4
As usual, I wake up with my heart in my throat.
I’m not used to being here. I don’t want to get used to it, either. This motel is the cheapest I could find. Everything reeks like stale cigarettes, and there’s a suspicious stain in one corner that looks like it might have been blood, but that just means I have to avoid that corner.
Every time I wake up, I have to remind myself where I am. My body does that whole thing where it freezes up out of fear and confusion. But soon, I remember. I’m safe here, even if I doubt I’ll be safe forever. And it reminds me of why it’s so important for me to get that money, and fast. If I’m ever getting out of here, I need the cash.
I roll onto my back, blinking slowly, wondering if I should go back to sleep for a little while. When I’m asleep, I can dream and avoid reality. It’s tempting. I was just in the middle of a good dream, too, where I was a little girl again, and it was Christmas Eve.
If there was any guarantee I would go back to my dream, I’d close my eyes right now. Things were so much better then. Simpler. Secure. Life didn’t turn to shit until I was a lot older.
But no, with my luck, I’d end up heading straight into a nightmare. The way things went last night, I’m surprised I didn’t have bad dreams from the moment my head hit the pillow.
Just the thought of it makes my stomach clench tight. Not the memory of what was happening or even the thought of what might have happened if we had continued, but rather the memory of how stupid, useless, and humiliated I felt after blurting out the safe word. A big part of me knows I shouldn’t feel this way, that it was my right to do that, but seriously. All because a guy wanted me to suck his dick? It’s not like he was sticking a gun in my mouth or something.
But no, I had to freak out and ruin everything. All those good girl tendencies came rushing to the surface. I hate that part of me. I hate feeling like I have to hold back.
I hate having Adam’s voice in my head. It’s not enough that he ruined my life and put me in this position. He has to pop up in my head at the worst possible time and make it so I can’t get him out.
Lying in bed and beating myself up over it isn’t going to help anything. I force myself to get up the way I used to when I was getting up for school in the morning: throwing back the blankets all at once and jumping up before I could talk myself out of it. Not a bad habit, really.
I take a quick peek outside from around the edges of the drawn curtains. The only cars out there are mine, and a pair of familiar trucks parked a few spaces down. I think those people live here permanently. Sometimes we pass outside and nod in greeting. Otherwise, we don’t bother each other. I appreciate that. I don’t like a lot of questions. I don’t like talking to people I don’t know, either.
And that’s something I’ve got to change. There’s so much I have to change.
One step at a time. First, I use the bathroom and brush my teeth. I turn on the TV, if only for background noise, so I don’t feel so alone before checking my food stash. There’s still a box of energy bars left, a few cups of mixed fruit, and a few packets of instant coffee. I’m going to have to get some more food soon. I hate to spend anything more than I absolutely have to, but I’ve already lost weight I couldn’t really afford to lose in the first place. Adam made sure I kept my weight where he wanted it when we were together.
At least I’m used to getting by with the bare minimum. This morning, I settle for a fruit cup before going to the lobby, where a coffee pot is set up. The woman behind the desk jerks her chin in greeting while a ribbon of cigarette smoke curls up from the ashtray hidden behind the counter.
The coffee is about as terrible as I would expect, but it saves me having to buy more for at least another day. I choke it down as I walk back to my room. Cars whiz by on the interstate, and I can’t help but wonder where they’re headed.
It’s almost nine when I get back to the room, the first thing to make me smile this morning. This is the time I always call the one friend I have left, once she’s settled in behind the front desk of an actual hotel. I’ve asked more than once if it’s okay for us to have personal conversations while she’s on the clock, but Thatcher doesn’t care. That’s pretty much the attitude she takes with most things.
“Hey, you.” She always answers the same way, too.
“How do you know I’m not a customer calling?”
“Because there’s this thing called caller ID. Maybe you’ve heard of it. The number comes up on this little screen when you call in, and I recognize it as your prepaid.”
“Fine, fine, it was a stupid question.”
“I mean, I can always give you the usual greeting.” She lifts her voice and adds enough pep for an entire bus full of Disney princesses. “Good morning, and thank you for calling—”
“Oh, gross. No, thank you.”
She laughs as softly as she can. “What, you don’t like hearing me sound chipper?”
“I’ve known you fifteen years, and you’ve never sounded like that except that one time you sucked helium out of the balloons at your birthday party.” There’s a lot of noise going on around her. “Is it okay for you to talk? Should I call back?”
“No, it’s fine. It’s just the shift change in the office. So long as I know you’re alive and well today. You know I can’t function until I hear your voice.” For once, she’s not being sarcastic.
Something about the way she says it wedges a lump in my throat. She’s the only person left in the world who cares about me, and I can’t even go see her because I’m afraid Adam will find me. Unless I know for sure he’s not following her around in hopes of tracking me, I can’t take that risk. “Alive and well.”
“Good. So what happened last night? Did you get the money?”
Right. I told her I had a prospect on the hook but didn’t go into detail. I didn’t know how to explain it, and I still don’t. I should have known better than to think she wouldn’t ask. Any good friend would, and she’s the best. You don’t know somebody from the first day of preschool without becoming close, and she’s practically my sister. I would ask the same question if our positions were reversed.
“Not yet,” I begin. “But I will soon.”