He drove with one hand, the other placed comfortably half way up my inner thigh. It was a familiar setting, the grind of the gravel road, the country ...usic playing on the radio, the way his deep voice sounded with his southern drawl as he talked about the work I don't understand. Everything so comfortable it was as if I wasn't away in my hometown for two months. I laid my head on his shoulder, placed my hand over his on my thigh, his hand turned to hold mine, I made small circles with my thumb.. The glass was pushed harder against my back, it was so cold . Shivering for a moment, I said, ‘Who is doing that?’ From somewhere in the background I heard somebody laughing and suddenly a voice that didn’t belong to Edwin or Steve said, ‘Your favorite bartender, sweetie. Don’t worry, I just brought you something to drink.’ He placed the glass at my lips and slowly I sipped. It was whisky. I swallowed more of that disgusting drink as he lifted the glass, making me drink it all, till the glass. More

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