For a while we drive without speaking.
City lights thin as the car reaches the western edge of Brisbane.
Buildings give way to darker stretches of road.
The glow of storefronts fade into a quiet rhythm.
His hands are steady on the wheel.
He still hasn’t told me where we’re going.
I decide that perhaps it’s better not to ask.
We continue west for nearly forty minutes, silence threading with uncertainty.
I study his face in the soft dashboard glow.
His jaw is tighter than usual.
Oddly, it reminds me of the day we first met.
But this man isn’t angry at me.
He seems... scared of something.
Of someone.
Afraid of what? Of who?
Only time will tell.
Passing through Ipswich, he pulls the car to the side of the road.
With a twist of his key, the engine cuts.
A large sign marks the A2 route which stretches into darkness.
He stares along the highway for what feels like an eternity.
We watch the trucks curve around the turnoff.
I swivel in my seat.
“Talk to me,” I ask.
Marco breaks from his reverie, reaching across the center console to hold my hand.
His fingers are warm.
He pauses for a moment, before shaping his thoughts into words.
“If you drive fourteen hours that way without stopping once, you’ll reach the darkest place I’ve ever been.” His words hang in the air. “But I’m not ready to go back there. Not yet.”
I rest a hand on his knee as he continues.
“I promised you that I'd show you the stars. And that I'd show you me.”
I long for this invisible wall between us to melt.
