I am slow to answer. My thoughts are congested, ergodic, bewildered. Silently, I repeat the question, an attempt to reboot my clarity, but the words ricochet softly off my skull and disperse among the random syllables, haphazard in my darkness.
'Well?' he says, 'Will you?'
His words slap my face and my cheeks smart with the impact.
'Yes.' I say, although my conscience is unconvinced.