One More For The Road

by Delilah Blake

  “The road can wait. It’s not going anywhere. Come on,” he almost pleads. “We’ve got all night to drive. Why not have a little fun now?” He moves with a speed I wasn’t sure a man of his size could possess, locking one of his hands around both my wrists, turning his fingers into giant, iron manacles that hold me in place.

  I wince from the pain in my hands and newly skinned back. “You’re hurting me,” I say softly, trying to stay calm.

  “It wouldn’t hurt so much if you would play nice.” Still, he eases his grip. “Come on,” he begs again. “I think it’s only fair I get a little something for my trouble. I won’t tell anyone, cross my heart.”

  “If you want something, I’ll pay you when we get there!” I shove against him as hard as I can. He doesn’t budge an inch. I angle my right leg and focus my weight forward, ready to kick.

  “Well, now, that won’t do,” Travis says, grinning horribly. “How about you give me something right now?”

  With surprising grace and speed, his lips cover mine, the taste of flat soda and Doritos flooding my mouth as his tongue slides in. He wedges a muscular thigh in between my knees, forcing my legs back against the wall.

  “Stop!” I shout, jerking my head back until it cracks against the brick. “What are you doing?”

  “Nothing you don’t want,” he answers. He slides his arms around my waist, trapping me inside.

  “You are out of your fucking mind!” I squirm beneath his touch, seeking release, no longer carrying if my back is torn to shreds by the end of this. I have to get free. “What I want is for you to let me go!”

  “That’s not what you want,” he murmurs, his voice a menacing whisper. He leans in for another wet kiss.

  I wrench back, horrified. “I just need a ride!”

  “So do I, baby.” He sends another stream of hot breath into my ear.

  “No!” I rail against him, but nothing loosens his grip. “Stop!” Hungry lips trail down my neck, sucking paths across my collarbone and shoulders. A crook of his finger and the collar of my shirt is suddenly wrenched down past my breasts. A low, ravenous rumble echoes in the hollow cavern of his chest before his mouth lowers itself to the twin cups of lace covering me. There’s the horrible sound of suction, and I feel the moisture from his tongue slowly start to seep through the thin layer of fabric.

  I push against him in futility, landing a single punch to his gut before his fingers clench around my wrists, digging graves into the fine bones beneath the skin. I scream in pain, certain he’s about to snap them both with a single twist of his arm.

  If I could only get my legs free, I might be able to kick him where it counts, stop him long enough to get free, to get back to the truck, to Jesse…

  But I can’t, both of my thighs clamped against the brick at my back as Travis’s free hand grazes roughly over my chest, beneath my bra, groping its way down my stomach in search of my jeans.

  Please make him stop.

  It’s the last thought I have before my brain shuts down.

  And then suddenly he does.

  In an instant his weight is gone as he goes flying backward. The pressure from his body disappears and my lungs burn as they empty themselves of the breath I didn’t know I was holding. I open my eyes to find Jesse kneeling over Travis, one leg pressed against his chest, his fist slamming into the soft flesh of his cheek.

  I stare at Jesse, afraid I might be hallucinating. But He glares at Travis with more hatred than I’ve ever seen in one human being in my entire life, his face transformed by revulsion and fury.

  I watch through a torrent of angry, humiliate tears. Blood flows in a steady stream from Travis’ nose and mouth, both eyes swollen beyond sight or recognition. He holds his nose and makes a pitiful attempt to crawl to his feet.

  “You bitch!” he roars, stumbling after only two steps and landing hard on his knees. His legs give out and he falls face first against the pavement, his fingers splayed out like bloodied webs on either side of his face.

  Jesse doesn’t run. He doesn’t rush over or hurry in any way. He simply strolls over to where Travis lays prostrate on the sidewalk, and with a measured, almost serene swing of his leg, drives his heel into the fragile bridge of his hand.

  I can hear the bones break from where I stand, crunching beneath Jesse’s foot like dry twigs on a forest floor. The large man howls in agony as Jesse twists his shoe against the once-connected ligament and bone, until, with the presence and poise of a man asking about the weather, Jesse leans down to Travis’s ear.

