Page 98 of I’m The Worst

“Czech.”

I’m surprised he answered, so I press for more. “How many languages do you know?”

“Seven.”

I shift to look at him more fully. “You know seven languages?”

“Mhm.”

It shouldn’t surprise me, but it does. “Pretty impressive for someone who barely talks.”

His eyes stay closed. I watch him for a second, taking in the sharp lines of his face. “You’re really fucking smart, aren’t you?”

One eye slightly opens, fixing on me. “Shut up and go to sleep.”

I roll my eyes, but something about it settles me.

“I learned Spanish,” I share as I turn back to the ceiling. “At boarding school.”

His hand doesn’t stop.

“My roommate was from Spain. I used to spend summers with her family. They’d talk so fast I could barely keep up. She would laugh at me every time I said the wrong things.”

I know he’s not listening. But talking about something that isn’t death or cages or him makes the ache in my chest dull just enough to breathe through it.

“So she started teaching me properly. Said if I was going to embarrass myself, I should at least do it fluently.” A faint smile tugs at my mouth. “We lost touch after graduation. But I still remember most of it.”

His hand drags once more across my stomach, and then everything shifts. He moves, pulling me back against him, my back pressed to his chest as his arm wraps around me.

“Sleep.” His voice is a rough rumble against my ear.

I let out a slow breath and press back into him before I can think better of it. I don’t care that the silence is back. Don’t care that I don’t understand him, that I probably never will.

For tonight, I let myself pretend. That I’m not completely ruined. That I’m not alone.

“Where are we going?” I glance over at Wolff.

His jaw is locked, fingers wrapped tight around the steering wheel, knuckles pale from the pressure. He looks grumpier than usual this morning. Not that he’s ever not an asshole.

Just…more of one today.

He doesn’t answer.

I sigh and let my head fall back against the seat, turning toward the window. Buildings slide past in a blur of grey and concrete, signs in Russian I can’t read, everything packed close together. It’s different from the roads we’ve been on—no endless trees, no empty stretches of nothing.

This is a city.

It takes me a second to even register that.

The last few places we’ve stopped have been buried in isolation—old cabins and crumbling warehouses. But the last place was modern and nice. Closets full of clothes in every size, men’s and women’s. The jeans and sweater I found actually fit.

And now this: Driving around civilization.

The truck slows, and I glance up again.

We’re deeper into the city now. People walk past shop windows, bundled up, heads down against the cold. A group of kids runs through a park across the street, their laughter faint through the glass.

It feels…wrong.