The Corrupt Trilogy

by Penelope L'Amoreaux

  “The guys in Raleigh are so much more sophisticated than the boys in Wilmington,” Mandy was talking while she drove. It made me nervous that she looked back at me so frequently. I would have felt better if she kept her eyes on the road.

  “Do you want to come party with us?” Sarah asked. “You’re so pretty, I bet you could get a ton of phone numbers!”

  I was grateful for the huge sunglasses I was wearing. It kept them from seeing the fresh shine of tears in my eyes. “No, thanks though. I’m trying to get to Maine.”

  This prompted a flurry of questions. Why was I trying to get to Maine? I was going to do what? Most importantly, why in God’s name was I attempting something so monumental?

  As I told my story the girls rolled their windows up to better hear me.

  “... so that’s it,” I concluded. “I’ve never been on an adventure, never done anything on my own. I had hoped to do it with someone, but maybe its better that it is just me. I’ve had help with everything in my life, even paying bills. This is on me, just me. One great, big adventure.”

  “Wow,” Sarah said. She had turned around to face me while I had talked. Her eyes were large, like moons. “That’s so amazing.”

  I flushed with pleasure. It was, wasn’t it?

  “I haven’t done anything yet,” I reminded her.

  “Sure you did. You stuck out your thumb.”

  Those five words became a mantra in that moment. A metaphor, though I wasn’t sure it was complete yet. It would be in a few months when I hiked back into Wilmington.

  You stuck out your thumb.

  Hell yes, I did.

  * * * *

  They dropped me off just outside of the city. I figured I’d have better luck catching a ride on the highway than I would in the city.

  To say I felt high was an understatement. I had never done drugs, but I wondered if this is what it felt like. Like electricity was racing through me. Like I could not only run a marathon--I could win it. Heart thundering and smile beaming, I gave my mom a quick call.

  “Hello?”

  “You’ll never guess where I am.”

  “Renee? You’ve been gone about two and half hours. You’re probably in Raleigh.”

  I pouted. “Mom, no fun. Yes, I am officially in Raleigh, having completed my first of many hitches. Is that what I call it? A hitch?”

  “Whatever you want, baby. Who picked you up? You did what I said, right? No men--only women.”

  “Yeah, mom. It was a couple of young girls. They were nice.”

  “Well… I’m still not crazy about this idea. Why don’t I come pick you up?”

  “I’ll talk to you later, mom.”

  We said our goodbyes, her’s plainly begging me to reconsider, mine an assurance that I really, truly needed this. She understood the sentiment enough to let me go. My gut twisted as I hung up. I had promised check-ins, but not how frequently they would come. Two and a half hours…

  I resolved to not call her for a day. It wasn’t that I wanted to cause her anxiety. It was just that I needed to prove myself. To me. To her. To Matt, even if he never knew it.

  Moving close to the edge of the highway I had to bite down my fear. The cars zoomed so close to the shoulder. I would have to always be paying attention, because I would be worse than a pancake if one of them hit me.

  I stuck out my thumb, smiling.

  * * * *

  Chapter Two

  Part of the decision to hitch was obviously financial. With Matt taking all of our combined savings, I had only a little padding in my name. I had saved from my waitressing job just enough for a buffer, but not for hotels every night. Mostly just for food and, god forbid, in case of an emergency.

  But after standing on the side of the road for hours, my situation started to feel like an emergency. No one had slowed down. Most drivers wouldn’t even look at me. I had started the day all sunshine and nervous butterflies. Now I felt like a storm cloud. A filthy storm cloud at that.

  This led to the biggest mistake of my life: I checked into a motel.

  It was a small, run down motel. No name brand, half the neon lights in the “vacancy” sign burned out, cigarette butts littering the parking lot. But it was cheap, and that meant I could talk myself into spending the money.

  The room was small and smelled of old tobacco smoke. The blanket on the bed was threadbare. My body was still hyped up. This was the first time I had checked into a motel on my own. When the owner hadn’t asked for ID, I had almost wanted to insist, to let someone else know that Renee Duchampe had checked in by herself.

