I stopped walking. "Try what, exactly?"
He shrugged. "To off yourself. Or worse—someone else does. You look like prime serial killer bait standing out here all sad and cold."
I spun around to face him. "I'm not trying to kill myself."
"Sure," he replied casually, pulling something from under his arm. "And that's exactly what someone suicidal would say."
I clenched my jaw as he held out another helmet. Black. Sleek. And already extended toward me like I had a choice.
"I'm not suicidal," I repeated, slower this time. "And if someone tried to kill me, I'd probably just let them."
"See?" He tilted his head. "You are suicidal."
I wanted to throw the helmet into the water roaring in the distance.
Instead, I just glared at him.
Unmoving. Silent.
He didn't even blink.
"We can do this all night," he said. "I've got gas. And time. Your move, sad girl."