  “I told you to keep your fucking hands to yourself, didn’t I?” he asks, the simmering rage all but softened by the frightening calm of his whisper. “Let’s see how you drive now, motherfucker.”

  He releases Travis with a final wrench of his heel, watching him cradle his now useless hand against his chest as he stands. “You two can find your own goddamn way to California!” he sputters, sending a shower of crimson from between his lips. He trips his way back down the sidewalk, legs all but useless as he staggers blindly toward his truck.

  Jesse takes a few quick steps after him, his jaw and fists clenched. I could let him follow him, finish the beating he started, make sure Travis never puts his hands on any woman ever again.

  But I don’t want him to leave me.

  “Jesse,” I whisper into the darkness, watching Travis disappear into the night.

  He turns to me, eyes burning. “Are you alright?” he asks, reaching me in two long strides and taking my face between his hands, brushing the hair out of my eyes with gentle fingers.

  I nod slowly, listening to Travis’s truck roar to life on the other side of the parking lot, the stream of obscenities and screams of pain fading along with the scent of exhaust fumes as he careens back on to the highway. Eighteen wheels and one very broken driver no doubt heading for the nearest hospital.

  Jesse’s hands tense against my cheeks. “Are you alright?”

  I shake my head this time, unable to speak. The earth spins beneath my feet as I fail to keep myself from crumbling, slumping to the ground as whatever fear and adrenaline was keeping me standing finally abandons me.

  I fall to my knees, unable to catch my breath, convulsing from shock and a sudden, desperate want of air. Somehow, Jesse manages to catch to me before I hit the ground. His arms slide around my waist, stopping me from going down hard.

  His arms never release me, not for a second as the inevitable tears flow. With my face pressed to his chest, I cry, my salty tears ruining one of his few clean shirts. He doesn’t even seem to notice, only sits quietly with one arm wrapped around my body, the other cradling my head as I weep.

  I hate that I was stupid and gullible and blind enough to trust Travis. I hate that Jesse tried to stop me, to help me, and I was too stubborn to listen. I hate that I was petty and childish toward him. I hate that I didn’t fight harder, that all my bravado ended up useless. I hate that I feel weak. I hate that I’m here, and that it’s all my fault.

  I hate crying.

  The thought only makes me weep harder.

  The two of us stay on the ground for what feels like an eternity before I cry myself empty, the tears leaving my body in trickles rather than tidal waves.

  I ache. My bones, my muscles, my heart — all of it throbs with a dull, lifeless pain.

  “Frances?” Jesse whispers once I finally lie still. “Frances, you’re okay. He’s gone.” He strokes my hair with his hand. “He’s gone,” he says again, lifting my chin with his finger. “Did he hurt you?” His voice is absolute care and softness. “You can tell me. I—”

  “No.” I shake my head and wipe at a few lingering tears with the back of my head. “I mean, not really. I’m fine. You stopped him before—”

  “You’re not fine.” He grits his teeth, jaw clenched immeasurably tight. His face darkens into a stark mask of anger before he catches himself, wiping it clean with a single, shuddering intake of air. “Come on,” he says, getting to his feet and lifting me to mine a
s though I weigh nothing at all. “We shouldn’t stay in the dark. There are lights on over by the front door.” He walks over to where our bags have been discarded among all the chaos and tosses them both across his back. “Let’s head there and figure out what to do, okay?”

  We start the seemingly endless trek around the building, my legs numb and useless beneath my weight. All it takes is one stumble before Jesse has his arm around my waist.

  I slip out of reach.

  He closes the gap and again I step away.

  “Stop,” I tell him.

  “You stop.” He wraps his arm around me with a protectiveness that tells me he isn’t planning on letting go. “You know, contrary to popular belief it’s okay to let someone take care of you once in a while. You don’t have to be ashamed that you let me hold you.”

  What’s that supposed to mean?

  We make our way to the front of the building, the “Welcome Center” glass doors buffeted by maps and brochures advertising the surrounding area.

