Survive the Night

by Riley Sager

It’s a Russian doll of remorse. Guilt tucked into guilt that she’s ruining the only thing that has yet to be ruined.

With someone you know and trust, silence doesn’t matter. With a stranger, it could mean anything.

“Because they take our world and improve upon it,” Charlie says. “Movies are magical that way. Everything is magnified. The colors are brighter. The shadows are darker. The action more violent and the love affairs more passionate.

“It’s hard meeting people,” Charlie says. “I’ve found that not to be true,” Josh says. “Meeting people is easy. Keeping them around is the hard part.”

She blamed herself and hated herself and punished herself because that’s what women are taught to do. Blame themselves. Blame the victims.

No one tells women that none of it is their fault. That the blame falls squarely on the awful men who do terrible things and the fucked‑up society that raises them, molds them, makes excuses for them. People don’t want to admit that there are monsters in their midst, so the monsters continue to roam free and the cycle of violence and blame continues.

Sometimes you can’t simultaneously be smart, brave, and careful. Sometimes you need to choose one.

It’s not stupid to want to believe the best in people. You shouldn’t get mad at yourself for thinking someone is good and not inherently evil.

And if Charlie’s learned anything from the movies, it’s that few things are more dangerous than someone with nothing to lose.

She’s Ellen Ripley. She’s Laurie Strode. She’s Clarice Starling. She’s Thelma and Louise, kicking up dirt in a final fuck-you as they choose freedom over life.