Hitchhiker

by Stacy Borel

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  To My Readers

  Prologue

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Sneak Peek

  Copyright © 2015 by Stacy Borel

  Cover and Interior Design by Kassi Cooper

  Editing by Jenny Sims, Editing4indies

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owner.

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN-13: 978-1511932097

  ISBN-10: 1511932090

  I wanted to take a moment to thank each and every one of you. I know that it has been a year since I have released anything. And I know most of you were anxiously awaiting the release of the next book in The Core Four Series. It was a very hard decision for me to put it on the back burner while I worked on Hitchhiker. It means the world to me that you have stuck with me through this time, and took a chance on a book that I HAD to put first. It’s a very personal book, and as I wrote it, it became one that tested me to my very core. I hope you love it.

  “The heart sees what’s invisible to the eye.”

  - H. Jackson Brown Jr.

  IT WAS FUNNY HOW LIFE took you through different twists and turns. We didn’t grow up as children thinking, “When I grow up, I want to be in a relationship where it seemed like a fairy tale, but sadly I’m undervalued and pushed aside. Then I think I want to find a stranger on the side of the road and fall in love with him and let him take me down a dark and dangerous path that could potentially destroy me and make me mentally unstable.” Could you just imagine if we knew then what we know now, after having lived through hell? What paths we would have avoided just to prevent ourselves from dealing with the struggle and heartache? Would you still pick the same course so you could feel it, just once? To know what it was really like to love someone with your very essence and have it ripped away? The burn, the loss, the grief, the dry crusted tears on your face? The earth-shattering moment when you knew you were well and truly gone and never coming back? Or would you choose safety—the known, monotonous days—and comfort?

  I think if I’d been given those options all those years ago, I would have picked the second one for obvious reasons. As humans, we crave safety and routine. However, having lived through the moments when I thought my next breath would be my last without him by my side . . . I’d pick the pain. Why? Because it was real. As if I had a choice. I fought a hard and valiant battle to deny the lust and passion. I didn’t step into it with my eyes closed. Oh no, they were wide open and saw the road signs that glared in my face.

  Stop.

  Dead End.

  No Outlet.

  Not fucking happening.

  You’re fooling yourself.

  This will kill you.

  You see, my heart knew what it wanted. It claimed him. The law of attraction stuck a big huge marker on him, and I no longer had a choice in the matter. That battle that I fought—it wasn’t with him, it was with myself. I tried to go back and remember what it was like before I met him. Who I was, how I was, how I spoke, the patterns of my life. There was no remembering anything. That girl was gone. The girl I am now . . . well, I am still falling down a rabbit hole. And this bitch is a bottomless pit.

  “ARE YOU SURE YOU WANT to do this?” my best friend, Sydney, asked me on the other end of the cell phone line as I loaded the back of my Land Rover with the only bag I’d packed. I didn’t want to take much with me. Just the clothes on my back and a few essentials that I knew I couldn’t live without. In other words, my lip-gloss, mascara, a couple of changes of underwear, and my wallet.

  I’d known her since our very first day of kindergarten. She came up to me in the cafeteria and asked me if I liked chocolate milk. To which I replied, “Duh, everyone likes chocolate.” I thought she was utterly crazy for even asking me such a question. In fact, I went home and told my mom that anybody who questioned the goodness of chocolate milk was not a happy person. Regardless of how odd I thought Sydney was, that day solidified a friendship that had lasted until now.

  I shut the back passenger door and turned to face my colossal house; a house that was way too big for just two people. “Yep! I need to get out. I can’t keep doing this, Syd. I’m falling apart.” I was holding the phone between my ear and shoulder.

  “I wish you’d tell me why you’re doing this.”

  I shut my eyes, sucking in a breath and slowly releasing it. “I can’t explain it.” And I really couldn’t.

  “Will you at least call me when you stop tonight?” I could hear the desperation in her voice, but I couldn’t muster the ability to care.

  Sighing, I said, “No. Give me a couple of days. I promise I’ll check in when I figure out where I’m headed, okay?”

  She sniffled. “I’m worried about you, Chandler. You’ve never done anything like this.”

  Sydney was right. I’d never done anything like this, but I also never thought this was where I’d be in my life. Living in a house that was full of things . . . things that held absolutely no value to me whatsoever, especially a relationship that was slowly bleeding me out.

  “I’ll be fine. Just, please, don’t worry about me. I’ll call you soon.”

  I had hung up before she had a chance to protest any longer. Sydney had no idea how bad it had gotten. She only knew what I’d told her, which wasn’t much. I kept a lot of things to myself. If I told people how I was really feeling inside, they would have thought I was crazy. And maybe I was. I was suffocating in my ten thousand square foot house. I was not saying that I wasn’t happy at one point. But how I got from point A to point B was what confused me. I was no longer the girl who went with the flow and smiled at everything. I was a stranger living in a body that I recognized but wasn’t mine. I had disconnected so much that it was as if my soul stood outside of my body, waiting for me to realize that this was who I was now. I sighed in frustration.

