The anguish in James' bottomless blue eyes is unbearable. It mirrors the agony in her own heart but unlike her he doesn't have the decency or will to hide it. Lita is a mask of cold detachment; it's the only defense she has left to protect herself from the despair threatening to overwhelm her. The anger starts slowly, sluggish and stupid at first but she can feel it beginning to unfurl like thick black smoke, filling the emptiness James has left in his wake. He takes care the pieces of themselves they've left behind. Of course he has a plan. For a man who could play someone as smart as her so well and for so long, of course he'd know exactly what to do.
Drawn by the sound of James' voice and smell the newly dead on the wind, Lita hears the infected start to shamble toward them. She feels weighted down when they walk out into the sun toward the bike; heavy and with unexpressed thoughts and feelings she hasn't the capacity to put into words so soon after the shock of what she's seen and done. She feels his strong, warm hand against the small of her back or maybe it's just the shadow of what once was; she's too in her own head to tell the difference. They get to his bike and James hands her the helmet, hope in his eyes and a promise on his lips.
"Take me back, James," she murmurs, sliding in behind him. She doesn't have to say where; how his face falls tells her he knows. A half hour ago, it would have been all she ever wanted to ask her to stay with him. Now it just seems like insurance for her silence, silence that doesn't need to be bought to be kept. Her hands are light around his middle, hesitant. Not because she's afraid of him. Everything she knows of him might be lie but if Lita is certain of anything at all its that James would protect her body at all costs, even when he's breaking her heart.
The ride seems quicker on the return trip. It always does. James pulls up to Lita's jeep in the Denny's parking lot and she gets off as soon as they're steady. The more miles they put between them and the last date they'd ever go on Lita's anger rose, shadowing her heartache. She's worked herself up and by the time they get to where it always begins Lita is seeing deep, unending red.
She rips off her helmet and chucks it against the macadam, watching it skip several feet into the dirty parking lot before raking her bloody hands through her long hair. She stays like that for several moments, her back to him, eyes closed against the too bright sun.
She turns to him slowly and her mask is gone. She can't hold anything back now. All the hurt and pain is written plainly across her face. The pretense was to protect herself but now that she's broken it hardly seems worth the effort to pretend she isn't dying inside.
"What have I ever done to make you think I couldn't be trusted?" Her voice is a razor, angry and sharp. "I've had blood on my hands since the very first time I ever laid eyes on you. Was that not enough? Keeping your secrets, your sister's secrets, did that mean nothing to you? I gave you everything I had," Lita's voice wavers at this, and she looks at the ground. She takes a deep breath, trying to swallow the lump in her throat that just won't go away.
"...and you fed me lie after lie and I believed every wretched one. Not anymore. I have the right to know what it is about me that is so goddamn hateful that you kept this from me."