Not Funny

The engine starts, and we pull out onto the street.

Where are we going? I wait for him to say it.

He doesn’t. Instead, he turns left.

That’s not the way home.

I glance at him, just for a second, then look out the window. Maybe he’s taking a shortcut. Maybe he needs to go shopping. Maybe—

No.

“Where are we going?” I ask.

“Driving,” he says.

“Right.” I laugh drily.

The streetlights flicker across the windshield, one after the other, like a slow pulse. I follow them with my eyes because it’s easier than looking at him.

I lick my lips. They still feel weirdly dry. My eyes burn. I can’t forget what I saw, what he did with Kathy—what he did to her. Should I defend her or accuse her?

I shouldn’t say anything. I know that. If I just keep my mouth shut, we’ll get home, I’ll go to my room, and this whole thing can just sit somewhere and rot quietly.

I need to make it clear that I'm not jealous of her. Less to him than to myself.

“You could’ve just stayed,” I say after a while. “With Kathy.”

He doesn’t react immediately. Just keeps his eyes on the road.

“I could have,” he says.

“Wow. Good to know.” I snap.

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Then what did you mean?”

He exhales, like I’m the difficult one.

“I meant I chose to leave. With you.”

I turn my head, frowning. “What?”

“That came out wrong.”

“Yeah. It did.”

Silence masks the awkwardness without resolving it.

“You always do that, don’t you?” I hear myself say.

“Do what?”

I let out a short, humorless breath and turn my head to look at him. Backlit, his profile appears sharp but inscrutable.

“Just act like everything’s… normal. Like nothing means anything.”

He doesn’t respond.

“Is that just how it works?” I ask. “You just use a woman, have your fun… move on to the next person, and nobody’s supposed to notice?”

His jaw tightens. “It’s not like that.”

“Yeah?” I tilt my head. “Does she know? My mom. Does she know about Kathy?”

He doesn’t answer. Of course he doesn’t.

I nod to myself.

I'm looking out the window again. I don’t recognize where we are anymore. That uneasy feeling creeps back in.

“Seriously,” I say, my voice firmer now. “Where are we going?”

He taps his fingers on the steering wheel. “Does it matter?”

I have to resist the urge to scream out loud in frustration. “Yes? Because I’d like to know if I’m being kidnapped or just driven around through the night for no reason.”

“You’re not being kidnapped.”

“Great. That narrows it down.”

He smiles. I didn’t intend to be funny.

“You always do this,” I mutter.

“Do what?”

“Keep people guessing. Like it’s some kind of game.”

“It’s not a game.”

“It feels like one.”

Another left turn. We’re leaving town. The streetlights vanish. There are trees now, dark towering shadows slipping past the windows.

I swallow.

The car slows a little as we approach an intersection. No red traffic lights. Just a blinking yellow. He doesn’t stop. I have no chance of getting out.

He picks up speed.