How did he know I was gawking at the place?
“How did you–”
“Not important right now. Walk straight to the platform. You don’t wanna miss this train,” he orders.
“All right, all right, I’m going.” I rush my steps.
I get on the train and sit my ass down. To my displeasure, these seats are no better than the plane seats. I keep my bag pack on my lap as I patiently wait for the train to depart.
“So, how long do I have to seat in this tin can?” I ask under my breath, reading the travel route Rage gave me back home. His handwriting is illegible, but somehow, I understand it. How, I don’t know.
“Twelve hours,” Carter says sharply.
I stop reading.
“Twelve? Are you guys kidding me?” No one answers. I roll my eyes. “Fine, don’t say anything, I know this means fucking nothing for you guys, but just so you know, it sucks.”
Four hours later, and we just arrived in France. I have to admit, this part of the trip has not been boring at all. In fact, I will never admit it in front of them, but it has been fantastic so far. The landscapes I see are incredible. Hell, even the people walking around the train are interesting enough to the eye. At least, I haven’t engaged in conversation with any of them. I’ve seen backpacking travelers, whole families, even bikers…
Rage checks on me every hour on the dot, we sync up for a few minutes and then he goes radio silent until the next one. He talks to me frequently, keeping me company.
The next sync is in exactly ten minutes, and apparently, he also can’t shake the habit of being time conscious, something that the army teaches you and you never forget.
The train leaves Chambery Station, and we are now heading toward Milan. I’ll be able to rest for a while once I get there, all according to Rage’s travel route.
I stare out of the window – French landscapes are radiant. How come I haven’t taken a vacation here before is beyond me.
“Maybe because you were”—Life clears her throat—“…are a basic bitch who spends her money on clothing and unnecessary stuff, that’s why.”
“Glad to have you onboard,” I say out loud.
“What was that?” Carter asks.
Shit. “What was what?” I play theI’m confusedcard.
“You said something about being onboard,” he remarks.
“Did I? Well, I’m tired, and I’m talking to myself. I need some sleep.”
“Gotcha. Get yourself a cup of coffee. Milan is not that close.”
That was a near thing. Thank you, Life.
A person sits right next to me, and I only notice it because his leg touches mine. I am too distracted by the view.
“Oh, my bad! Am I too close?” a guy with a gentle voice, who is only a few years older than me says.
His appearance is absolutely suburban – hair yellow as the sun, porcelain skin and blue eyes just like mine.
I look at him and say, “Not at all.” Then turn my eyes toward the window again.
“Good. How long have you been traveling?” he asks with a big smile.
“Do not answer that.” Rage’s hoarse voice emerges from the earpiece.
“No answer, huh? Okay that’s fine, actually it’s exactly what I need,” the man says as he stretches his legs and puts them up on the seat in front of him. “I was sitting in the other wagon and needed to change the air since it felt suffocating, I hope I’m not bothering you here.”
“Not at all,” I say. He must think I’m a fucking robot, so I follow up with a broad smile. To give this guy another hint, I pull my phone out of my bag and start to scroll like is the most interesting thing in the world.
