I’d been blindsided, forced to make an impossible decision at the drop of a hat, and I was fairly certain I hadn’t processed everything. Shock and adrenaline were protecting me from what happened after I went back to my room and decided to run for my life. Only hazy fragments slipped through.
Cramming the suppressants into my bag…
Throwing in clean clothes from my hamper…
Grabbing the bat from the closet…
Rather than dwelling on the memory, I locked it up tight and pulled on a fresh pair of leggings. I forewent a shirt and tugged on my hoodie, then put on my boots. My hair was sopping wet,thanks to not having a towel, but at least I’d grabbed my brush, so it wasn’t a tangled mess.
I glanced in the mirror a final time.
It would have to do.
The gas station had plenty of snacks, and I opted for a hot dog and a slushie. Healthy options be damned, what I wanted was comfort and nostalgia. I hadn’t had a slushie in about ten years, and my mouth watered at the thought.
There was nowhere to sit inside, so I sat on the sidewalk next to the ice freezer, a few feet from the front door. I kept my hood drawn low, avoiding eye contact with passersby, and ate. All the while, my mind wandered, scrambling for any semblance of a plan.
What the hell was I going to do?
My anxiety steadily crept higher the more I thought about it. I was terrified, but I didn’t have time to be afraid. Though I was lost and alone, I had to figure it out. I had to keep putting distance between myself and Floral Ridge. Even if I wanted to break down, I couldn't.
I have to keep going.
After I finished my hot dog, I sat on the sidewalk, people-watching and brainstorming. I couldn’t come up with a better plan than hitchhiking, but the thought turned my stomach. I’d gotten lucky with Revel, but not everyone was so compassionate.
What if whoever offered me a ride next wanted money in exchange for a lift? Or sexual favors?
Was I willing to give some greasy trucker a blowjob if it meant getting to Houston?
I cringed.No.I’d rather walk the whole way there.
When my ass went numb from sitting on the concrete, I stood and stretched. I had no idea what time it was or how long I’d been sitting there, but it had to be the early hours of morning. My eyelids were finally starting to droop, and exhaustion teasedmy mind. My limbs were heavy, my body begging for sleep, but it wasn’t like I could crash on the sidewalk.
I had to stay vigilant out in the open; I couldn’t let my guard down like that.
Walking to the corner of the building, I leaned against the rough brick exterior and looked across the lot toward the Knotty Sideshow caravan. There were several cargo trucks and travel trailers. There were also flatbeds topped with equipment, a few covered with giant tarps. All the lights were off, and I assumed everyone was asleep.
I had a general idea which trailer Daze might have come from, one of the smaller travel trailers up front, but waking him at this hour seemed cruel. Besides, what would I say?
Sorry to bother you, but can I nap on your floor, so I don’t have to worry about any weirdos attacking me in the parking lot?
Honestly, I’d had worse ideas, like hopping on the back of a stranger’s motorcycle. But who was to say Daze wasn’t really a serial killer masquerading as a circus performer? Maybe I was safer out here with the gas pumps…
I sighed, my shoulders slumping. The remaining whispers of my adrenaline were quickly fading, and I needed rest. If I didn’t at least get a nap, I’d probably pass out from exhaustion. I blinked again, and the trailers grew blurry, a result of my tired eyes.
Shit.
I was going downhill fast.
Could I break into someone’s truck just to sleep for the night? Sure, it wasn’t ideal—and if I got caught, I’d probably be arrested—but I was running out of ideas. I might not be willing to bother Daze, but I could hide in one of the cargo trucks until morning.
They made stuff like that look stupid easy in movies.How hard can it be?
A couple hours of sleep would be plenty, then I could slip out and regroup; I could disappear before anyone caught me.
I’d only done it once, but my track record for escaping was flawless. What was the hurt in trying?
At the thought of curling up and using my backpack as a pillow, I almost whined. My limbs instantly grew heavier, and my feet moved before I could stop them.
