Don't Hurt Me

Chapter 23

It's the hour where everything is blue. The thin line between the night's end and the start of morning. I creep down the staircase of our house, a backpack on my shoulders. The steps have always creaked, but I've never hated them as much as I do now.

I check my watch as I pad down the first floor hallway. I'm right on time. I open the front door quietly, catching the smell of dew. A deranged bird sings the silence away. It's chillier than I expected, and I shiver as I pull the door shut behind me.

Josh's car is already waiting, the engine idling. I slip inside, and he drives off without a word. He smells freshly of a shower, of soap and aftershave. His hair is damp. He has on the jeans with the rips, my favorite, and a sweater that I imagine pressing my face against.

Stop it, Clare. Don't do this to yourself.

I throw my bag in the back, settling down in my seat.

We don't say anything as he takes us out of town, onto the highway heading north. The sky gradually becomes bright as the sun shows itself. I watch fields pass by, along with the occasional stranded house. I read every sign, always getting the words just a second before they rush past.

Josh turns on the radio, and a slow indie song comes on. "Do you want to listen to something?" he asks me.

"Not really."

He frowns, then shuts off the radio. We drive on, and without realizing it, I fall asleep. By the time I come to, the time on the dashboard reads eleven fifty-two. I straighten up in my seat, giving a low moan as stiffness attacks my back.

"You were out pretty long," Josh says, looking out his window. "There should be a diner coming up any minute. Are you hungry?"

"I don't have cash to spare," I answer, yawning thickly. "I brought food."

He watches as I reach for my backpack. I brought anything I could find or make back at the house - sandwiches, two apples and a candy bar.

The diner pops up to our left, and Josh turns in. We park in the middle of an almost empty lot, stepping out into the sun.

"Let me buy you something, OK?" he says as we slam our doors.

I shake my head as I trot ahead of him. "No, thanks."

"Look, it's no big deal - "

"Drop it, Josh." I push the diner's front door open, cringing at the touch of greasy glass.

We enter to a sight of white and pink. The booths are faded and in some places torn. A woman with bright, dyed orange hair stands behind the counter, pouring coffee. Two men - truckers by the look of them - sit a few places apart, sharing the same vacant expression. A TV set blares from its place on top of a stack of magazines.

Josh asks the lady for a burger and a Coke, then ushers me to a booth in the far corner. We sit across from each other by a window shielded by dusty blinds.

"Great, isn't it?" he whispers dryly. I pick at the sandwich I have in my hands, hiding it when the waitress comes along.

"Nothing for you?" she asks me.

"I'm on a diet," I fib, then wait for her to leave before I start eating again.

Josh and I sit in silence for a while. But once he's done and has only his Coke to occupy him, he starts to talk. "So what's so urgent that you needed to go and see your grandmother right away? Is she sick?"

"No."

"I didn't think so. Wouldn't have made any sense, considering how you seem to be hiding your going from your family."