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> Chapter Thirty <
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I blink open my eyes and inhale softly, the warm air surrounding me feeling somewhat uncomfortable. It shouldn't be this warm in winter, as nice as it feels.
"Blaine, wake up," I glance to my left, at Maya, and sigh a little. "We're getting off soon, and if you think I'm carrying you to the hotel like a toddler, you're wrong." She smirks, and I nod.
Groggy and still somewhat dreaming, I sit up straight and rub my arm, which had been pressed to the side of the train. I use my hand to straighten my hair into place and then yawn for a quick moment.
"Whereabouts are we?" I ask, glancing around the train in attempts to spot any sort of hint. There are none.
"At our destination." Maya answers easily. I nod, assuming that's all she'll tell me. Its enough. She knows what she's doing, and after all we've been through, I do trust her.
I'm still tired, but definitely refreshed. I'm hoping that after that nap - however long it was - I'll be less cranky, meaning the arguments between Maya and I will be less likely to happen. I hope that when we get off this train, and to the hotel, everything settles and we can unwind and just enjoy whatever it is we're supposed to be doing. Then I realize that I'm not really sure about whether or not we're going this way for a reason.
"Maya?" I turn my head to look at her, and she glances up from where she's sifting through her bag, which is open on her lap. Knowing I've gotten her attention, I don't wait for her to ask what I need. She even looks patient, which is nice and spreads a wave of calm through me. I know she isn't going to snap my head off, unlike earlier, which was like walking through a minefield. "What time is it?"
She pulls her phone from her back pocket, fast, as if it was already just below her hand when I asked. She responds simply, "about quarter after one. Which, is perfect timing, to be honest with you."
I nod, looking back to the window (which is as boring as thinking about if every single person on this earth were the exact same) as the train comes to a stop inside the station. A crowd of people all shove and push their way to the doors, which blocks the way for us current passengers to get off.
"Obnoxious, aren't they?" Maya mumbles slightly, pulling the drawstring of her back and then hooking it closed. I nod.
"Yeah, they are," I agree. "Why don't they just wait and, like, stand back a few feet?"
Maya shakes her head. "Like I said, they're obnoxious, and that's all there is to it."
"Greedy." I say.
She nods. "Greedy: darn straight." I smirk at her and she rolls her eyes. "I get it, you're gay."
"So are you," I pitch in, "what's your point?"
She shrugs. "Nothing." And then she stands up, leaving us on that note. I follow suit and stand beside her, watching the other passengers rise to their feet. Some, tired like us, stretch and yawn luxuriously, and others just sigh and look around in boredom. None look like they want to be here. It's not like the movies, where the broke and emotionally damaged - or inspired and motivated - person giddily rushes to the front of the train and hops off and does a three-sixty spin with their arms out while grinning, and maybe singing some upbeat song. No. It isn't like the movies. Or the books. No, no, and no.
