Wanderlust

I shook my head, nostrils flaring as my body prepared for flight, even as my mind knew there was nowhere to go.

“Aggravated rape.”

The air seemed to leak from between the yellow-brown blinds on the windows, through the smudged panes of the door, anywhere but here. I couldn’t breathe.

“Did you do it?”

He shrugged. “Some people thought I was innocent. The ones who counted didn’t.”

I thought of the rosary hanging from his rear-view mirror, of the man who would no longer speak his name. Someone close enough to gift Hunter with faith but who didn’t have faith in him.

“And you.” His mouth twisted in a cruel imitation of a smile. “More than anyone, you know how guilty I am.”

I found my voice. “And those girls. They know too.”

“Do they? I’ll take your word for it.”

I shut my eyes at his cavalier tone. Didn’t he care about them? Sometimes it seemed to pain him when he hurt me. Maybe it was a sickness, an impulse he couldn’t control or a personality shift that took over him at those times. But he seemed fully aware every time he had taken me. I was just making excuses for the man who held my fate in his hands. False hope that he would do right by me in the end.

The waitress returned with our food, setting it down in front of a silent Hunter and myself.

She kept her gaze trained on the table. “Can I get you anything else?”

He reached into his back pocket and she flinched. But he only pulled out a handful of bills.

“This should cover it,” he said. “Keep the change. And don’t come back to the table.”

She snatched the money and scurried back to the kitchen.

Hunter stood without touching his food. He seemed agitated after his confession, far more affected than he wanted to appear.

“We won’t be stopping again until morning, so eat up. Come straight outside when you’re done.” He sent me a dark look. “Don’t make any trouble, sunshine.”

I watched him leave the diner, his confession still roiled through my body. Sometimes it was better not to know. Did he also feel sick to his stomach? Is that why he left without eating? I didn’t know. I shouldn’t care about him anyway.

I looked down at my food as the grease cooled, leaving an unappetizing sheen. He probably wouldn’t know if I didn’t eat it, but I considered it anyway, just to be obedient and to stave off the hunger for the rest of the night. But why was I thinking like this?

He’d left me—unattended.

Sure, I could see his silhouette through the musty curtains right out front. He was blocking the exit, but not the only one. There must be another one out back that the employees used. Here was my chance to get away.

Maybe I could fool myself into going along with him. Consent and cooperate and let myself be used just so I didn’t have to be a victim. But that was all veneer, like the slick coating of grease that formed on my steak and eggs. It changed how it looked, not what it was.

A convicted rapist. I had no choice but to run.

I stood quickly, heading toward the back where the waitress had been. The raucous conversation grew abruptly quiet. I could feel the men’s gazes on me, but I resolutely kept my eyes averted, mimicking the waitress. She’d seemed to inherently understand the dangers of Hunter and the other men. Maybe that had been my problem from the first. I’d seen Hunter leaning against the cab of his truck. I should have run in the other direction but I hadn’t…and somehow that had led me here.

Like stepping through a white trash looking glass, I had ended up in a different truck stop. I’d become a different girl. One who knew how to suck a cock, for one thing. One who knew what the sunset looked like from the tallest hill as far as the eye could see. One with enough courage to run when the opportunity presented itself.

In the back, the girl was washing dishes in a large steel basin.

Her eyes flashed with fear when she saw me. “You can’t come back here.”

“Please. Help me. I need help.”

“Not me.” She shook her head as if I were threatening her. “I can’t help you.”

“Just call the police. Let me call them.”