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JOSIE
We’re two hours into the drive, and I’m already dreading the ride home, not to mention getting through the next few days watching my best friend get married and celebrate with her before they take off on their honeymoon. By then, I’m sure I’ll be ready to hitchhike home and just let Ben take my car. Reaching over, he turns to adjust the air conditioner again and says, “I’m starving.”
“Okay.” My eyes stay fixated on the road, but I can feel his gaze on me.
“Do you want to stop and grab a bite to eat? Stretch for a few minutes?”
No. I don’t. I don’t want to stop. I want this trip to be over. Because eating is the last thing on my mind when the car has been filled with his annoyingly intoxicating scent that mocks my brain because he smells like heaven but brings nothing but hell.
“I’m good.” Not. “You should’ve eaten before we left.”
“I thought we’d stop and discover a new place together.”
A laugh bubbles out before I can stop it as I look over to him. “Are you serious?”
His arrogance doesn’t waver. His response tells me he’s still self-assured; that he believes he’ll get his way just as he always has before. “Yeah. We’re on this voyage together, so why not make the most out of it. And you know, have a little fun for once.”
“I have fun.”
It’s him laughing at this point, and I really want some of that duct tape right about now. “You actually took time out of your schedule for fun? Or was following your schedule the fun part?”
I don’t dignify him with a response because I’ve heard it for years. I’m not the free spirited, go-with-the-wind asshat that he is. I need a framework. I need a schedule. Stability. Structure. Everything I craved in my childhood that was overabundant in his, so he’s never known what true chaos is.
“Come on, Josie. It won’t take long. And it’s my treat since you’ve been such a gracious chauffeur.”
“I don’t want anything from you,” I mutter, already deciding that maybe getting him something to eat will be a good idea because if he’s eating, he won’t be talking.
“See, right there. Gracious.”
His chuckle scrapes along every nerve in my body, but I feel it most in my right arm, tightness growing from my wrist to my fingertips. Gripping the steering wheel tighter, I shift left and away from my unwanted passenger. “I’ll stop at a drive-thru so you can get something, but I’m good.”
“Are you sure?” His tone lands softer, not mocking for once, but I don’t want to read anything into it.
“Yes. I’m not hungry.” I’m just ready to get to our final destination because even though we’ll be under the same roof of the bed-and-breakfast, we won’t be sharing the same damn air in an enclosed cab.
“That’s not what I meant.”
Shit. There’s that genuine, thoughtful tone again. He’s used it a few times. Not many, but it’s the one he used during the most painful days of my life. “Yep, well… still all good.”
“You’ve never been a good liar, Josie.”
“Yeah. Because you know me so well.” Frustration surges through me. I don’t want him to play with my feelings. The last time he did that, I ended up in the emergency room.
He stares out the passenger window. His face remains turned away from me, but I still feel like he’s looking right through me when he speaks. “Your favorite French roast coffee is tucked away in your bag. You also needed your favorite mug, so you packed that too. You have a backup phone charger in case someone forgot theirs. You made a checklist of everything you needed to do beforehand and went over it no less than three times, yet you’ve questioned what you forgot at least twice since we’ve been on the road. That list is in your bag, so you’ll check it again the first time we stop. On that list, nail polish because you keep picking at your thumb, your index finger constantly scraping against your nail and the skin alongside it. But once you’re aware you’re doing it, you scratch your nail against the steering wheel because you’d rather that than mess up your polish. Because if the polish does come off, you’ll be unable to resist biting your nails. And you hate that habit most of all. Because it’s the one you’ve never been able to completely break. The one your mom always fussed at you about. The one you’ve never been able to control.”
My finger freezes against the leather of the steering wheel, my nail digging into the leather more than normal because he’s right. It’s something I can’t control, and it drives me nuts. But he’s making me feel even more out of control. Especially with the mention of my mother. “Lots of people have a morning routine. And it’s just a mindless habit. Not a big deal.” But it is. And the tiny indention that I’ve scratched into the steering wheel little by little since I’ve owned the car now feels like a sinkhole. Or maybe a black hole. Because Ben isn’t supposed to be paying me that much attention.
“It’s a nervous habit that gets worse when something is on your mind about your parents.” I feel his eyes land on me, and I can’t resist glancing over at him. “Want to talk about it?”
No. I don’t. Not with him. Because I don’t like that he knows there’s something going on with me. “There’s nothing to talk about.”
“I’m here if you change your mind.”
There’s sincerity in his voice but it’s the usual, mocking version of Ben I picture in my head. A few moments of kindness doesn’t make up for all the years of sarcasm and torment that he’s dished out. I mean, I’m no pushover when it comes to his invectives, and I sling them right back. And that’s how it should stay. Because Sweet Ben makes me do stupid shit.
“Yeah. Thanks. But if there was something, I have a best friend for that.” I steer off the interstate, thankful for the exit because I need to get out of this car. At least to just take a deep breath, away from him, for a few moments.
Fortunately, there’s a fast-food place right off the exit. Once I pull into a spot, I step out of the car, take in a much-needed breath, and press my back against the door.
