Yana, my good one, - he runs his hand along my thigh. From knee to crotch. I move my legs reflexively. So much so that it starts to whine inside. “I missed you so much,” he says softly. His fingers slide down. They squeeze through. Stroking me through jeans. Progressively. With pressure.

He puts both hands on the steering wheel as he makes the sharp turn.

We are facing an ambulance. I exhale with relief. A lump rises to the throat. Pershit inside.

Elisha takes out a half-empty bottle of water. Unscrews the lid. He brings it to his lips.

- Do you want to drink? Your throat is probably...