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Chapter Twelve

I felt stupid so I laid there in bed for the rest of the afternoon, staring at the ceiling. Part of me - the vengeful little kid in me - was pissed that I'd kissed Charlotte Avery, and the other part of me - the horny thirty year old - was pissed that she'd run off like that. I still felt nauseated, and I used the trash bucket a couple times, and wished she'd come back with the cool cloth but I felt too ridiculous to poke my head out and ask her to. I wondered why she'd kissed me in the first place, only to run off.

Maybe she was playing me.

It was after nine o'clock when my pain meds were wearing off before I decided it was time to venture into the other half of the bus - if for nothing more than another dose of my meds. When I poked my head out from behind the curtain, I found Charley laying on the hide-a-bed, her back to me, hugging her knees to her chest. She looked asleep, so I tiptoed to the sink, got a glass of water and my pills out of the cupboard and shook two into my palm, which I downed with the water.

I was about to head back to my room when I noticed a robot of some sort sitting on the table. I stared at it for a moment, then went closer. It was a crock pot, I realized. Inside was some kind of red soupy type substance. I glanced back at Charley again and lifted the lid. It smelled fucking amazing. I picked up a spoon that was sitting next to it on the table and took a sip of it. It tasted amazing.

"It's veggie stew," Charley's voice broke the silence. I turned to look at her and dropped the lid onto the crock pot.

"Sorry," I said, "It just smelled good and --"

"Did you want some?" she got up and grabbed a bowl from the cupboard and held it out to me. "I didn't know if you'd like it, given your propensity for Big Boy burgers, but I figured if you weren't interested I'd eat it anyways."

I took the bowl. "You made it?"

"Yeah. There was a bunch of stuff in your fridge about to go bad, so I just grabbed what I needed at the last gas stop," she shrugged.

I must've fallen asleep 'cos I didn't remember a gas stop.

I also didn't remember any veggies in the fridge. But then again, the only thing I'd gone into that fridge for in the last few days was like beer and soda.

I spooned out some soup into the bowl and sat down and started eating. Charley pulled her hair into a pony tail and I watched as the hem of her shirt rode up to reveal her flat abs and belly button. She had a scar across her lower right side. "What's that from?" I asked, pointing at it.

Charley glanced down and rolled her shirt up to see the scar, then pulled the hem back down. "Knife wound," she answered, like it was the most normal thing in the world.

I chewed a slightly crunchy carrot and tried to decide how to respond to that. "Someone stabbed you?" Well, it wasn't a Shakespearean response, but it was legitimate at least.

Charley smirked, "You sound surprised."

"Well it's not everyone in the world that's been stabbed in the side," I replied. "Are you in, like, a gang?"

Charley laughed, "Sort of."

I narrowed my eyes, "Are you in the Mafia?"

She snorted and grabbed another bowl from the cupboard, then sat down across from me. "Are you always so paranoid?"

I considered this, "Maybe," I replied. I studied her, "Seriously, who stabbed you?"

"Seriously?" she asked, and I nodded. Charley opened the crock pot and started spooning soup into her own bowl. "Have you ever read Of Mice and Men?" she asked.

"No," I admitted.

Charley spooned a piece of broccoli into her mouth. "Okay, well, so the story is about these two farm hands back in the 20s or 30s, and they're vagabonds, right? And the one is a tiny, wiley guy, and the other is a big dumb guy. George and Lenny. They're best friends and they travel together from farm to farm working because every time they get settled, Lenny messes it up and they gotta move on, but George won't abandon him, see?"

"What's this got to do with someone stabbing you?"

"So George and Lenny get to this one farm and Lenny messes it up for them again, and the farmer's son wants to kill Lenny. Now the farmer's son's a real jackass and he wants to really hurt Lenny and make killing him a sport, you know? So George goes out and he tries to find Lenny before the farmer's son can find him. And he does find him first, but the farmer's son is right on his heels, and there's no way they could possibly get away before he catches up. So George kills Lenny."

"This sounds like a really shitty book," I said.

Charley laughed, "It's actually really good."

"So why'd George kill Lenny?" I asked, "That's kinda crap."

"Because if the farmer's son got Lenny, it would've been a lot worse for him. George killed Lenny out of mercy, you know?" Charley's eyes were sad.

I stared down at the soup. "I still don't get what this has to do with your scar."

Charley shrugged. "It just does." She refocused on her soup.

"Why don't you tell me?" I asked.

Charley smiled, amused. "Does it bother you that I'm not telling you?"

"No," I lied.

"Good," Charley said, "I wouldn't it to drive you crazy or anything. To think, you don't even have all that far to go."

I stared at the soup. "Why won't you tell me?"

"I will, just not right now," she replied.

"Why?"

"Because," she answered, sipping her soup.

I stared at her, flabbergasted. "Why did you tell me the whole thing about George and Lenny if you aren't gonna tell me what happened to you?" I demanded.

"Because you asked about my scar," she answered, "What else am I supposed to tell you?"

"I dunno, something - anything -" I sputtered, "Like the Joker in Dark Knight or something. Tell everyone something different every time you're asked. I dunno. Something besides some depressing crap about a book."

Charley laughed. "And how do you know I'm not like the Joker anyways?"

I stared at her. "Are you?"

A smirk spread across her face. She glanced at the clock. "Do you realize what time it is? You have a TV show appearance first thing in the morning, and you're still looking a little puce --"

"You really aren't going to tell me?"

"-- you really ought to head to bed, get some beauty sleep so you can woo all those ladies that want your penis out there."

"Seriously?" I demanded, still on the her-not-telling-me portion of the discussion.

Charley put her empty bowl in the sink. "Night sweetie."