Jake
I watched her as Laura moved around the car, her face pale as she inspected the damage. My blood was boiling, my hands gripping the steering wheel so tightly I thought it might break. This entire mess, this whole damn situation, was her fault. She just had to scream, had to throw a tantrum like a child instead of keeping calm. And now here we were, in the middle of nowhere with a wrecked car.
She was taking her sweet time checking the damage, but I could already tell from where I was sitting that it was worse than just a few scratches. I could feel the unevenness in the car's handling when I pulled over after the crash. The front end was dented, the bumper barely hanging on. I exhaled sharply, rage curling inside my chest like a slow fire.
She finally came back around to the front, her expression caught between fear and frustration. Good. She should be scared.
