[Her voice was quiet. She knew he understood.] You know what I mean. [He had to know. Even if she never stepped outside the door of whatever apartment he put her in, locked it and didn't let anyone in, someone would know that she didn't belong there.
The hand at her back (wide, strong) was something familiar, and she had to look over at him to verify that it was him, not someone from her past. She looked for a long moment, several steps, before she looked back down at the ground, watching her feet against the pavement and then the marble floor of the lobby. She followed the guidance of his hand, not wanting to look up, to see whoever might be in the lobby to watch their progress toward the elevator.] We can still go. [It was whispered as they stood there waiting, a desperate sort of hope to her voice. But she wasn't fighting, wasn't stepping away, wasn't running.]