“Yeah. He starts with flattery—gets you to drop your guard—and then he asks questions like he’s going through a checklist. Trying to see if anyone will notice when you disappear.”
“When? You’re so sure of his intentions it’s not evenifwe’re talking about—it’swhen.” She rolls her eyes. “Maybe you need to stop listening to true crime, already.”
“Right, and listen to ‘The Non-Toxic Optimism Revolution?’”
“Oh, I’ve been wondering about that one! Is it good?”
I actually roll my eyes. “I made it up.”
“I know.” Her smile looks sweet, but the glint in her eyes … doesn’t. “So to recap, you think I lack empathy, can’t recognize danger, and am so vain, I’d rather pretend to know a fictional podcast than admit I’ve never heard of it. Did I get that right?”
I wince, irritated with myself. And maybe with her. “That’s not what I meant.”
She laughs more darkly than I’d have thought possible. Or maybe it’s the drone of the engine. “I don’t believe you. I think you assumed I’d also be either too stupid to notice or too much of a pushover to call you on it.”
I don’t answer right away. “I didn’t think you were stupid.”
“Just someone you could step all over.” She snorts. “You know what’s funny? You’d usually be right. But with you waking up this morning and choosing violence?—”
“Whoa,” I stop her, sitting up straighter. “I’mnotviolent. I would never hurt you.”
She puts her hands up between us. “Okay, first of all, it’s an expression. Like when that dictionary app posted on their Instagram feed that ‘irregardless’ is actually a word.”
“No, it’s not.”
“It is. I was as shocked as anyone.”
I’ll have to look that one up later. “What was the second thing?”
“Hmm?”
Why am I still engaging? Why haven’t I just shrugged and stuck my earbuds back in? But even knowing I should stop, I don’t. “You said, ‘first of all.’ Meaning you had a second point.”
“Oh, right. Second, you absolutely chose violence. Figuratively.”
“How?”
“You accused me of lacking empathy because I find survivor stories so painful. That was presumptuous and rude.”
I feel my shoulders slump. The wetness on my hoodie combined with the cold cabin has made me break out in goosebumps. “You’re right. That’s why I said sorry.”
“Yeah, sorry isn’t good enough.”
My hands fly out. “What else do you want me to say?”
“You told me it was a personal topic for you …”
“I’m not telling you my story.”
“In that case, I reject your apology and reiterate: you woke up and chose violence.”
“Don’t say that,” I say, looking around me to make sure no one in the surrounding rows can hear her.
“I already did.”
“You’re not getting my story.”
“That’s fine,” she says. “I don’t want it.”
