“Like I’m listening to social advice from you. Can I sit on my own?”
“Will you run from the car?” He asks.
“No,” I blurt out. His chuckle rolls over my shoulders.
“Therapists are supposed to be good liars, aren’t they?”
I stare at my dead date sitting in front of us, our corpse chauffeur for our fucked up conversation.
“If you’re good, maybe you can sit on your own.” The arms around me loosen, and Soren spreads his legs wider,trying to find more space in the backseat. He settles his chin on my shoulder again. I feel his breath on my neck, creating goosebumps.
“Let’s talk,” he says.
“Are you stalking me? Why did you kill my date? Are you kidnapping me?”
“Calm down,” he demands. I grind my teeth.
“Stop telling me to calm down.” I squirm in Soren’s grip. He stiffens, his hand shooting out and gripping my knee tightly.
“Don’t do that,” he whispers. I go completely still. My ass is pressed against his pelvis and upper thighs without an inch of space.
“You told me to get a hobby,” he says slowly.
“What?” I ask, my eyes dragging to the garrotte he left on the leather seat beside us. My eyes bug as understanding comes to me. “No.”
“Yes.”
“I did not mean murder,” I hiss. I feel him shrug. “Yousaid photography.”
“That was a euphemism. I wasn’t sure about therapist protocol for reporting hypothetical crimes. I’ve looked it up since.”
“Okay,” I say, swallowing thickly.
“And you have to report if you think I’m a threat to myself and others.” I can feel his jaw move every time he talks.
“That’s right,” I say quietly. There’s a layer of snow starting to collect on the windshield. I look at the car clock.
Will the bartender call someone? I don’t think she will. I can feel Soren’s convincing makeout session humming through my body, mixing with fear. Sex and violence make for a lethal combination of tension. This car is too small for it. I eye the corpse again. Thomas is still slumped over on the steering wheel.I’m not sure who's technically the third wheel anymore, but at least it’s not me.
“This is an accident,” he says. I look at the garrotte again. “No, not the murder. You being here. Were you on a date with this guy?” He asks.
“Yes.”
“Sophie,” he sighs. It’s the first time he’s used my first name. His hand wraps around my knee and squeezes. I squirm again. Soren lets out a long breath against my neck. “Maybe you should sit next to me.”
Soren picks me up and puts me in the seat beside him. His attention travels over my body in a quick assessment.
“Hands on your thighs. Don’t move them.” I grind my teeth but do as he says. A smile blossoms across his face.
“Good, Sophie. Also, your date… Not a good guy.” My mouth drops open.
“You killed someone.”
“A bad someone,” he corrects, pointing at the corpse. I shake my head in disbelief.
“You chased me down.”
“You left in the middle of a very important conversation.”
