The road is quiet.

The only sound is of the wheels of our car against the gravel. There's no music. There's no chatter.

The seats squeak now and then when one of us moves, but that's about it.

The sky is perfect, dark and thick like a layer of paint on a friendly canvas. I look up at it and everything feels so much better. 

I don't remember what was the last thing I said, but I remember it being painful. The fights more often than not melt into an unpleasant mess, the words getting lost and the matter at hand getting convoluted and dizzying. Eventually, our voices sound alien and harsh. Like something that would come out of a TV set far away.

We reach home just in time for it to start raining. The raindrops fall on us as we sprint across the parking lot. 

Some parts of the tension gets washed away, forming little puddles on the ground.