Page 23 of The Stranger
I clear my throat, running a hand over my face as the sobering question fills my head. “Did he—does he—hurt you a lot?”
She blinks, clearly not expecting that to be the question I asked. “Craig?”
“Yeah.”
“He wasn’t abusive, if that’s what you mean, no. He was—is—just…I don’t know. He’s just hard to get along with sometimes. Stubborn and hot-tempered.” She lowers the leg of her sweatpants and drops her foot to the ground. “He didn’t care enough to fight with me. He was too caught up in himself.”
I wait for her to say more, but when she doesn’t, I press her. “What do you mean?”
“He was just sort of checked out, I guess. His job was…really demanding. Physically and emotionally, and he just didn’t care about me. Not really. And I don’t say that for pity. I’m over it. It’s just the truth. He spent more time at the gym than he ever did with me.”
The truth of her words sits heavy in my chest. I hate him. I want to kill him for ever making her feel so unloved and unwanted.
“He didn’t do this if that’s what you’re thinking,” she adds. “My leg, I mean. Honestly, it was my fault. And not in a ‘it was my fault because I made him mad’ sort of way. We were arguing and—or, well, I was arguing, and he was mostly ignoring me—and I’d had enough, so I got out of the car and tried to run away. But it was snowing and slick, and I slipped on a stupid patch of ice. I went down hard, and my leg hit a rock or a piece of asphalt or something, sliced it open. My hands got all scraped up from the fall. It hurt, of course, and it was made worse by the cold, but I…” She looks away with a solemn expression. “He didn’t come to check on me. He just drove away.”
“And I found you after?”
She nods. “Yeah. I’d been walking for an hour, maybe, when you found me. I was so distracted I didn’t realize how far I’d walked. My phone was still in the car because I never thought he’d actually leave—” She cuts herself off as her voice cracks. “Anyway, that was that. He’s not abusive, he’s just an asshole.”
“Well, good. I’m glad. You don’t deserve to be hurt.”
“No one does,” she says, lifting the covers up and slipping into bed.
“So, what do you like to do for fun?” I sit on the edge of my bed, watching her.
Her head tilts to the side. “What?”
“You know, fun. Enjoyment. The thing most people experience now and again.”
It’s her turn to scowl at me then, and she purses her lips for good measure. “Yes, Walker. I’m aware of what fun is. I just don’t know why you’re asking.”
“I just thought we could get to know each other a little bit. Since we’re stuck together for a while.”
She shakes her head. “In just a few hours, we’ll be on the road again.” There’s a confidence in her voice I don’t expect. She’s certain we’ll be leaving soon, while I don’t see how we could. Stubborn as she is, I’m worried she’ll find a way. “You won’t be stuck with me much longer.”
“There are worse people to be stuck with.” I run my feet along the stiff carpet. “You’re not the worst company.”
“I’d hate to meet the worst, then,” she says softly. When I look up, she’s twirling a piece of hair around her finger, seemingly lost in thought.
“It’d definitely be Ernest,” I quip. “I mean, that guy can clearly sleep through a tornado.”
“Or a blizzard,” she adds with a laugh. Our eyes meet again, and there’s that moment, that electric moment, where something charges inside of me, like a balloon being blown up or pressing your tongue to a battery. I don’t know how to explain it, and I’m not sure I’ve ever felt it before.
Ending the moment, she looks away.
“Seriously, Tibby. I know it’s been a shitty night for you, but I’m glad you’re here. I’m…I’m really glad I found you.”
She meets my eyes again, hers bouncing back and forth between mine as she makes me wait to hear her response. Eventually, she opens her mouth and reaches for the lamp. “We should get some sleep. Good night, Walker.”
I sit in stunned silence and darkness for what feels like an eternity. Finally, I sigh, the balloon in my chest deflating in an instant.
“Good night.” I slip into bed, bathed in darkness, hoping she’ll say something else. Anything else.
But she doesn’t. The only sounds in the room are those of pattering of the snow and ice on the windows and the wind howling as the storm rages outside.
CHAPTER NINE
BEFORE