27
“Thea!” a voice calls out, snapping me out of a half-trance. I lift my heavy head and peer through the gap between the bins. There’s a car parked up on the curb. I wipe my tear-soaked eyes and try to focus on the vehicle. Is it a police car?
The bins start to separate, the tiny wheels screeching along the concrete.
“Get in the car,” Kate says, holding out a hand.
For a brief second I remain still, struggling to think of a reason not to take it. But in defeat, I reach up and grab it. She pulls me to my feet and walks me over to the passenger side of her car; my legs still sore as I climb onto the seat.
Kate looks at me briefly, and then checks her mirror and we head off down the road.
My body is tired, my mind even more so. Too exhausted, too broken, even to feel anger. I can barel
