“You look nervous,” he says. His hand, still in my hair, turns to my cheek. It’s warm. Smells good. “Come and sit down.”
He takes my hand and leads me to a window seat. A built-in bench, pressed up against a wall of glass. He wraps his hands around my waist and lifts me up. Sits me down up there. My eyes scan the patchy, dirt-strewn yard outside. The way the rain smashes off the ground and into something else. The sky is white. Stark white.
“Just a minute,” he says.
My mind screams as he steps away.