But Roxy isn't most people.
I’m certain she'll notice, and will most likely figure out what I’m doing faster than anyone else ever has. But that’s fine, it’s actually better than fine. I don't want someone oblivious or want to have to dumb myself down or pretend to be less than I am. I want someone who can keep up, who can see the game for what it is and will decide to play anyway.
I want someone who is just as fucked up as I am.
The highway finally opens up and I can see for miles, there is nothing but a dark empty space, where only the stars and her taillights cut through the night. My hands are steady on the steering wheel, my mind calm in a way it rarely is. This feels right, like fate, like something I am supposed to be doing, as if every choice I'd made had led me to that roadside where she was drawing death and seeing the beauty in it.
People talk about fate like it’s some romantic concept, where the universe gives a shit about bringing soulmates together. That is bullshit. The universe doesn't care about anything. But rarely, you can have two people who are equally broken, find each other in the wreckage. And when that happens, you don’t question it or overthink it. You just hold on and see where it leads, no matter how dangerous it is, even if the result ends badly for everyone involved.
Especially then.
I check my phone, glancing at the map I'd pulled up earlier. There is a rest stop about forty miles ahead, right before the road starts its serious climb into the mountains. She will stop there, I'd bet money on it. It’s late now, and she has been driving for hours, plus that van doesn't look like it can handle mountain passes without some kind of break.
I speed up, pulling ahead and passing her van doing ninety, close enough to see her silhouette in the driver's seat, but not close enough for her to get a good look at me. Just another car on a dark highway, nothing worth remembering.
By the time she reaches the rest stop, I'll already be there. Waiting.
The miles disappear beneath my tires and I let myself think about what comes next. How I approach her, what I'm gonna say and how I will try to make it seem natural instead of the calculated stalking it actually is. I’m good at reading people, and knowing what they want to hear. And Roxy, she wants brutalhonesty, someone who doesn’t bullshit her and sees the world as clearly as she does.
I can give her that. I can be exactly what she needs, because it’s not even an act. We are the same, two people who have looked at the world and decided it is rotten, and don’t care about the things normal people care about.
She just doesn't know it yet, that I've already decided she is mine. That I am going to make sure she understands we belong together, that this isn't some chance encounter, but the inevitable collision of two people who were always going to find each other.
I'll burn down the whole fucking world before I let her slip away.
The rest stop appears in the distance, a small oasis of light in the darkness. I pull in, parking the car in the shadows away from the main building. There are a few other vehicles around, a semi truck, a couple of sedans, and a family in an RV that looks like it has seen better days.
I get out of my car and walk past them all, feeling that familiar contempt rise in my chest. The truck driver is asleep in his cab, mouth open, probably dreaming about whatever mundane bullshit truck drivers dream about. The family is gathered around a picnic table, the parents looking exhausted while their kids run around screaming. Normal people living normal lives, completely unaware of how fragile it all is, and how easily it can all be taken away.
I buy a black coffee from the vending machine, more for something to do than because I want it, and sit on a bench with a clear view of the highway. I light a cigarette and wait, watching the road for her van headlights to approach.
She'll come, I know she will. And when she does, when she sees me sitting here like it’s a pure coincidence, she'll have a choice to make. She can pretend she doesn't see me, or she canget back in her van and keep driving. She can also try to convince herself that running into me twice in one night doesn't mean anything.
The other option is that she can acknowledge it, by walking over and asking what the fuck I’m doing here, and call me out on the stalking, demanding to know what I want from her.
Either way, I'll win. Because even if she runs, and tries to put distance between us, she'll be thinking about me. I know she’ll be looking over her shoulder, wondering if I’m still following her, unable to shake the feeling that something has started between us that can't be stopped.
And if she doesn't run, and comes over to me, if she acknowledges the pull between us, then I'll know for sure that she felt it too. That she was just as drawn to this deep connection of fucked-up as I was. That she wants this as much as I do.
I finish my cigarette and crush it under my boot, my eyes never leaving the highway. The night is cold, the kind of desert cold that sinks into your bones, but I barely feel it. All of my focus is on that stretch of road, on the moment when her van will appear and everything will shift into the next phase.
And then I see them, those fucking fairy lights, and that unmistakable glow cutting through the darkness. She’s here.
My pulse kicks up, adrenaline flooding my system the way it always does before something important happens. I stay where I am, perfectly still, watching as her van pulls into the rest stop and parks near the bathrooms. The engine cuts off and for a moment nothing happens. I would guess she is probably sitting in there, deciding whether to get out or just sleep in the van.
The door opens a few seconds later and she jumps out, stretching her arms above her head. Even from here I can see the curve of her body, the way her hoodie rides up to show a strip of tanned skin above her shorts. She looks tired, rumpled, beautifulin a way that has nothing to do with conventional prettiness and everything to do with the raw honesty of her existence.
She starts walking toward the bathroom, her head down, lost in her own thoughts, not aware of my presence yet.
I stand up, and step out of the shadows into the light. I position myself so that when she comes back out, she will have to walk right past me. Then there will be no way to avoid a conversation, and no way to pretend this is anything other than what it is.
I light another cigarette and a few minutes pass before the bathroom door opens and she walks out, her hands shoved in her hoodie pockets, just as her gaze raises to meet mine.
She freezes on the spot as I watch the recognition flash across her face, her eyes narrow as she processes what this means. That I’m here. That I've somehow ended up at the same rest stop, on the same night, on the same empty stretch of highway. That this isn't a coincidence.
For a long moment, we just stare at each other. The rest stop hums with fluorescent light and the distant sound of the highway, but it all fades into background noise. There is only her, standing there with those big brown eyes locked on mine, trying to decide what to do.
Run or stay.