  It was time to go.

  With nothing else to put in the Rover, I looked back at the house that I owned and once loved but now hated. I didn’t know when I was coming back or if I even wanted to. Should the thought of not coming back bother me? It didn’t. Was there something wrong with me? I didn’t know. I was living a life that most would kill to have. Well, those people could fuck right off. They had no clue the lie I was living. Happiness. What the fuck did that word even mean anyway?

  My eyes drifted over to the handprints that were in the cement leading to the first step. When it was being poured, I remembered pushing my hands into the wet, thick, gritty substance. I’d taken a stick and carved my name under my palms. It was my way of making my permanent mark. I never wanted to leave this place. It was to be my forever. A place that I’d live in for the rest of my days, the place I’d raise my babies. It no longer r
epresented that for me, I realized, as I felt a single tear slide down my cheek.

  Traitor.

  I told myself that I wouldn’t cry anymore. This house and all the memories in it held the last of my tears. Or so I thought. Swiping it away with the back of my hand, I twisted around to my vehicle and climbed in the driver’s seat. Starting the engine, I put it in drive. As I pulled away, I tried to recognize any sensation that would make me believe that I was making a mistake. That I should turn around and go back home and pretend that none of this ever happened. Instead, I pressed harder on the gas pedal and sped further down the street.

  I didn’t tell anyone besides Sydney that I was leaving. I’d given her specific instructions not to say a single word to anyone, no matter what she was offered or who threatened her. This was going to be a real test of our friendship. I didn’t leave a note, and I gave no indication that I had planned to do this. Well, mostly because I hadn’t planned it. She didn’t even know where I was going. Frankly, I didn’t know where I was going, either. A couple of days ago, I was sitting on my chaise lounge reading a book, and it hit me. I glanced up at the one thousand thread count sheets covering my California king bed and the bedroom suite that I just had to have, and all I could think about was how unhappy I had become.

  For months now, I’d felt something building in my gut that didn’t sit right. At first, I didn’t really understand it. I had parents who loved me. I inherited a hefty trust fund when I graduated college. I’d earned a degree from Boston University in mass communication. I was currently engaged to a man who loved me. I didn’t have to work, I had no children, and my only responsibility was whatever task I’d given myself during the day. So what was this feeling? Why did I have moments of extreme sadness? Depression wasn’t something that ran in my family, so I kept chalking it up to a bad day. But when I started having more bad days than good ones, it raised more questions.

  To any outsider, there was no reason for my depression. I was essentially living the perfect life. But the things that they didn’t see were the fights I got into with my fiancé, Seth. They didn’t see that everyone else except for me controlled my life. Over the last few years, I’d handed out my freedoms in little chunks. I had to ask permission to do certain things, which oddly the excuse of making mutual decisions for the betterment of our relationship disguised. Any money spent had to be talked about, even if it was a simple purchase for a new sweater or jeans. Seth delegated my free time to household chores, and he expected them finished whenever he was in town or when we expected guests. At first, I didn’t hate the tasks. Oh no, as a matter of fact, I loved doing them. It pleased him. And if I pleased him, and those around me, then I felt a sense of contentment.

  I was floating off in my own thoughts when I hit a small bump in the road and it brought me back to the present. I wasn’t leaving because of all the small insignificant things. I was leaving because all of those things had compiled into one massive issue. I was lost. Little bits of myself were being lost just like the days that passed. I was searching for something that I knew was missing deep in the recesses of my gut. What it was or where it was, I had no idea. I just knew that being under that roof was stifling me and I wanted to be free of it all. Even if it was only temporary.

  The general idea was to head west. As I started this questionable road trip, I had laughed at myself. I lived in Maine. There really only was one direction to go unless I wanted to end up in the Atlantic. As I pulled up to the first intersection, I needed to choose. Take the freeway down to Portland or travel down Route One along the coast. It was a no-brainer, the coast it was. Thankfully, the tourist season was long gone and traffic would be sparse. Getting out of Maine from where I was would be a five-hour drive. Plenty of time to think about whether I wanted to continue heading straight west or make a turn down south. Florida would be a change of pace; plus, I’d never been there. But it was almost December and maybe I was a glutton for punishment, but my doom and gloom attitude didn’t exactly scream sunshine, beaches, and warm weather. Cold, gray skies and rain with a chance of snow felt more up my alley. Deciding I would head toward Pennsylvania, my plan was to see how tired I felt by the time I hit the state line.

  The first couple of hours seemed to pass by in a blur. Like when you thought about things while driving and somehow found yourself at your destination with no recollection of how you got there. I was so out of it; I wasn’t sure how I didn’t swerve off the road or kill anyone. Signs for Portland began popping up and I hopped off the two-lane road and entered the busy interstate system. No more mindlessness unless I wanted to wreck.