  As I took a hot shower in a microscopic bathroom, the decision still felt right. Being on the side of the highway in the summer heat had left me coated in grime and sweat. I reckoned it would be harder to hitch the next day if I already looked and smelled like a hot mess.

  The rivulets of water washed over me and I reveled in their heat, their cleansing power. Because I didn’t have to worry about the water bill, I stayed in extra long, until the steam in the bathroom was thick like fog.

  After I had toweled off and dressed, my curls still damp and pulled up, I made my way to the diner next to the motel. Small and family owned, it was cute in a kitschy way.

  It was a little embarrassing to squeak into the cracked leather booth alone. It was late, far past normal dinner hours. There were only a few of us in the restaurant. Other than the tired looking waitress, I was the only girl.

  There were two men that my eyes kept finding. When I looked at them I felt the hairs on my neck and arm stand up. Their skin was sallow in the diner light. They had the kind of non-descript faces and beards that would make them impossible to describe. The thing that stood out was that they were looking at me. No. They were staring. Every time I caught them looking my skin would burn and I’d look down at the rolled napkin I was twisting in my hands. But their eyes wouldn’t budge.

  “What can I get you, honey?”

  “Um, just a coke. And a burger.”

  “Its a little late to be out on your own, isn’t it?”

  “I’m, um, traveling solo.” I was twisting the napkin into tiny pieces. Her eyes passed over the pile on the table and I realized I was creating a mess she would have to clean up. I had been a waitress; I hated that.

  “...sorry.” I grinned and scooped the paper into my hands, setting it to the side to put on my plate when it came.

  “Solo? That’s pretty brave. I’ll bring your food right out.”

  As I waited, I kept stealing glances at the men. They were still staring. If they saw me looking, they’d try and smile at me. I chewed my lip until it hurt, just wanting to eat and rush back to my room.

  She brought my drink and food. Having not eaten since that morning, I gulped it down, barely tasting it. I could feel the sugar when it hit, though. I needed the jolt it gave me.

  I resisted the urge to binge and run. I knew I’d have to get used to eating alone. But I hadn’t thought about restaurants, just eating handfuls of trail mix on the trail. It was an experience I wasn’t looking forward to having to do again. Next time I’d find a grocery store and bring food to my room.

  “Renee, it just isn’t working.”

  Matt and I had been out for our last meal together, though I hadn’t known it at the time. He had taken me out for steak. That’s what passed for a fancy dinner with him. It was a chain restaurant, but he had been encouraging me to order whatever I wanted. I realized later he had been trying to pad the hurt he was going to cause with food.

  It hadn’t worked.

  “What do you mean?” Bile in my throat and I wondered if I would be able to keep the battered and fried onion we had eaten down.

  “I mean… I mean I need my ring back.”

  My hand automatically made a fist and I looked at the tiny, sparkling diamond on my finger. Instinctively my fingers closed tighter, protecting the piece of jewelry which had already started feeling like an extension of myself.

  “But I don’t understand.
I thought things were going great.”

  “They aren’t bad, Renee. I’m not trying to be a jerk. But I think if you search your heart, you’ll find we don’t really love each other. Better to end it now before someone really gets hurt, right?”

  No, when I searched my heart it felt as if it were being ripped to shreds. “Really hurt” was a joke.

  He was saying he didn’t really love me, and it was killing me. The perfect life I had envisioned with him was disappearing, dissolved by a few words.

  “Is this about the sex stuff?” I blurted the question without thinking. Knowing the answer but not wanting to hear it.

  The sex stuff. I absentmindedly smeared a fry in circles in mustard. My hand shook a little as I recalled the embarrassment I had felt when, after a few glasses of wine, I had shared some of my fantasies. The darker ones.

  I had asked Matt to hurt me. Just a little. Spanking. Hair pulling.

