He felt guilty for making her jump – he hoped he hadn’t made her uncomfortable, wished he thought better of his gentle squeeze, and his hand fell back besides him, watching Chrissie’s profile. “Are you stuck?” Ace had been nowhere, and everywhere, and when it came to talking about where he grew up, the details waned. Childhood memories didn’t align with that of others – he didn’t have fond memories of Ohio. He was stolen. Stolen childhood, stolen memories, stolen from home.
“I know what that’s like – being stuck someplace,” a lifetime of it, and he still had years to spare. Funny how a lifetime faded to just a memory when he had a glimpse of the outside world. He thought he would never get out of the cage until he did. Ace used to think he’d be stuck forever, the same food, the same shows played on a loop, the same discomfort night after night, and the moments he waited for death to come for him.
But death never came, though he willed it, though he brought it forth. Death brushed past Ace and left him on his knees. But what did death look like for others? He could see the struggle, heard it in her voice, how she tried to hide it by not addressing it, but he never really understood why people hid the precise moment they started to cry.
“It’s not a break though, is it?” His gaze broke from her features to look towards the road ahead – the same stretch kept going for miles. They could have been sitting still for hours and the landscape would have looked the same, “I don’t think being dead is any easier than being alive – you still got the same questions, ‘cept when you die, you got even more.”
he’s too smart to be accepting hitchhikers in the middle of the night, on the road to nowhere. ace speaks like a man that has lived decades beyond his looks ... perhaps he’s got his own baggage, and that’s why he doesn’t mind picking up hers along the way.
kind and philosophical men are not chrissie’s usual find on this beat up road — it’s way more likely she’ll encounter a serial killer than a guy that wants an honest dig into her feelings. forgive her for being unusually quiet. chrissie doesn’t even bother to try out her stupid flirty tricks on ace.
“— do you think a lot about this stuff?” good: deflect, deflect, deflect. dig herself into a nice and comfortable hole, where she won’t be vulnerable to the emotions of a normal human being.
“is that why you’re on this road in the middle of the night? nobody takes this road anymore,” and why would they? it goes right past a murder site. good for the weird tourists that want to take a picture of creepy graffiti, but not so convenient for the average commute; “are you getting away from the place you were stuck?”
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