Pinching myself, running my hands through my hair, a heavy, sick sigh.

A flush to my face, voices from behind a closed door muffled like underwater. The night is early, and the light from the lamps is weak, weak enough to spill over the wall in a soft circle and disappear.

The lights from the airport, gold and green and white, blended into the dark, and her head pressing against the backseat lolled back and forth, eyes closed, breaths whining through a chest rising and falling.