The sun baked faux leather seat vibrates against her bare legs. Her head is out the window. The combination of this and her shaggy blonde hair reminds him of an overexcited labradoodle. Her body peels away from the seat and soon all he can make out are her blue shorts as she pushes herself further out the window.
Wordlessly, he grabs her wrist and yanks her back to the scalding seat. She gives him a sheepish grin, he returns it with a scowl. The corners of his lips twitch, he tries to quell it, but his smile is too determined. His dimple pops out. She leans over and pokes it, as if it were a button to open some sort of chest, the key to the closet hosting its collection of skeletons. His face freezes immediately and she sighs a strained sigh. Her face is turned way now, eyes as glazed as the raised window. The sudden absence of ferocious wind creeps up around them. His knuckles flex white against the wheel. Her body is still, a stark contrast to her naturally animated form.
“Elisa,” he tries. His voice is rough. But Elisa is through. He can tell by the way she holds her hands, by the slight set of her jaw. The determined twitch of her long yellow hair. He looks like a deer in headlights now. She’s about to plough him through. Break his heart.
“I have to pee,” she whispers. She doesn’t look at him. Her grey eyes stare down the world outside the car, challenging the cornrows, commanding the silos.
“Elisa…” she waits. He swallows, adam's apple bobbing. He knows it’s pressed up against fierce blade.
“I’m so-”
“I have to pee,” she can’t hear him grovel. Anyone but him. Her voice is strong now, “there’s an exit to a gas station right there,”
“Elise,” there’s a pleading in his voice now. She’s breaking him, but as he glances at her face, he knows that he’s broken her, splinter by splinter, for far longer. Her eyes raise and they share a moment. Oh how long it’s been since they’ve shared a moment. He closes his eyes and-
“Idiot! You’re freaking driving!” and her hands are on the steering wheel above his hands and he doesn’t pull back. Elisa draws in a small gasp. The same small gasp he knows she emits when the stars burn extraordinarily bright or when the sun sets itself on fire as it goes down. She’s too afraid to look at his face, too afraid that-
“Elise,” his voice is soft. She glances up. His face is unmasked now, smiling. It looks pruney, unused. But he’s rewarded with her toothy grin. The gas station flies away.