Queen of Nothing

30. chasing sunsets and barbecues

For five hours we managed to drive in silence. 

Somehow, after months of this on and off heat, we found ourselves with nothing to discuss. Nothing at all. 

At hour five, we neared the thick of the traffic surrounding Los Angeles, and I had decided that the silence had gotten a bit too tight to ignore. 

"If you're not going to speak to me, I'm not sure why we're doing this together," I commented, training my eyes on the road as if we weren't stuck behind a parade of cars and smog-filled skies. 

"What do you want to talk about?" He looked out the window with a furrow stuck between his brows. 

"I don't know," I murmured, "something. Anything." 

"Gia?" He ventured. 

"No," I said too quickly, "no I don't want to talk about her at all." 

So we fell back silent, and I tried not to address the dull ache that had began to throb between my ribcage. 

---

Another two hours had passed and the grumble in my stomach had amplified to a fierce roar. Milo raised an eyebrow at me and then pulled out his phone, scrolling furiously through yelp. A few moments later, he finally spoke up, 

"Pull over at the next exit. I'm hungry." 

"We have packed meals," I retorted, "I don't want to waste money today." 

"It's a good thing we have my dad's Amex," he countered, "so pull over."

And the idea of eating a fresh meal was so appealing that I had no choice but to concede. I pulled over in front of a Moe's taqueria, and tried not to balk at how barren it looked. They served tacos and burritos and little else. So we placed our order, and slid into a booth while I tried my very best to look at anything but him. 

"So how's Zara?" I asked, wincing at my own question. 

He gave me a stoney look, "Do you really want to talk about that right now?" 

I shrugged, "I don't know. You're the one sleeping with my best friend." Childish. 

"We're not going to talk about this," he determined, before tapping his fingers on the table and looking for the waitress. 

"Whatever," I huffed, as the waitress approached with our wax lined baskets filled with glorious greasy meat. When she set the orange jarritos drink down in front of me, Milo gave me a curious look, an eyebrow raised as if to say, what are you doing? 

So I thought I'd take a page out of his book. I twisted the cap off and took a sip, before sliding it to him.

He didn't respond, but put the drink to his lips as I tried very hard to concentrate on anything else. For example, like how they felt on mine, the way they moved and rendered me senseless in less than a moment. 

"Why'd you beat Jordan up?" I ventured, feeling bold all of a sudden. 

"I don't want to talk about it." He shoveled a taco down his throat. 

"He'd been going around calling me a slut," I continued, "he told Lola that I was the reason they broke up." 

"I don't need the play by play," he growled. 

"I didn't sleep with him," I insisted, "you know that right? The night that he was talking about...my birthday. I was with you." 

"I know that," he murmured, wiping his mouth with a napkin. 

I blew my hair out of my face and sat back, suddenly not feeling hungry. 

He frowned, "Aren't you hungry?"