Chapter 3

3

Eva

He's gone for so long that everyone starts talking about him.

"I hope he's okay," the Italian woman says. "He felt very cold."

He's gone for more than half an hour before I leave, too. Not to find him, necessarily. It's almost time for the beds to go down. I want to stretch my legs. I consider walking to the dining car to get a glass of wine, but I have to be on form tomorrow. I walk to the car anyway, to smell other people's wine.

Sometimes I like to be around other people, to pretend I'm one of them. That I'm going to Paris on vacation instead of going to kill someone.

I buy a bag of Skittles and an orange Fanta. I eat and drink while I walk up and down the train aisles, watching dark cities go by. I'm on my way back to our car when I see him coming out of the restroom up ahead.

He waits for me to catch up.

"Do you want one?" I hold out my bag of Skittles. "They're tropical. I'm pretty sure they've been discontinued everywhere except this train."

"I better not." The train lurches but he looks less pale. His cheeks are pinkish. His pupils are dilated. He's staring at me a little. A lot.

"Are you feeling all right?" I say. Then I notice two fresh lumps: one on his temple and one on his cheekbone. "Ouch. What happened?"

His fingers fly to the bumps, like he'd forgotten about them. "I hit my head. On the toilet."

"Yikes," I say. "You're not having a good train ride."

"I took a Dramamine. I'm feeling better now," he says, leaning casually against the wall. I can tell. Where before he was tight and uncomfortable, now he's relaxed, almost loose. He's seriously staring right at me. It's a little unsettling. I'm not used to looking at people for long; avoiding eye contact is one of my tricks for staying invisible. But I'm looking at him, and he's looking back. His eyes are blue but the dark kind, so you could easily confuse them for another color. "I thought taking a train would be easier than flying. It's a sleeper train—you just sleep, right? I forgot I don't sleep anywhere. I don't know why I thought it would be different here."

I sigh. "I never sleep either. That's kind of what I like about sleeper trains, though." I nudge my shoulder up against the wall, matching his lean. "It's comforting to know that other people sleep."

"I suppose."

"Maybe not seven other people in one tiny compartment."

He snorts in agreement. He's rubbing his fingers over his palms. I don't think he realizes it. It's like a nervous tic and it doesn't stop. It's a little suspicious. I've never seen someone get high off Dramamine, but I know enough about drugs to know they don't always work the way you plan. I once gave someone an allegedly lethal dose of Seconal but instead of killing them, it gave them super strength. It also made them really, really angry. Which was understandable, given that I was trying to kill them.

He cocks his head. "What were you saying earlier? That there was something we could try?"

"I thought you were gonna be a good boy."

"I don't know why you thought that."

I grin. I'm bubbling over with sunshine. Sometimes it's that easy. Sometimes it's easier with someone you don't know, who doesn't know you, to be happy. I look him dead in the eyes. "Pretend we're married."

"What?" He seems caught off guard, like I just asked to hold his dick.

"That's the plan."

"I don't see how that will help."

"Just follow my lead. If it doesn't work, you can always vomit."

I spin toward the car. I feel him follow behind me. As soon as we're in listening distance I start:

"I can't believe you're doing this again ! You're ruining our vacation!" I slide the door open with a jerk. I don't lower my voice. "Like you always do. Every! Fucking! Time!" He starts to take his seat, but I scold, "What, so you're just gonna sit down?" He freezes. I'm not sure if he's acting or reacting, but either way, it's perfect.

"Are you two together?" the Italian woman asks, clearly uncomfortable.

"I can't believe you're doing this again !" I repeat. It has to be cyclical. It has to be inane. It has to be hopeless and unsolvable. That's how you make it feel like a real relationship.

He hovers over his seat, unsure what to do. He doesn't seem to like the attention. Too bad.

"You're seriously not gonna say anything?" I demand.

"Do you want to switch seats?" the woman asks, keen to stop the scolding. "So you can be together?"

"Are you kidding?" I scoff. "I'm not sitting with him."

And I'm just getting warmed up.

The Italian boys drop out first. "I think I saw a pair of seats in the next car," one says to the other.

And then it's like an avalanche. Everyone goes. Pretty soon it's just Glasses Guy, me and the American businessman. When it's clear the latter could not care less about the fighting, I give up. He can stay.

I smile at my partner in crime. "See? I told you. There's nothing worse than two people in a relationship."

"Evidently." He smiles ruefully. "I'm Jonathan, by the way."

"I'm Eva." I'm not, but he doesn't need to know that.