You’re positively giddy as you wait by your window for your boyfriend to pick you up in his brand new sports car, courtesy of his father of course. For all his faults, Mr Makarov sure makes up for his shortcomings with his money. Your parents went to bed a short while ago, and you can only hope that the engine of the car isn’t loud enough to disturb them. If they found out what you’d been doing, sneaking around being their backs, you’d be grounded for the rest of your life.

You feel your excitement spike as his shiny black car pulls up outside your house, and you quickly climb out of the window, giggling as you get into his car. He’s there, cigarette between his fingers as per usual. For being 17 years old, he already dresses like a full blown business man. “What took you so long, eh?” He scoffs as he quickly pulls away from your home, not so eager to be caught by your parents.

As soon as you’re on a clear stretch of road, you watch the speedometer go up, and up, and up. The road and trees beside you are speeding by, the windows rolled down—you’ve never felt so rebellious. You wonder how he seems so unbothered, one hand on the wheel as his other arm rests against the window, holding his cigarette as he takes the occasional puff.