Liza told herself that she was being like a detective. It sounded better in her head than paranoid girlfriend or nosy hookup. The easiest way to get from her house to the University on public transit was the El. Liza had caught up with Bruce half a block before he disappeared up the steps of the closest stop. She was now gliding down the street under what she hoped was his train. Once again, she felt stupid; for doing this in the first place, and because this would all be for nothing if she’d picked the wrong train to follow.
She thought about turning around and going to work, but she needed to see this through. Too many little things didn’t make sense and she couldn’t make herself ignore them anymore. Liza didn’t feel like he was bullshitting her. He was holding something back, for sure, but he’d said as much. Why couldn’t she drop him off at his house? Why didn’t she have his cell number? They’d only known each other for a couple of months, but an address and phone number didn’t seem like too much to ask. And why had he avoided her question that night when he’d shown up to class with his face cut and bruised?
She figured that this all had something to do with the whole “long story that he didn’t want to talk about”. Liza knew that she could have and should have just asked. The problem was, she was too damn happy when she was with Bruce. Aside from her drawing, he was the only part of her life that was just for her. There was no stress. Spending time with him was never a chore or an obligation. It was easy and fun, even when everything else was going to shit. She was afraid that hearing his story might change that for her, or that her prying would change things for him.
Liza had zoned out so thoroughly that she almost didn’t see Bruce. She hadn’t expected him to come out of an El stop that was two stops before the University. They weren’t far from Adams Square. He must be going home. It looked like she was about to get an answer to one of her questions.