_OceanofPDF.com_The_Girl_on_the_Train_-_Paula_Hawkins

MORNING
I slept for five hours last night, which is longer than I have done in ages,
and the weird thing is, I was so wired when I got home yesterday
evening, I thought I’d be bouncing off the walls for hours. I told myself
that I wouldn’t do it again, not after last time, but then I saw him and I
wanted him and I thought, why not? I don’t see why I should have to
restrict myself, lots of people don’t. Men don’t. I don’t want to hurt
anybody, but you have to be true to yourself, don’t you? That’s all I’m
doing, being true to my real self, the self nobody knows—not Scott, not
Kamal, no one.
After my Pilates class last night I asked Tara if she wanted to go to the
cinema with me one night next week, then if she’d cover for me.
“If he calls, can you just say I’m with you, that I’m in the loo and I’ll
ring him straight back? Then you call me, and I call him, and it’s all
cool.”
She smiled and shrugged and said, “All right.” She didn’t even ask
where I was going or who with. She really wants to be my friend.
I met him at the Swan in Corly, he’d got us a room. We have to be
careful, we can’t get caught. It would be bad for him, life-wrecking. It
would be a disaster for me, too. I don’t even want to think about what
Scott would do.
He wanted me to talk afterwards, about what happened when I was
young, living in Norwich. I’d hinted at it before, but last night he wanted
the details. I told him things, but not the truth. I lied, made stuff up, told
him all the sordid things he wanted to hear. It was fun. I don’t feel bad
about lying, I doubt he believed most of it anyway. I’m pretty sure he
lies, too.
He lay on the bed, watching me as I got dressed. He said, “This can’t
happen again, Megan. You know it can’t. We can’t keep doing this.” And
he was right, I know we can’t. We shouldn’t, we ought not to, but we
will. It won’t be the last time. He won’t say no to me. I was thinking
about it on the way home, and that’s the thing I like most about it, having
power over someone. That’s the intoxicating thing.
EVENING
I’m in the kitchen, opening a bottle of wine, when Scott comes up behind
me and puts his hands on my shoulders and squeezes and says, “How did
it go with the therapist?” I tell him it was fine, that we’re making