Unhinged

4

Oliver

I've come to find out the mysterious Barbie who sits next to me has a name. It's Maurya. Halfway through the trip, Maurya's head falls on my shoulder and makes me jostle the ten grand in my backpack. She sits up.

"Do you love me, too?" She whispers cocking her head.
"Excuse me?" I smile stiffly, shifting in my spot. I knew she wasn't all there but holy shit—

"I'm joking. You should see your face!" She giggled, slapping my knee rambunctiously, her perfectly manicured hand shimmering under the light of the moon.

I chuckle awkwardly and lean in close to her. "I was—I mean, I'm flattered but we've only known each other for a few hours."

She giggles, a cute little titter that she hides behind her hand. She's stunning. The light of the bus seems to hit her like a spotlight. This woman is ethereal. She doesn't belong here, on some shitty greyhound bus they tried to renovate.

She belongs on red-eye flights, and pearls mixed with caviar. What is she doing here? She belongs on yachts.

"What are you doing here?" I ask softly. "I mean really?"

Her face falls a bit and she looks away. Is she running away from an abusive husband? Family? Does she have some sordid tale?

"I killed my father. And I want to kill more men over and over until my lust for blood is sated," she whispers, looking deeply into my eyes.

Holy shit.
Holy shit.

I laugh, to fill the stagnant air, but she just cocks her head inquisitively as if nothing is funny. As if this is real. Did she just admit to being a serial killer? Don't I have a duty to report that or something?

After a while she laughs too, filling the unsettling silence with the sound of her gentle laughter.

"I'm just kidding! I'm moving into a new neighborhood. Clearwater Falls," she pulls a brochure from her purse and hands it to me.

The brochure is picture-esque, jutting out from a perfectly maintained lawn, a white house, the perfect nuclear family home. I can hear the chatter of perfectly neglected children. I can see her crossing her legs and stirring a Martini.

Kids come home when the streetlights come on!

But never ever really checking if they came in the house. I can imagine a husband with some high-paying career, maybe finance. Oh, he gives her everything except attention, and she's writhing under the loneliness, growing sour and despondent.

Don't look at me. Don't look at me with your father's eyes you little shit.

I blink and clear my throat. "It's beautiful." I offer amicably. She puts her hand on my knee, and I shake under her touch for a moment. She has a pretense around her, an oppressive aura that bends others to her will. I look down at her hand.

I wonder briefly if I've dreamed her up. Why is she talking to me? We are two very different sets of people. My eyes drag up from her hand and settle on her lips for a moment. I glance away, rubbing my stubble and closing my eyes. I need to ground myself.

Get it together, Oliver. She's just the person next to you on a shitty bus.

"Oliver?" She asks softly, squeezing my knee. I glance over at her shifting, swallowing roughly.

Who is she? What is she? Why did she sit beside me and instantly take up 50 percent of my mind? I don't think it'll stop here. I feel like, in a few months, I'll lay my head down and think: I wonder how Maurya is doing.

"Yeah?" I ask breathlessly.

She smiles. When she smiles her eyes sorta close and I think it is the prettiest thing I've ever seen. Maurya is the most beautiful woman I've ever seen, especially in person.

"Where will you be going in Oklahoma? You have a family?"

Family? Ha. Nothing like that. But I don't say that. I want to be normal for her, even though she's said some of the most bizarre things that have ever been said aloud to me in the span of less than 48 hours.

"Just going for business." I shrug. And it's technically true. It's not as much of a lie as a bald-faced lie.

She leans in a little closer, looking between my eyes. "You're cute you know that? We're almost to Oklahoma. If you're ever near me, why don't you drop by?"

She grabs my hand, with a surprising amount of force, and scribbles something on my hand. Then, She goes into her bag and puts on her sleeping mask, silently indicating she's done talking.

700 Clearwater Ln, Oklahoma.

Her address. I swallow.

"Yeah," I say to no one. "Maybe I will stop by."

And that's that. For the rest of the ride, I'm silent and she's asleep, my mind wracking with disbelief. She invited me to her house. Should I go? Should I show up?

Hey...I'm that guy you gave your address to on the Greyhound. Is now a good time?

Fucks sake. She's obviously a little unhinged. What if someone else had been sitting next to her? Would she have given that creepy motherfucker in row 2B her number if he were my place?

So maybe I'll stop by, just to make sure she hasn't invited any other weirdos. Just for a moment. I close my eyes, content with my decision, and when I open my eyes next, the seat next to me, and the rest of the bus is vacant.

The bus driver started impatiently down at me, grease and sweat stains on the underarms of his work shirt, his hands on the seats.

"You gotta go kid. It's time for my 15."

I get up, adjust my backpack with my ill-gotten gains inside, and soldier forward. I'll start with a hotel, put on something new, shower, brush my teeth, and do my hair.

And then I think I'll take a trip to Clearwater lane.

Just to see.