Page 77 of Run Away With Me

‘Well, I hope you find her,’ Megan said. She turned back to her computer and scribbled something on a Post-it note, then handed it to me. She had written down the address of the motel outside St. Louis with a number circled. ‘That’s his room number for the Phoenix,’ she added.

‘Thanks.’ Now I knew where Brooke was going, I felt like I could put a plan together. But sleep definitely feltnecessary first. I couldn’t drive while I was this exhausted, let alone all the way to the other side of St. Louis. ‘I hate to ask, after everything you’ve already done for me, but is there any chance I could get late check-out?’

Megan laughed, low and throaty. ‘Sure. I’ll fix that for you, don’t worry about it.’

‘I really appreciate it.’

‘Actually, there is something you can do for me. I’m way too nosy not to know how this works out.’ She took back the Post-it note and scrawled another number on it.

‘Text me,’ she said. ‘Let me know what happens?’

‘I will,’ I said, standing so I could tuck the paper into my pocket. ‘If this works, I don’t know how I can ever repay you.’

‘Repay me by telling me you got her back,’ she said.

‘I’ll try.’

I made my way through the silent motel to the staircase that led up to my room. On the horizon, the first few rays of dawn were starting to warm the night sky. I turned away from the daylight and tapped my key card against the reader, then locked and bolted myself into the room and fell down face first onto the bed.

I could make a real plan later. I was going to get Brooke back. She wasn’t just the first person I’d ever really cared about – she was the first person who had ever really cared forme. I was ready to burn the world down to find her.

Despite my exhaustion, I didn’t sleep well, and woke up only semi-rested at eleven – too late to get breakfast at the motel. I still had to repack the bags, settle on a plan and geton the road. It would take around six hours to drive to the motel Chris was staying at tonight, and I’d need to take at least one break.

And I was going to have to drive the Mustang.

In theory, that was okay. I’d passed my driving test the previous summer, and the Mustang had an automatic transmission, so I didn’t have to operate a stick shift. In reality, I was terrified to drive Brooke’s precious car.

The plan had come to me in between bursts of sleep, when I wasn’t sure if I was lucid dreaming or actually awake and thinking about what I needed to do. Maybe it had been both. Driving over to St. Louis was the only thing that made sense. I’d never driven that far before, definitely not on my own, and absolutely not in a car that was both old and beloved.

The thought of getting out of bed was terrifying. I felt like a woman in one of those old paintings with a demon sitting on her chest. Paralyzed, unable to move. If I got up, I had to get dressed and then complete all the next steps of the plan.

One step at a time.

I wasn’t expecting my mom’s voice to come to me.

Her advice usually came with a sharp edge:Stop being so quiet, just talk to people – why can’t you make an effort? Get up, Jessie, get out into the world. Books aren’t friends.

She wasn’t wrong, she could just be mean, and I’d gotten used to that over the years.

Butone step at a timewas one of her favorite phrases when I was being smothered by anxiety about tests orquizzes or presentations.One step at a time, one question at a time, one slide at a time. It helped far more than her usual advice.

So, I got out of bed. I took a shower, brushed my teeth, dried my hair and pinned it back from my face so it wouldn’t annoy me when I was driving. I put on my cropped T-shirt to be more Jessie and less Mouse, and applied some black eyeliner to be more Megan, who was another badass female I could take some inspiration from.

I picked out an outfit that Mouse would never wear: ripped jeans and Brooke’s plaid shirt thrown over the T-shirt. I stared at my exposed stomach in the mirror and ran my fingers over my piercing. Another thing that made me more Jessie and less Mouse.

I put my sunglasses on my head, packed up all our bags and ate frosted blueberry Pop-Tarts for breakfast.

I looked at the gun for a really long time. Then I picked up the keys to the Mustang, went out to put the stuff in the trunk and picked up a handful of cassette tapes to take back to the room, making sure to include that extra-light one. The unmarked box.

I didn’t want to have to put the bullet in the gun when I got to the motel. I wanted to be prepared way in advance of that, to do things in the quiet and security of this motel room with no one else watching me.

I’d never put a bullet in a gun before.

I thought it would be simple, that I’d be able to figure it out for myself, but it wasn’t obvious, and even though the magazine was empty, I didn’t want to mess around with afreaking gun. I felt stupid and sick and scared, like a little girl who didn’t know anything at all.

In the end, I pulled up a YouTube video and followed the instructions on how to eject the magazine, load the bullet and reassemble everything.

Now I was traveling with a loaded weapon, and everything had changed.

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