"No, slow down." He's pretty sure he's muttering it, but it might be louder than that. He finds his fingers catching up against the door - his other hand shifting away from his side to scuff his knuckles against her arm. He does it: harder than he means. "Just ease off the fucking gas would you?" He says, coughing again and then he can't stop coughing. He tries to cover his mouth and the blood comes through under his hand, smearing over his chin.