When I first started talking to swagandpassion on here, we would send each other random topics and have to write about it. Lol. We really should've kept that up... I had this one saved on my comp:
He slammed her door and walked silently to his orange car. As he got closer to the driver’s side, he thought to himself, “She never did like this car. She said it was too ‘flashy’. Psh, she just don’t know style.” They had gotten into a heated argument that night. One of many. It seems that after his accident, everything, including their relationship, was steadily going downhill. “It’s cause she can’t keep her mouth shut,” he thought. “Always nagging…” He knew it was his fault. She couldn’t even begin to fathom how many times those thoughts had raced through his head. She wanted questions answered, that he himself couldn’t even understand. Why was he there that night, knowing she needed him? Why did he bother to be so reckless and try to rush to her, knowing he was too late? Those questions and more would forever remain unanswered because he didn’t want to be bothered. Because he was tired. Tired of her always expecting the most out of him, but unwilling to give even a small percentage of that type of energy to him. Tired of her continued annoyance of his “broke ass,” when she herself hasn’t worked in months. Always trying to guilt trip him. “Well I’ve had it,” he thought. He started the car, trying not to look her way as he put it in drive. He couldn’t help himself. Was it the guilt, or the love that he still had for her, that made him look back and catch a glimpse of her tears as he sped away in that orange car, that she loathed.
*Apparently I was supposed to write about an orange car...