_OceanofPDF.com_The_Girl_on_the_Train_-_Paula_Hawkins

Before he left, I told Scott I was going to the cinema with Tara after
my session. I told him my phone would be off, and I spoke to her, too. I
warned her that he might ring, that he might check up on me. She asked
me, this time, what I was up to. I just winked and smiled, and she
laughed. I think she might be lonely, that her life could do with a bit of
intrigue.
In my session with Kamal, we were talking about Scott, about the
thing with the laptop. It happened about a week ago. I’d been looking for
Mac—I’d done several searches, I just wanted to find out where he was,
what he was up to. There are pictures of almost everyone on the Internet
these days, and I wanted to see his face. I couldn’t find him. I went to
bed early that night. Scott stayed up watching TV, and I’d forgotten to
delete my browser history. Stupid mistake—it’s usually the last thing I
do before I shut down my computer, no matter what I’ve been looking at.
I know Scott has ways of finding what I’ve been up to anyway, being the
techie he is, but it takes a lot longer, so most of the time he doesn’t
bother.
In any case, I forgot. And the next day, we got into a fight. One of the
bruising ones. He wanted to know who Craig was, how long I’d been
seeing him, where we met, what he did for me that Scott didn’t do.
Stupidly, I told Scott that he was a friend from my past, which only made
it worse. Kamal asked me if I was afraid of Scott, and I got really pissed
off.
“He’s my husband,” I snapped. “Of course I’m not afraid of him.”
Kamal looked quite shocked. I actually shocked myself. I hadn’t
anticipated the force of my anger, the depth of my protectiveness
towards Scott. It was a surprise to me, too.
“There are many women who are frightened of their husbands, I’m
afraid, Megan.” I tried to say something, but he held up his hand to
silence me. “The behaviour you’re describing—reading your emails,
going through your Internet browser history—you describe all this as
though it is commonplace, as though it is normal. It isn’t, Megan. It isn’t
normal to invade someone’s privacy to that degree. It’s what is often
seen as a form of emotional abuse.”
I laughed then, because it sounded so melodramatic. “It isn’t abuse,” I
told him. “Not if you don’t mind. And I don’t. I don’t mind.”
He smiled at me then, a rather sad smile. “Don’t you think you
should?” he asked.
I shrugged. “Perhaps I should, but the fact is, I don’t. He’s jealous,
he’s possessive. That’s the way he is. It doesn’t stop me loving him, and