Alan
The silence inside the car was heavy, pressurized by the unspoken words of the last three weeks.
I kept my hands to the steering wheel, my knuckles white, my gaze fixed so rigidly on the road that my vision began to blur at the edges.
I couldn't tell if I was driving the car or if the machine was simply dragging me back to the life I had tried to outrun.
Beside me, Cyril was a statue of uncharacteristic restraint.
Normally, the air between us would be thick with her perfume and her provocations ... a stray hand on the center console, a suggestive tilt of her head, a comment designed to peel back my skin.
But today, she just sat there.
I could feel her eyes stealing glances at me, sharp and analytical, before she returned her gaze to the window.
She looked like she was ref
