Page 104 of The Tattered Gloves
I CONTINUED RUNNING until my lungs burned and my legs ached from exhaustion.
And then I ran even farther.
All the way to the bus stop on the edge of town. The place where my story had begun.
I’d walked past this place dozens of times on my journeys to and from the bookstore and everywhere else, because of that, I’d pretty much seen every bus come and go and therefore had the schedule down pat.
It’s why I knew that at exactly three thirty, a bus would appear.
And I would leave.
For good.
I didn’t know if Sam would follow me. I couldn’t take the chance, so the minute my feet stopped as I slid into that lonely little bus stop I’d arrived in just a few months earlier, I hopped on my phone and purchased a ticket to save time.
Where to?
It didn’t matter.
MY LIFE HAD come full circle.
Once again, I was at the back of a bus, reading lights blazing, as I attempted to stay awake all night, untrusting of everyone around me.
Even the nice old lady who had tried to offer me the blanket she packed wasn’t worthy.
I didn’t know how long I sat there, watching the trees fly by, as the freezing rain pecked at the windows. These country roads that had felt so foreign just months earlier now felt like home.
As we ventured farther into more populated areas, I felt the jostling of the bus as the tires fell into potholes and rolled over old asphalt.
These used to be my streets.
The battered and broken.
But, now, I just felt lost.
The bus rode into the night, moving down to the very edge of the state, before I had to step off and figure out a new plan. After grabbing a map from the bus station and a cup of coffee to keep warm, it didn’t take long to figure out my next destination.
Charlottesville. It was in the opposite direction, but in the grand scheme of things — I had nothing but time now. After all, that was where my family had originally fallen apart. Might as well discover it for myself.
But how to get there?
I’d already used my phone data and my debit card. Could I be tracked by that? I had no idea. All I had to go on was a series of late-night crime shows, and unfortunately, none had an episode on how to successfully run away without being caught.
And that was when reality set in.
I was a runaway.
The tears I’d managed to keep at bay since leaving Sam threatened to spill over, right there in the middle of the deserted bus station, but I kept them back.
I’d chosen this.
I’d deal with the consequences.
Fighting the urge to power up my cell phone, knowing it was probably filled with frantic texts and dozens of missed calls, I took what little cash I had and went to the counter.
A friendly old man greeted me. “Can I help you?”
I smiled brightly. “One ticket to Charlottesville, please.”
