“You can drop me at the shuttle station,” I say with absolutely zero energy.
“Do you have a place to stay?”
“OfcourseI have a place to stay. What do you think I’m poor like your girlfriend does?” I bite at him, just needing something to take my anger out on.
“Of course not,” he says gently.
I remember a time where my attitude, or me merely defending myself or expressing how I felt, would be a fight between us. But Lincoln being so forgiving and gentle is driving me nuts.
Why wasn’t he like this when we were married?
Oh that’s right.
Hewasat one point… until he started working there.
Until he started hanging out with the witch.
The car takes off slowly.
After we’re driving for about ten minutes, the soft clink of a thin silver chain catches my ear, dangling from the rearview mirror, swaying gently with every turn.
Lincoln keeps stealing glances at me, eyes flicking from the road to my face and back again.
“I know you m-… I can’t imagine how you must be feeling. Something bad must have really happened for you to attack Sarah.”
“What makes you think I attacked her,” I snap, still looking out the passenger side window, refusing to look at him.
“I mean for her face to look…”
“I hope it’s all beaten up. I hope she looks like a monster for the rest of her life. Not sorry that I did it.”
“I know you’re not,” Lincoln says easily, never raising his voice past the decibel he must know makes me feel comfortable.
“But I need to know where I’m dropping you,” he says.
“Like I told you. At the next shuttle station.”
“I’m not going to just drop you off at ashuttlestation.”
“Why? It’s daytime now.”
“Yeah, it’s about 6:30 in the morning,” he answers.
I shrug. “So just drop me off at the nearest shuttle station.”
“Do you live near here?”
“None of your business Lincoln.”
“Gabby…”
“Why does everything need to be an argument with you?” I snap, turning to face him. “I asked you to just drop me off at the shuttle station. What if I don’t want you to know where I live? What if I have an agreement with my partner not to tell anyone that? You think I want random people showing up at my house?”
“I wouldn’t send random people to your house, Gabby.”
“Yeah well I don’t know that. As far as I’m concerned you hate me.”
“What?” he softly asks in outrage. “Gabby… I don’t hate you at all. I would never do anything to—” he trails off, catching himself.