  It hadn’t felt too shameful until I had seen Matt’s face. It was twisted, appalled. He insisted that real men could never hurt a woman. Not even for fantasy. More than that, he insinuated that any girl who liked that, who wanted to be hurt (even just a little bit) had something wrong with her.

  Something wrong with her. With me.

  Was he right? It had felt exciting to me, to picture myself at a man’s feet, at his beck and call. To have a man hunger for me. But the memory of Matt’s reaction, of the breakup, stung anew.

  The men in the restaurant looked at me like they were hungry. It made me so nervous I gulped the rest of my soda down and dropped come crumpled bills on the table.

  Maybe my fantasies were wrong. Maybe Matt had been right.

  When I reached my hotel door, my skin began to crawl. Heart thumping hard, I looked behind me. There was nothing but the few cars parked in front of other doors. A large garbage bin. The empty and dilapidated pool. No people. Still, it felt as if someone was watching me.

  Shaking, it took me longer to shove the key in its slot. I jumped inside of my room as quickly as I could and slammed the door shut behind me. In quick succession I had relocked the door, turned the deadbolt, and slid both of the chains into place.

  It occurred to me I should have been more wary of a place that required four locks on the door.

  I waited, breathing softly, listening at the door.

  Nothing.

  After several minutes I stepped away.

  You’re going to be alone a lot on this trip, Renee. Better get used to it. Stop being such a scaredy cat.

  Laying my bedroll on top of the mattress, I let myself fall asleep. I didn’t even brush my teeth first.

  * * * *

  It was hot and sticky when I woke up. The air conditioner in the room seemed to be on the fritz. I went ahead and took another shower. I hadn’t thought this hitchhiking trip fully through and I was suddenly feeling underprepared.

  Before I left the room, I unpacked and re-packed my bag. Bedroll, sleeping bag, a few changes of clothes, several socks. Flip flops and hiking boots. A giant bag of rice and a pot to cook it in, a giant bag of trail mix, and a giant bag of beef jerky. My plan had been to make some drop off points along the Appalachian trail for food. A first aid kit, a tarp, and a small notebook and pen. A few bandanas. A wallet, a comb, and my cell phone and charger. Not that I’d be able to charge it in the mountains.

  “How will I be able to reach you, sweetheart?” My mom’s worried eyebrows pinching together.

  “Mom, that’s the point. I need to be unreachable for a while. Off the grid and all that.”

  “I know you’re depressed, but couldn’t you just take prescriptions and go to therapy like the rest of us?”

  We laughed. She didn’t like it, but she knew me. When I made up my mind, it was made. We had joked that I gave stubborn a run for its money.

  “Just be careful. And call me when you can.”

  “Okay. It might be a few months, mom. Don’t freak out, alright?”

  I shoved everything back into the bag, nervous. Did I forget anything important? I had the necessities, right? Food, shelter, clothes?

  Girl scouts had been years ago. When Matt and I had planned our hiking trip, I had let him take care of most of the details. He liked that sort of stuff. I always just went along.

  Not now. Now you’re doing this on your own.

  Packed again, showered, and trying to reassure myself, I said goodbye to the crummy motel room. Time to hit the road.

  I never even made it to the highway.

  You can buy Struck Down here!

  About the Author

  Penny Lam grew up in North Carolina but never fully mastered the accent. Previously she wrote as Penelope L'Amoreaux-- sometimes she needs a little change. She skipped a lot of high school and went to more colleges than Sarah Palin. It took a long time to find something she loved doing enough to stick with it. When she isn't writing, she plays hide and seek with her daughter, attempts to do yoga, and drinks a lot of red wine.

  P. lives in Raleigh, NC.

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  Books by Penny Lam

  10 Rules to Catch a Billionaire

  Writing as Penelope L'Amoreaux

  Lost in His Woods

  Struck Down (dark romance)

  Stolen Goods (sequel to Struck Down)

  "Please, Maestro" (an erotic short story)

  "Breaking Me In" The Complete collection (a paranormal novella)