The Interpreter

Tobin Keller sat in silence next to Silvia Broome, his eyes on the busy road and his expression unreadable. He pulled into a space in front of her apartment building and turned to face her.

Silvia's head was bowed, leaving her strikingly blonde hair to fall before her eyes. Her face and neck were scattered with scratches and short gashes, which were bleeding lightly.

"Silvia," Tobin began, his words calm, but hard, "why were you on that bus?"

Silvia turned her head to look up at him, her cold eyes boring into his own.

"I can't tell you."

Tobin hit the dashboard in frustration.

"Damn it Silvia!" He roared, lowering his head to rest in his hands. "Why not?"

Silvia looked away, her chin shaking with the effort to hold her composure.

"I can't tell," she told him quietly. "But it has nothing to do with you."

"It never has anything to do with me, does it? Well how about this, hmm? What has this got to do with me?" Tobin leaned over and grabbed her chin fiercely, forcing his lips onto hers.

It took a moment for Silvia to register what had happened as Tobin's lips slanted across to rest against her cheek.

"Tell me," he breathed. "What does this have to do with me?"

Silvia grasped his head as his lips began to venture down her pale neck.

He moved his head back up to meet her lips again, and this time, she responded, kissing back with as much passion as he had shown.

"Tell me," he hissed, his lips on her ear. "What does it have to do with me this time?"

Her response came slowly, barely even a whisper, but it was there.