Celeste
Matthew and I quarrel for a while until he convinces me it is better for me to go. He basically has to force me into the driver's seat. I have a feeling he is exiling me back home for my benefit more than his own, but ever the diplomat he poses his demands as me doing him a favor. Maybe in some way I am: with me out of the picture he doesn't have to waste time in calming me down and trying to convince me I am on the right side of things. He can be more efficient. He makes it clear I am not abandoning him even though I can't rid the guilt that I am. He desperately begs me to drive away, exasperated. I capitulate.
I drive through the highlands back into the city, going exactly the speed limit—not daring to drive a kilometer over. My knuckles are white from how tightly I grip the s
