Page 128 of Jude

Relief washed over me as he slid the documents back across to me and gestured to let me through.

I landed in Nashville by late afternoon, got out cash from an ATM, and took a local bus to Jude’s house in Belle Meade.

My door code still worked, and I let myself in.

I retrieved my old canvas duffel bag from my guest room and found my clean, faded denim jacket, jeans, and worn cotton tees I owned when I met him.

I packed them in with my other things.

When rushing through the room, my eyes fell on his sweatshirt, the hoodie I’d stolen from his room a few weeks ago.

I lifted it to my face and breathed him in again, blinking back tears.

With an inhale, I threw it into my bag, the only weakness I’d allow myself.

I added my diary, notepad, writing pens, and my legal IDs.

I didn’t touch a single luxury item or piece of clothing Jude purchased for me.

I hesitated about the new iPhone he bought me.

It held all my contacts, photos, and WhatsApp messages, and the pain of finding another phone and transferring my details overrode my desire to leave it all to him.

I needed my connections; they were my lifeline, so I kept the device.

But not before disabling the ‘Find My Phone’ feature and blocking Jude and his parents’ numbers.

I spent several moments on my smartphone doing some online research, then I exited Jude’s home, perhaps for good.

I even left the car he bought me and locked the front door behind me.

I took off on foot, got an Uber down the street to the city, and sat in a cafe for a few hours, plotting my next move.

In time, I boarded a coach and vanished into the industrialized underbelly of North Nashville.

Getting off at a deserted bus stop, I followed my map.

I came upon a bleak structure near the active CSX freight tracks.

A small sign over the door read ‘Shelby’s House’.

According to my extensive search online, the shelter was the only one with a vacancy listed in the city that night.

I pushed the door open to a minimalist reception.

Behind a barred window and under a flickering fluorescent light sat a gruff woman.

She had a lined face, a built, muscular body, short-cropped blonde hair, tattoos, and a no-nonsense attitude.

I hesitated, inching into the room.

‘Need something, honey?’ the woman called out, raking me from head to toe.

‘A room? I can pay for a few nights.’

She assessed me with narrowed eyes. ‘You in trouble or running from anyone?’

‘I’ve left my husband. I’m after a cheap place to crash.’