Deep Waters

Chapter Forty-One

I didn't say a word to him as I climbed in the ripped front seat of his truck. As we buckled our seat belts he kept glancing over at me while we turned on the ignition and pulled out of the gas station. I couldn't imagine what I looked like. Thought, I knew there was blood and dirt all over me. "So where are we heading?" I asked, deciding I'd at least like to know that. My hand wrapped around my infected bullet wound. The pain hadn't gone away, maybe even gotten worse, but I was getting used to trying to ignore it. I wasn't raised to be a wimp.

"My sister's house," the boy said. "I haven't seen her in about a year. It's about a fourteen-hour drive from here." Dang. So, I really was just getting as far from Charles as I could. "...You gonna tell me how you got that wound on your arm?" he questioned next.

My eyes glanced down at the hole. "A gun," I decided.

"No kidding..." He seemed to be deep in thought as he kept his eyes on the road in front of him. This road was actually cement but looked old and cracked under years of wear and pressure. "...How much trouble are you in?"

I sighed. "A lot."

"Where are you from?"

"Here and there."

"What do you like to do?" he tried again.

"This and that."

"Do you ever answer questions properly?"

"Now and then," I replied, staring out of the window.

"Boy, aren't you just full of information," he said, aggravation lacing his words. "You gonna tell me anything about you?"

I chewed my bottom lip. Well, keeping my life a secret never got me anywhere from my experiences so far. "If you prove to me that I can trust you," I told him honestly.

He nodded his head, his hair so short it didn't dance. "You really don't trust people," he observed. No kidding, Sherlock.

"Not at all."

"I get that," he said, stopping at a stoplight. We seemed to be heading into a city. "I can relate."

"What's your reasoning?" I asked, genuinely curious.

"Salt and sugar look the same."

I exhaled and huffed. "Ain't that the truth." His words made me wonder what strangers thought of Charles when they saw him in public. Do you know how you can look at someone and come up with a whole life story for them? Would other people be intimidated by his appearance? Would they assume he is a nice, trustworthy guy?

"I'm Jay," he interrupted the newly settled silence, making realizing we never actually introduced ourselves.

"Lydia." The least I could do was use a different name. Maybe I should have come up with a completely new one. I readjusted myself in my seat, making me wince when I accidentally put a little pressure on my arm.

Jay glanced at me, his pale green eyes looking at me with worry trailing them. "There's pain killers in the glove box."

I didn't hesitate to open the little door and dig through his crap to find the pill bottle. I didn't even bother searching further in the vehicle for a bottle of water. Twisting open the cap, I tapped out a few and swallowed them dry. Sighing in awaited relief, I just waited for it to kick in. It totally wouldn't have killed the dude to tell me about the medicine sooner in the car ride.

"Where are you from?" I found myself asking after a little bit.

"I was raised in Georgia but moved here when I was eighteen," he answered.