This is the night she almost killed us: she gripped the steering wheel tight, squeezing tears out of her eyes, and said, “If you weren’t in this car right now, I would just crash it.” It was an old green Pontiac with little protection for the passenger if she decided to sharply veer off the woodland road and ram us into a tree. I was scared, but all I could say was “Keep your eyes on the road.” We’d had a rough night at an Applebee’s and fought the whole way home. When we made it back to my place, I told her I didn’t really want her to come up to my dorm. We were still sitting in her deathtrap, and she pressed her overnight bag against her chest.
“Please, don’t make me drive back home,” she said. It was midnight, and the golden streetlight made her blemished face look beautiful. “I’m very tired.”
I finally gave in, partly because I loved her and never thought I could really send her home. Also, I was scared of what she might do if left on her own. When it was time to go to sleep, I made her lie on the other side of the bed, far away from me.