nat hums quietly, fingers tapping on the steering wheel while one hand rests idly on your knee. her thumb rubs small circles into your skin, fingernail catching on the thin fabric of your fishnets every so often.

“why don’t you like guys anymore?” nat asks, continuing your conversation from minutes prior.

she watches you from the corner of her eye for a moment, before peeling her gaze back to the lonely road ahead.

the seconds tick by, and the atmosphere gets heavier.

“they don’t treat me like how i wanna be treated,” you say, and nat hums again.

she gets it.

her thumb pauses in it’s rubbing and she sighs, retracting her free hand and running it through her messy, bleached hair. nat tries to ignore the hurt look on your face when she pulls her touch away.

you’re just friends, nothing more. she’s seeing things. she is.

“we should stop at a motel,” nat says, trying to break the silence. both hands come to rest on the steering wheel instead, gripping it tighter, “i don’t feel like driving all the way back.”

“..yeah.”

nat isn’t sure why it’s become so awkward, but she can tell that the both of you wouldn’t survive another three of this weird ass atmosphere.

…

an hour later, nat pulls up to a random motel she’d found on the maps (she didn’t touch you for the rest of the ride, and she’s ignoring the fact that you seem sad over it.)

“come on,” nat mutters, “let’s bring our shit down.”

she gets out of the car as fast as humanly possible (while also looking natural so you don’t think she’s running away from you) and pulls open the boot to grab her bags.