You're not shit in bed. [Wichita's wishing she wasn't driving, just because right now is when she'd press her hands against her eyes until she saw stars, just to avoid making some kinda face or saying something else that could make this worse.

With that in mind she pulls over, throws the truck into park and lets the heels of her hand meet her eye sockets. A slow press to give her a second and try to explain.]

I can't trust you. [she sighs] And it's not because of anything you've said or done, or didn't say or didn't do, I just can't. And I want to, I thought maybe if I let myself- [Nnh, take two.] I thought maybe if I went along with your plans to escape this hellhole of a country I'd learn to trust you but I can't and I feel like shit for it.