[ She looks around anyway, her eyes hammering nails into her fucking skull with every passing set of headlights and each flickering yellow street lamp. No one in the car, but she can feel somebody looking at her nevertheless, like there's something moving around in the constantly shifting darkness of the cab — something she can't bite or beat or grab with her hands. It makes her skin itch uncomfortably, a sharp spike of panicked adrenaline kicking through her body in an unwanted wave of anxiety. ]
Something's wrong. Just— fuck.
[ Her hand slips from his shoulder even though part of her brain doesn't want it to. (No, she wants to stay anchored to Barry, wants him to be steady for her for a minute, maybe two. If they could both manage that maybe the world would stop spinning so fucking fast for a goddamn minute, but Polly's Polly and standing still means bang, you're dead, so she's begun rummaging around the backseat, trying to find her things, in search of her cell phone. ] Did he call—? [ she asks, her voice heated, frantic, still disoriented. ] Baby, did somebody call?
[ She's never called him that before. Polly doesn't even seem to notice. ]
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Something's wrong. Just— fuck.
[ Her hand slips from his shoulder even though part of her brain doesn't want it to. (No, she wants to stay anchored to Barry, wants him to be steady for her for a minute, maybe two. If they could both manage that maybe the world would stop spinning so fucking fast for a goddamn minute, but Polly's Polly and standing still means bang, you're dead, so she's begun rummaging around the backseat, trying to find her things, in search of her cell phone. ] Did he call—? [ she asks, her voice heated, frantic, still disoriented. ] Baby, did somebody call?
[ She's never called him that before. Polly doesn't even seem to notice. ]