  Shaking my head, I spoke out loud. “This is ridiculous.”

  It was so quiet in the vehicle that it was giving me too much time to think. Maybe music would help. Reaching over, I pushed the button to turn on the radio. I went through my usual five programmed stations for something. Frowning, there was nothing. I contemplated shutting it off and driving a few more hours in silence, but that didn’t seem appealing either. I growled in frustration. Hitting seek, the first station that came on was a Christian station. Mmmk . . . not my first choice at the moment. The next one that popped up was R&B. I’d heard that song before, but frankly, I wasn’t in the mood for slow, sensual sounds. As it scrolled, I grew more and more agitated. I pondered turning on an audio book, but the thought just made me want to laugh. It reminded me of an argument Seth and I had gotten into just a few weeks ago.

  Seth had bought me an e-reader for my birthday last year. I used to be an avid reader but stopped when I got a little older. However, it wasn’t hard to pick it back up again, and eventually, reading slowly turned into a passion. However, I never anticipated it becoming a point of contention. The more I poured my time into the books, the more Seth and I fought. At one point, he said it was the worst gift he’d ever given me. During a particularly heated argument, he threw it in my face that I spent more time with my fictional characters than the real world.

  “Would you rather I drink, Seth? I’m sure if I picked up the taste of a good martini in the evenings like Jack’s wife, I’d be the perfect little babbling idiot you’ve always wanted. Am I right?”

  “Jesus.” He scrubbed his hand down his face in frustration. “You know I didn’t mean that you should find another addiction,” he retorted angrily.

  I glared at him. “So now we’re calling it an addiction? Why can’t it just be something that I enjoy? Why do you have to belittle it and make me feel like I’m doing something wrong?”

  “You know what? I can’t fucking talk to you when you’re like this.” He turned to walk out of our bedroom.

  I picked up my little eight-by-four inch ‘addiction’ and threw it at the door just as he was shutting it. “Sometimes I really hate you!” I shouted, knowing he couldn’t care less what I was saying.

  That night I laid in bed listening to his relentless snoring and really questioning the strength of our relationship. How could something so meaningless like a simple little book cause a fight so colossal? The truth was that it didn’t. Seth and I had been fighting more and more over the last couple of months. There always seemed to be something that irritated him about me. I hated that I felt like he was constantly scrutinizing me. Two people who were supposed to be hopelessly in love with each other shouldn’t nitpick each other’s flaws. Maybe this was a sign that we didn’t love each other quite as much as I’d originally thought. Wasn’t the man sleeping on the far side of the bed the one who I was supposed to spend the rest of my life with? The ring I was wearing on my left hand said yes. And the fight I’d just had with him, and all the other ones, pointed to no.

  A country song that I loved came on and I crinkled my nose. “Ugh, no!” I didn’t want to listen to this. It was Seth’s favorite genre of music, and I had zero interest in thinking about him right now. “Seriously? I just want something new,” I whined out loud.

  Pressing seek one more time before I gave up, loud screaming came through the speakers. My first reaction was
to turn it off. Instead, my finger hovered over the button and I tried to listen past the heavy beat and grinding of the guitar. Huh. Wouldn’t you know it; they were singing about life and love. It was actually pretty damn sad. I turned it up so loud that I couldn’t even hear myself breathing. One song ended up bleeding into another and then another. Reaching forward, I pushed the number ’1’ on my radio and programmed in the station over one of my country presets. When I sat back, I smiled to myself.

  “There. How’s that for change?”

  My smile faded to a frown. Had I really resorted to talking to myself now? If I had, this was going to be a long and lonely car ride. Sighing, I pushed forward and weaved my way through Portland traffic. Passing a couple of tolls, I was heading southwest toward Boston. It didn’t take me long to drive through some of the smaller states. I made it through New Hampshire, Massachusetts, the southern tip of New York, and was currently working my way into Pennsylvania. The sun had long since gone down about two hours prior when I started to feel fatigued and stiff. I knew I’d have to stop soon for the night. Since I wasn’t on any particular schedule, I ended up making it to the middle of the state before I pulled over at a motel in a small town just off the interstate.

  The sign out front said the place was called Cozy Cottage Inn. Parking my car out front, there weren’t very many vehicles so I hoped there was a vacancy. It was a two-story building with paint peeling off the sides. I saw horrible drapery hanging in the windows, and the rounded doors that led to each room. I guess that was the cottage feel? Although it appeared dated, and it certainly wasn’t the Holiday Inn, I figured it would be sufficient for the night. My tired and droopy eyes really didn’t care where I laid my head tonight. I just wanted sleep. I stepped into the small building out front where it said the office was located and a short elderly man was sitting behind the desk watching Wheel of Fortune on a 1990s tube television.

  “Hello?” I asked, after I’d stood there for two minutes without acknowledgment.