Page 19 of Voracious

I can’t get any fucking peace; she hasn’t even been here twelve hours and I’m subjected to horrific shit and being disturbed at three in the fucking morning.

I quickly throw on anything that looks black, so her outburst won’t ruin my clothes or get us pulled over. She’s still waiting at the door like an obedient puppy from hell once I’m dressed. Part of me softens without my approval seeing her look close to happy as she gives me the address in Maryland. My stomach when I notice it’s a residential area. The place won’t draw attention from police considering it’s full of drug dens and everyone steers clear of the area, but Ana doesn’t know that if her friend or sister is there it’s going to be worse than she’s imagined.

But she’s excited and she runs ahead of me as though she’s going on a trip as we go to the car. She doesn’t do her creepy meditation as I drive, she just sits there with energy radiating off her and tugs on her hat, so it covers her ears and tucks her hair into it. I’m still half asleep and it makes my voice rougher as we drive through the darkness.

“What are you going to do when you find her?”

Sparing a glance from the road, I watch her shrug and her voice comes out small as we pass a wooded area. “I haven’t thought about it.”

She leans her forehead on the glass, staring into the trees lining the side of the road. The childish parts of her personality come out and her smile is muted in the dark reflection.

“Trees.”

It’s said on a breath filled with wonder like she’s never seen them before. So I ask, “Do you like nature?” She shakes her head.

“Just trees?” She nods.

It seems to be the end of the conversation and I don’t notice that I’ve slowed down until a truck passes us. She remains in place, her nose pressed to the window until we pass the woodland area, and she sighs sitting back in her seat. The conversation restarts but it’s with herself.

“She’s real.” Her voice is quieter on the next part as each fractured part of her personality talks to the other pieces. “Yeah, she has to be, I remember her.”

Her anger comes in waves, filling the car, and I reach over the center console to hold her wrist. She remembers she’s not alone and blinks freakishly as she turns her head to look at me.

“Why are you helping me?”

There’s an accusation underlining her question and I don’t have an answer. So, I make one up.

“It’s easier for me to help you or you’ll probably steal my car.”

There’s no movement as she assesses me. It takes too long and then the snort/laugh breaks the silence as she agrees.

“Yeah I would.”

I’d give anything to go back to silence when she recounts her horrifying childhood with humor.

“You know the first time I drove a car I tried to get the client to stand outside but I think he knew I was going to run him over so he wouldn’t do it. His car was better though, it had massage seats and that’s when I learnt that the cigarette lighters are really good at burning a dick.”

It ends in a snicker and my fingers tighten around her wrist as my jaw tenses. She roughly pushes my hand off her and her voice hardens, losing all humor.

“Don’t do that. It’s rude.” Crossing her arms over her chest, she adds, “Stop the car, I’ll walk.”

She’s crazy, I know she’s crazy, but for some reason I keep expecting her to make sane choices.

“Calm down, you’re not walking, and I didn’t do anything.”

I’m going to get smacked in the face, again. She does it to everyone, so I lean to the side, anticipating her hand moving. But she’s grinding her teeth and those blank eyes are firmly fixed ahead.

Fuck, is she sad?

I don’t know what normal human emotions would look like on her features and soften my voice. “What did I do?”

It will be something small like say a word in a particular manner. She snaps her head towards me and it’s definitely sadness clinging to her. Well, underneath the anger.

“Don’t pity me. I’m not dumb, I know my life is weird and I’m weird, but to me it’s normal because I didn’t have anything else. If I don’t know those things then I don’t have anything. So do not fucking pity me when I know things.” Her fists are tightly clenched on her knees and she’s restraining herself from her first reaction which is to lash out at everyone. Instead, she uses her words and breaks my fucking heart. “If all I know are horrible things that you think are disgusting or sad, that doesn’t mean it's like that to me. To you it’s sad, to me it’s my life. If I’m not allowed to talk about my life, then no one else should be able to.”

Maybe she is human after all. Her logic is sound, and I nod, letting her know we all have weird shit in our lives.

“I don’t pity you. We all do what we need to in order to survive. My life is probably weird to you.”

---