Chapter 8.

Silence to me, is torture. 

It seems like an ordinary Friday night, so to speak, except from the fact that I'm boxed up in a truck with a boy who doesn't look too thrilled to be breathing in the same air with me.

The silence stretches between us like a long, fat rope, tightening me around the neck as if to suffocate the living daylights out of me. I shift uncomfortably in my seat before outstretching my arms to turn on the radio. The sound of music might keep me alive for awhile.

Marvin Gaye's Sexual healing blasts loudly through the speakers and I realize I shouldn't have turned on the radio. 

Baby, I'm hot just like an oven

I need some lovin' 

And baby, I can't hold it much longer

It's getting stronger and stronger

My hand goes up to awkwardly scratch the back of my neck, my eyes darting in all corners of the truck to find something that'll catch my attention and keep me away from staring at him. 

A