As soon as I settled in the passenger's seat of Marco's car, I took my phone out to text my driver not to pick me up that afternoon. When he shut the door of the driver's seat, it made a loud noise that made me shake. He put my bag at the backseat before he started the engine.
He was giving me that cold treatment while driving, and I can't take that.
"I thought you want to talk," I said full of sarcasm. The veins in his arms are showing as his fist clenched in the steering wheel.
"How was your day? Did you do well in your exams?" Even he tried hard to conceal his anger in those questions, I can see his jaw move as he looked at me through the rear-view mirror.
"Yes." I answered.
"How was your day? Yes?" He's returning the sarcasm now.
"Get to the point, Marco. What do you want to say?
