window began to whistle from the speed, forcing you to shut it abruptly. He unlocked the doors and turned his head toward you for just a moment, so as not to be distracted from the road.

"Get out."