We sat in his car, with the snow coming down, and the wipers were washing it all away. We stopped on the side of the road and then he turned to me, holding onto my hand,
"I don't want to go home, I'm scared."
My spine shivered and I looked out the window. Perched on a branch was an owl, silent and still just like this night itself. I didn't know what to do or where I needed to be, all I knew was now.
"Then don't. Don't go home."