  I pull on the door handle, finding it locked securely from the inside.

  “Damn it!” I yell at no one in particular. “What the hell? Aren’t these places supposed to stay open 24- hours or something?”

  “It’s not Wal-Mart,” Jesse says. “We’ll just have to sleep outside until the sun comes up and we can find a ride.”

  I skulk over to the nearest wall, a sheltered corner across from the glass doors, and slide to the ground, folding at the knees like a stiff accordion. The bricks scratch against my torn back and I hiss, arching away from the wall as a thousand knives rake across my skin.

  “What’s the matter?” His eyes flash quickly in alarm.

  “Nothing.” I grit my teeth and wave it off. “I just skinned my back when Travis pushed me into the wall. It’s fine, though. Really.”

  “Let me see,” he demands, sliding down next to me.

  “What? No.”

  “Let me see,” he repeats. “It could be bleeding.” I narrow my eyes at him. “I’m not trying to get you naked,” he confirms my ridiculous misgivings with a grin. “I promise.”

  I study the angular features of his face, his mouth set in a reassuring smile, his eyes full of only concern.

  I nod my consent and slowly face the wall. Nimble fingers lift the hem of my shirt as an early morning breeze blows a gust of warmth over my exposed and torn skin. A shiver that has nothing to do with the wind washes rushes up my spine.

  “It seems okay,” he says after another minute. “Your back is really red. It’ll probably burn for a little while, but at least there’s no bleeding. You got lucky.”

  “Lucky.” I rest my head on my knees. “That’ one way of putting it.”

  “Sorry. Poor choice of words.” He puts down my shirt, the harmless cotton tugging mercilessly against my skin. “This place isn’t so bad,” he says, eyes drifting from corner to corner of our makeshift bunker. “It has a sort of hobo charms to it. And when the sun comes up,” he says, brushing his hair out of his eyes with a decisive sweep of his head, “we’ll figure out what to do. Find someone safe to give us a ride.”

  “I don’t know if I’d trust anyone offering free rides anymore.”

  “A van of nuns?” he asks, tipping his head into his arms so we’re eye to eye. “A bus filled with eunuchs? A hot-air balloon piloted by a robot?”

  “Ever the optimist, aren’t you?” I ask, failing to suppress a smile.

  I watch as a flurry of emotions cross his face — sadness tinged with lingering anger, regret, relief, desperation, all wrapped in the pretense of a wry grin. He’s trying to make me smile, to make me forget, if only for a moment, if only because that’s all he can do.

  And I don’t think I’ve ever been so grateful for someone’s presence in my entire life.

  “I’m sorry,” I say finally, the words heavy and bitter on my tongue.

  I stare into the dark of an early morning, the dark only the animals and ghosts see. No stars, no moon, nothing but the endless, incessant black. I suddenly feel like I’m intruding on something secret, something private, something I was never meant to see.

  “Don’t do that,” he says, lifting his head. “What Travis did wasn’t your fault. If anything, I’m to blame. I could have stopped you from getting in that truck. I should have thrown you over my shoulder and carried you kicking and screaming back inside. I should have tried harder, but… I didn’t want you to hate me.”

  “Jesse, nothing short of a roadblock and a well-aimed tranquilizer dart could have stopped me.” I can’t bring myself to look at him, resigning myself to staring intently at the concrete blocks beneath my feet. “I should have trusted you. You were right about Travis. You knew something was wrong and you were just trying to protect me. I should have—"

  I choke on my next breath, finding the words clouded with regret. I swallow back the fear and despair threatening to spill over and meet his eye. “Thank you,” I say, finding peace in the simplicity of the offering. “Thank you for coming after me.”

  Our sheltered world is quiet for another moment as I try to picture him back at his home, back in the life of monotony he ran from, but find I can’t quite place him. What was he like in that other life? Would I even recognize him? Did he smile half as much? Did he laugh the same, loud, and unapologetic, without care of who might hear?

