~LAYLA~
I am angry. I am drunk. And I am going back to a place I did not expect to return so soon.
The drive back to the packhouse is a silent one only disturbed by the music playing in the car, and Cal’s occasionally hums to the song. The roadlights are shining so bright and seem to be in such a hurry as they flash past us in fast blurs against the darkness of tonight. Cal’s hands grip the wheel a little too tight every now and then, his jaw flexing every time I catch him stealing quick glances at me.
He hasn’t said much since we left the party, and I think it's not even necessary for him to engage me into any conversation right now because I am not in the mood. My head is throbbing slightly, and I feel fuzzy, but the feeling is not enough to knock me out yet.
However, it is enough to
