Yes, but on one condition.

Sabrina’s question hung in the stale air of the auditorium: “Could you drive me home?” Leo didn’t answer immediately; his gaze swept over Sabrina’s devastated body once more, lingering on her absolute nakedness and the red marks that now defined her.

“Alright,” he finally said, with a coldness that made her shudder. “I’ll take you.”

A bitter relief washed over her, but before she could thank him, he dropped the condition that hit her like a sledgehammer: “But before we go to your place, we have to stop by mine. I need to pick something up.”

Sabrina felt a knot of fresh anxiety. Why couldn’t he do it later? The warnings echoed in her mind, but the fear of remaining there naked or going out onto the street alone was greater.

“Leo, please...” she begged, her voice cracking. “Don’t you have a hoodie? A blanket? Anything to cover myself... I can’t go out to the parking lot like this.”

“I don’t have anything, Sabrina,” he replied with cutting indifference. “Either you come like this, or you stay. Choose.”

Out of options, Sabrina followed him. As they exited through the back door, the evening breeze struck her naked skin like icy lashes. She shivered violently, trying to cover her chest with her arms—an instinctive gesture of modesty that felt pathetic given her situation. The vastness of the open space, the dying daylight, and the total lack of shelter made her feel smaller and more **** than ever.

When they reached the car, Leo didn’t even open the door for her; he simply ordered her to get in carefully so as not to stain the seat with the dust and marks on her skin. The roar of Leo’s engine seemed absurdly quiet compared to the thunder of shame crashing in Sabrina’s ears. The rough plastic of the seat stuck to her naked thighs, and with every bump in the road, her body jolted, making her breasts move in a way that felt obscenely visible. She hunched over as much as she could, crossing her arms over her chest and pressing her legs together, trying to create an illusion of privacy that the window glass completely belied.

The first red light felt like an eternity. A car pulled up beside them, a family inside. The boy in the back seat, no older than seven, pointed a finger directly at Sabrina, his eyes wide as saucers. The mother, following where he pointed, saw the scene: a naked young woman, curled up, with red, dirty marks on her skin. Her face went from confusion to disgust, and she quickly pulled the child away, turning his head sharply before shooting a look of deep reproach at Leo, who pretended to focus on the steering wheel.

The light turned green. Leo pulled away smoothly, but the image of that mother’s gaze was branded onto Sabrina like a hot iron.

On a busier street, a group of guys in an open pickup truck pulled up alongside them. One of them yelled something the wind carried away, but the meaning was clear from their laughter and gestures. Another pulled out his cell phone. Sabrina saw the glow of the screen and the flash that illuminated the car's interior for a split second. A new level of horror washed over her: they weren’t just watching her, they were recording her. Her image, her total nakedness, was now being digitized, ready to be shared, commented on, and mocked across an infinite network. She screamed—a choked, hoarse sound—and covered her face with her hands, but it was useless. The damage was done.

At a crosswalk, an older woman stopped dead in her tracks, her shopping bag slipping from her hands. Her mouth opened in an "O" of disbelief, and then of genuine alarm. She looked at Sabrina, then at Leo, with an expression that asked, “Do you need help?” For an instant, a glimmer of hope, of possible intervention, flared in Sabrina’s chest. But the woman, after a palpable hesitation, lowered her head, picked up her bag, and hurriedly crossed the street, moving away. The world’s indifference was almost more painful than the mockery.

Leo didn’t say a word. He didn’t speed up to escape the stares, nor did he brake to confront those filming her. He drove with a terrifying normality, as if it were completely natural to drive a naked, traumatized person through the city. His silence was complicit. His refusal to react validated every stare, every laugh, every photo.

Every stop, every traffic light, was a new audience, a new judgment. Sabrina felt the last layer of her resistance disintegrating. She wasn’t crying anymore. She simply watched, through the fingers that still covered her face, as the world passed by and reacted to her disgrace. She felt like a circus animal in a glass cage, exhibited on a grotesque tour whose only final stop was Leo’s unknown house, and the even more unknown condition she had accepted in exchange for this ride of shame.