In any case, I can’t risk looking backwards. It’s always a bad idea.
Catalog
Book
The Girl on the Train: A Novel
The #1 New York Times Bestseller, USA Today Book of the Year, soon to be a major motion picture. Nominated for the 2016 Holden-Crowther Book Award. The debut psychological thriller that will forever change the way you
Characters
I can’t do this, I can’t just be a wife. I don’t understand how anyone does it—there is literally nothing to do but wait. Wait for a man to come home and love you. Either that or look around for something to distract you.
I have lost control over everything, even the places in my head.
There is a pile of clothing on the side of the train tracks.
She’s buried beneath a silver birch tree, down towards the old train tracks, her grave marked with a cairn.
And I’ve just got to let myself feel the pain, because if I don’t, if I keep numbing it, it’ll never really go away.
I did become sadder, and sadness gets boring after a while, for the sad person and for everyone around them.
I’m playing at real life instead of actually living it.
I want to drag knives over my skin, just to feel something other than shame, but I'm not even brave enough for that.
'When did you become so weak?’ I don’t know. I don’t know where that strength went, I don’t remember losing it. I think that over time it got chipped away, bit by bit, by life, by the living of it.
I have lost control over everything, even the places in my head.
Hollowness: that I understand. I'm starting to believe that there isn't anything you can do to fix it. That's what I've taken from the therapy sessions: the holes in your life are permanent. You have to grow around them, like tree roots around concrete; you mold yourself through the gaps.