Between Dog and Wolf
by Ajla Hodzic
Adrian drove and the girl looked out the window. Navigating a narrow dirt road up the mountain, he wondered what she was thinking about. She wasn’t particularly pretty. That didn’t bother him. She was pale and slim and fair. Only her eyes were darker, a spotted hazel, like a wolf’s. She moved with predatory slowness and when she spoke her voice was even.
“What is it?” she asked.
He drove on in silence. She turned away sleepily, with practiced indifference, and searched for something to look at. There was all that green, but nothing else.
He could see the village up ahead, the minaret slashing through the trees like a sword. But the car sputtered and stopped. Adrian checked the dash. He was out of gas. He pulled the keys out of the ignition. His palms perspired and he wiped them on his thighs.
The girl laughed that disdainful laugh he hated and got out of the car. She shut the door and leaned on it, turning her back to him. Adrian got out, too, and went to the trunk.
“Same as always,” she said.