“Oh God. Please come back.” I whisper into the sky, hoping my plea reaches her. It has to. I can’t go on without her.Chapter EighteenChrissyWhoever the bitch is, unfortunately she is right. I’ve been kidding myself the entire time. He needs someone better than me. Someone who's someone. These insecurities are going through my mind as I run away from him and without a plan. As I run from the building, the tears are blinding me. It's wrong to leave him like this, but what more can I do.
Let’s chalk my actions up to another stupid ass move on my part. I am beginning to wonder if I am too impulsive for my own good. It might be right up there with not going into foster care when I should have. Now, I am running again. I should get my damn head examined. When I reach the street, I’m thankful that someone is getting out of a cab and I can slide right in.
"Where to, ma'am," the polite young cab driver says. I like that she's not asking me if I am okay. Right now, I really don't feel like answering a stranger's questions about my feelings. I don't even want to talk to Marquise right now, I am certainly not going to talk to her about it.
"Um... Do you know of any motels that are near? Something safe, but not fancy," I ask, sniffling. I make a promise to myself that I can cry when I get there.
"They are a little outside downtown. Near Boystown."
"That'll be perfect, thanks Tiffany," I say, reading her cabbie license posted on the plexiglass in front of me.
"No problem," she says, starting the meter.
A little while later, she drops me off in front of the Inn at Boystown. I pay her before dragging myself to the office. After showing my ID and paying with cash, there are no questions asked. I make my way to room 101 on the bottom floor. Inside the room, I drop my purse and collapse on the bed. The blanket on the bed somehow smells like bleach and pee simultaneously. It is making my stomach roll, but I don't care right now. My phone has been on silent because of work, but as soon as I pull it out of my pocket, I already have fifteen missed calls from Marquise and one from Frannie. Ignoring the ones from Marquise, because I can't deal with him right now, I call Frannie back.
"Where are you?" she asks in lieu of hello.
"A motel," is all I get out before I am sobbing uncontrollably.
"Tell me where," she says eventually.
"Boy... Boystown Inn or something like that. Inn at Boystown maybe?" I reply, not exactly remembering the name of the place.
"I'll be there soon," she says hanging up.
Alone and huddled on the bed, I cry until there is a knock on the door. Getting up, I throw open the door to see Frannie standing there. Immediately, she pulls me into a hug and leads me back over to the bed.
"What happened?" she asks, softly.
"I'm not good enough for him. It's too much," I say through tears.
"Did he say that?" she asks angrily.
"No, of course not. He’s too nice for that. Some old bitch said it, but that doesn't mean it's not true. He's never told me that he loves me, Frannie. Do you know how that makes me feel?"
"No, but I can imagine what it would be like and I don't like it."
"It makes me feel stupid and unwanted. Discardable," I say shakily.
"Listen to me, Chrissy. Those Roades boys don't do anything they don't want to do. It took me a long time to realize that about Baron, so I want to impart that wisdom before you get too far into your own head. Marquise loves you girl. Anyone can see that. It’s as plain as day. Don't let some salty old bitch get in the way of your much-deserved happiness."
"But..." I begin.
"No buts," she says cutting me off. "I'm right, just trust me."
"Okay," I say giggling. For two hours we sit and talk. We order a pepperoni pizza to share, but we could both eat more. My appetite is insane right now, probably all the crying.
"Are you gonna go back to him?"
"Yeah, but not tonight. I am going to stay here and go home in the morning to get ready for work."
"Do you think that's a good idea?" she asks, frowning.
"No, but I need a little space after the outburst I had. I need sleep and start over in the morning."
"I'll let him know you are safe and that you'll be home in the morning. Wash your face, you’ll feel better."
"Thank you," I reply, and we hug again. She leaves and I head into the bathroom. My face is streaked with mascara and tear stained. I look like a ghost, a dirty ghost, but a ghost, nonetheless. I scrub my face clean with the rough washcloth and take my shoes off before getting back on the bed. I strip the top blanket off and climb in.