He’s driving away.
The rain hammers on the car window, obliterating the world outside. Leaning forward, the seat belt digs into his chest as he peers into fractured, wet, darkness and hopes to hell he doesn’t hit anything.
But the long hours of driving are weighing on his legs, his back, his arms, his heart and his eyes, which start to close.
In quiet blackness, he could find comfort, he could dream of what might’ve been and forget about what is. Forget about driving and driving and more driving.
He squints in compromise but continues to drive away, from her.