  He sweeps his dark hair away with the back of his hand and turns to me. His smile practically knocks me off my seat. It lights the night like a roman candle, showering those beneath with its radiance. It’s selfish of me to think of it as my smile, but I do anyway.

  He stretches a long arm out to one side. “You going to let me hold you now?”

  I slide over until I’m sitting between his legs, my back resting against his chest, his knees crooked on either side of my hips. He drops his cheek into the crook of my neck and a sigh rustles through my hair as his arms close around me.

  I could tell him, right now, about California, and Andrew, and my family. I could tell him why I’m running and what I left behind. I could pour my heart out right here, on the concrete for him and the ghosts to see, and I don’t think he’d think any different of me, any less.

  I wonder why I can’t seem to open my mouth.

  I say nothing. I don’t think he expects me to. We sit, unmoving, still as statues in the solitude of our private corner, and it isn’t long before the hum of the cicadas, a thick blanket of summer air, and Jesse’s arms rock me to sleep.

  10.

  The next morning Jesse finds us a ride into the nearest town with a group of older ladies on their way to a quilt convention in Salt Lake City. They’re friendly enough, though the passenger van is more than a little crammed and we have little to talk about during the short ride into town. I don’t complain, however, thankful to leave the highway, the rest stop, and the terrible memory of the night behind me.

  The women drop us off at a shopping center a few miles east of their convention, swooning at the sight of Jesse’s parting smile and wishing us well.

  He turns to me. “Let’s stock up on supplies while we’re here and try to figure out our next step.”

  He reaches for my hand, and, to my own surprise, I let him give it a tight squeeze before following him across the parking lot and through the automatic glass doors, into the crisp, air-controlled building.

  I grab a basket from the front of the store. I make my way up dozens of aisles, managing to find what we need for impressively little money, toothpaste, razors, soap, a few snacks for the road, carrot sticks, jerky, and a bottle of gin.

  The essentials.

  I circle the entire store, the beverage aisle, down the housewares and home décor aisles and across the shoe department before reaching the women’s clothing section. I turn the corner around a display of clearance pajamas to find Jesse, humming to himself and wearing a red bra lined with black feathers over top of his t-shirt.

  Unbelievable.

  “I can’t take you anywhere, can I?” I as
k, coming up behind him and tugging at one of the straps.

  He smiles. “Too much?”

  “Of course not. I have one just like it back home.”

  “You really know how to torture a guy,” he grins, unhooking the back with the ease of a man who has had plenty of practice and wriggling it off his broad shoulders.

  I begin unloading my basket into his buggy.

  “Gin?” he asks, noting the bottle. “I thought you were more of a 7&7 kind of girl.”

  I stop in my tracks. “How do you know that?”

  For the first time since meeting, Jesse seems at a loss for words. “You… told me,” he says after a long minute.

  “Really?” I cross my arms, gripping the bottle tighter. “When?”

  “When we were…you know…talking.” He shrugs as though I should know exactly what he’s talking about. “On the bus to Colorado Springs. You told me your favorite drink was a 7&7.”

  I crease my eyebrows together as I search my memory. A 7&7 is my favorite drink, but I can’t remember ever telling him that. Then again, it has been a rough couple of days. Maybe I’ve forgotten.

  I shrug it off and place the rest of my findings in the buggy. “Let me grab a few clothes and we can get out of here.”

  “What about this?” he asks, picking up a purple floral-print dress with mesh sleeves and shoulder pads from the closest rack.

  “I’m going to pretend you didn’t just suggest that. It looks like something Nana Hannah would have worn right before they put her in the home.”

  “It’s not so bad.” He holds the dress up for inspection. “And the color is pretty.”

  “Then why don’t you wear it?”

  “I’m not sure they have my size,” he says. “Not to mention it would have to be long enough to cover my huge dick.”

  “I’m sorry, I wasn’t listening. Did you say you have a huge dick, or that you are a huge dick?”

  “Which one would get you in that dress?”

  “No amount of dick, however impressive, is worth having to wear that dress,” I tell him, with a coy tip of my head.