Does she hear something like acceptance there? And then she's immediately annoyed-- if not revolted-- with herself for wanting it. Who the fuck cares what this asshole thinks? Is she really that lonely since everybody died? That starved for approval? Fuck, she hopes not.

...But she suspects that if she wasn't, she never would have gotten into this car. It's a train of thought she immediately abandons, because thinking of it too closely brings up some ugly truths about herself she doesn't want to acknowledge. Especially not when there's a fucking gun pointed at her.

She keeps driving. The car picks of speed.

"Oh, shit," she says, dry and sarcastic. Her tone lacks any real feeling. "I might cry. So where's this place, anyway? Since I'm, you know, driving you there?"