03
t r u s t

WE WALK TO the airport parking lot and stop in front of a Volkswagen jeep. Noah hops onto the driver seat and starts the car, the engine sputtering.

I glimpse at the seat inside—torn, the foam stuffing coming out. "Are you sure this is safe?" I ask with a sarcastic smile, climbing into the car.

"It's my baby." He grins as he grips the steering wheel with his left hand. "She won't go if you question her."

I let out an amused laugh and gently pat the car ceiling. "Alright then, sorry about that," I whisper to his car.

Noah guns the engine. "It's just cosmetics, you never know what's inside," he says.

I think of what he mentioned earlier. "Didn't you contradict yourself? You said that you could feel an attraction just based on the appearances."

"Attraction is just the first step." He turns and looks at me. "It's way more than attractions when it comes to really know a person."

The interior of the car, though, is really a whole new story. It smells like pine needle, campfire and a tad of energy drink, which reminds me of the Toyota Corolla I rented in Maryland. I drove that car on Route 50—also known as the "Loneliest Road in America"—and you always remember details when you're in solitude.

Which is also why I love being alone.

I turn my head to Noah, he's focusing on the road ahead. "Do you travel a lot?"

He smirks. "Yeah, actually, I've been to all the states you mentioned."

"Really?" I widen my eyes. But that makes sense, this van moves as smoothly as a horse galloping on the cobblestone road, and the way it lurches on the bumps seems to tell a lot of stories.

Noah nods, a corner of his lips still tucked up. "This van has been with me since high school, and I took her around the States before college."

"Gap year, I see," I reply. "I wish I could go during my high school-college gap year too."

Part of that is true, but I'm not sure if I would really enjoy my time if I left so early. I'm not sure if she would be okay with that.

"It's never too late," he says. "So why were you going back?"

"There's no endless journey." I watch through the front windshield as Noah navigates us through the highway. "And I'll have grad school in NYU."

"Damn." He laughs and looks at me for a moment before focusing back on the road. "Why grad school?"

"Fine Art and Design," I reply. "I want to be a designer."

The car hits a pothole, my body smacks against the seatbelt and plummets back to the seat.

Noah turns again, this time his gaze fixed on mine. "I love how passionate you are," he whispers.

I feel a flush creeping up my ears with his stare. Clearing my throat, I focus back on the road ahead. "What— what about you? Why working at the airport?"

"I work at the airport for fun, I'm actually an architect."

"Oh." I raise my eyebrows.

"What, didn't expect me to actually have a job?" He laughs and shoots me a sideways glance.

I frown, hoping that he didn't misunderstand my reaction. "Oh no, no, I was just a bit... surprised, yeah, didn't mean anything else, you got me?"

Riley, stop babbling!

"Hey, chill, it's okay." He breaks into a soft chuckle. "I'm not going to do anything to you."

"Oh you better not." I prop my arms up under the car window and look out, biting my lips to suppress my grin. Damn it Riley, it's just a stranger, just another passenger in life, just another acquaintance.

Neither of us speak. I watch as one highway sign disappears on top of my head and another one appears in front of me.

I steal glances at him. He's so concentrated on the road and his face reminds me of those outfits that only certain types of people can pull off: unique and fitting. He looks both delicate and grizzled. The angles are deep, and his lips are pillowy and red.

I fake a cough, attempting to break the awkward silence. "Actually, should I really be doing this with you?"

"You still think that I'll kill you?" he asks, amused and incredulous.

"I mean," I try to continue the topic that I've started, "you don't even know me, but you bothered to drive me to the Grand Canyon."

"Exactly, I don't even know that much about you," he says. "Serial killers usually find interests in people they know."

"What're the examples of interests?"

He strokes his chin. "Measurements, talents, hobbies, family and many more. I know none of these about you except your names, birthday and that you have travelled around for a year."

"Interesting," I reply. "I don't really have special talents... does speaking Mandarin count?"

"It does," he turns to me with a corner of his lips twitched up. "Prove it."

I say as my body stiffens, "Ni hen shuai."

His eyebrows shoot up. "What does that mean?"

I purse my lips, no way I'm telling.

"Did you make that up?" he asks.

I shrug. "You'll never know."

"Damn Riley, nice play."

We both bark out a laugh. 

I lean and tilt my neck back. When I come up for air, I say, "So now that I have a special talent, are you interested in killing me?" I meant for it to come out as a joke.

Noah turns his head to me and stares straight into my eyes.

"Riley, look at me," he says, his eyes appear large and searing. "Do you trust me?"

I stifle my breath from coming out. Moments later, the car starts to drift and he swiftly focuses on the road again.

He's just a stranger. But it's me who said yes to this spontaneous trip, it's me who hopped onto this car. Noah Clermont might just be a person that I met around an hour ago, I don't feel a single trace of uncertainty when I'm with him. Maybe it's really the attraction.

"Yes." I finally let my breath out.

I hear a laugh from him again, this time as soft as a breeze.

"Well, just in case I really try to kill you or sell you to the black markets," he starts and loosens the strap of his watch on his left wrist, "take this, so you can use it as an evidence and sue me afterwards."

I didn't expect him to give me his watch, and I look at him once more. His right arm is outstretched to the side, the watch resting on his palm while his gaze fixed on the road ahead. He's got that half smile again, maybe it's that, or maybe I know I will not see him again after tomorrow, or just simply because I want to, I take the watch.

And when his right hand grabs the steering wheel again, I peek at his left wrist—naked now without the coverage of his watch.

I see a long, jagged scar slicing across his wrist.

a/n

*Ni hen shuai = you're so handsome