She couldn’t take it anymore.
“So, where are you taking me?” she said, injecting her voice with a resigned cheer that she hoped might throw him a bit off-balance.
“Where am I taking you?” he asked. His voice seemed flat, utterly uninflected. Several seconds spun out, and she tightened her grip on the screwdriver handle.
“Why,” he said, sounding cheerful now, “I am taking you home.”
He patted her knee.
It took her a moment to breathe again, then another to think. Home. His home. She tried to let some sort of coldness sweep over her, to give her the clarity of mind she needed to do what she needed to do, but she found nothing but plummeting hope and paralyzing resignation. Acceptance, even. She couldn’t do it. She had thought about it too much, psyched herself out.
She closed her eyes
