Page 64 of Queen of Nothing

Immediately, his scream turns to a snivel, and he takes the game.

It silences him for the most part.

And I breathe a sigh of relief.

Stuffing the watch into my jean pocket, I clammer into the passenger seat.

Serena’s cheek is turned to me—and I see the silent tears running down her warm complexion.

“Your illusion is fading,” I tell her, then flip down the sun visor.

Mine, too.

I flip the mirror back up, then run my hands down my face. “Just keep driving.”

She does.

We drive until the tank is empty and we have to pull over for petrol. I fill up after she fixes my face, then we’re on the road again.

This time, I drive.

She sits in the back with Sal, and even after he’s fallen asleep, Serena just sits there, staring out of the window.

Her tears don’t fall anymore.

But the loss is written all over her.

Serena doesn’t even give me directions or demand the direction I’m headed in.

Doesn’t tell me one state is better than another, or what backup plan we should move onto.

Because in all the schemes and plans we had in place, losing all of our money was never accounted for.

I could tell her about the watch.

But I can’t talk right now.

And if I tell her, she won’t stop talking, she won’t stop vocalising her thoughts as she calculates steps on pawning it, how much we’ll get, where we can go—

I just can’t deal with any of that right now.

Not when I’m barely holding it together.

Hands gripped too firm on the steering wheel, my face is pulled tight as I fight off the tears.

I steel myself against the rolls of sorrow crashing through me.

I need everything to be quiet.

So Serena sits back there, catatonic, and grieves our money.

And I drive.

On the foot of the narrow bed of this dusty motel room, we count every dollar we have.

The television flashes colour over the walls and closed curtains. The speakers are old and crackly. But it keeps Sal entertained on the other bed with all his snacks.

Serena unfolds crumpled notes. “Thirty dollars.”