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“Alright, my turn to ask a question now. What’s your plan?”
“My plan?”
“Yeah, your plan for after you escaped?”
“Well, to be honest, I didn’t exactly have a plan for ‘after’ because I didn’t know for sure there would ever be an ‘after’.”
“Oh yeah? And why is that?”
I sigh and ready myself to dig into a part of my life that I hope I can eventually leave in the past for good. “My dad kept me and my mom locked in our house as much as possible without raising suspicions. We had a house alarm only he knew the code to. Not even my mom knew it. If we accidentally forgot about it and opened the door to take out the trash or something like that, he would get a notification on his phone and race home.”
“So the alarm was more about keeping you in rather than keeping others out?”
“Yup. And if, for whatever reason, he couldn’t come home, he’d send one of his buddies on the force to check on us, who would then call him to let him know we were there ‘safe and sound’. Ha! What a joke. I also had no way of contacting anyone or looking anything up without my dad knowing. He had some kind of program on my phone so he could see everyone I called or texted, my internet search history, and all that. I couldn’t exactly google ‘bus stations nearby’ without him knowing about it. The only reason he gave me a cell phone in the first place was so he could track me when I was out of the house, like at school or running errands with my mom. If we told him we were going to the grocery store but at the last minute decided to stop at the gas station on the way without telling him, he’d see it on the tracking and make us come home immediately. It…it wasn’t pretty when we’d get home.”
I stare out the windshield, seeing nothing in front of me, while I explain all of this to him. I startle when I feel Wyatt’s hand on my thigh, giving it a quick squeeze and pulling me out of the memories of Dad’s abuse and obsessive need to control me and Mom. His hand returns to the wheel, and I silently scold myself for missing the warmth of it.
“Goddamn, that’s so fucked up. I’m sorry you had to grow up that way.” There’s a long pause where neither of us says anything while Wyatt clenches his jaw before blowing out a harsh breath. “So, how did you get away?”
“One of the couples we know from church insisted on taking us out to celebrate my birthday. My dad had more drinks than usual at dinner since he had the next day off. After we went to bed, I heard him yelling on his phone about some kind of emergency, and he got called into work. I guess because of the drinking, he forgot to set the house alarm when he left. It was like everything magically lined up for me. It was dark, Mom was already asleep, Dad was gone, the alarm was off, and I could legally leave and never look back.”
“So you took your chance.”
“Yup, I took my chance. I had my bag already packed and hidden in my closet for months. I grabbed it and ran like hell. I was so afraid he’d drive down the street at any minute and catch me. My only plan after that was getting to the truck stop and hitching a ride out of there.”
It feels cathartic to share all this with Wyatt. I’ve never been close enough to anyone to tell them what was going on behind closed doors. Dad wouldn’t let us have close friends, probably for this exact reason.
Quietly, he asks me, “And what about your mom?”
“I have such mixed feelings about her. When I was a kid, I would beg her to leave him every time he went into one of his rages and hurt her. I told her I wanted us to move away, go live somewhere with just the two of us so he couldn’t hurt her anymore. But she said she could never leave him. Eventually, I stopped asking, especially after he started hurting me, too, and she did nothing to stop it.” With guilt laced in my tone, I add, “I didn’t say goodbye when I left. I was scared she would beg me to stay or call my dad and tell him what I was doing. I couldn’t risk it.”
A tear slips down my cheek, thinking about Mom. I don’t know if I’ll ever get to see her again. I can only imagine what Dad must have done to her when he got home and found me gone.
I’m so sorry, Mom.
Wyatt
After Dolly tells me everything, exhaustion finally wins out, and she falls asleep, looking so damn young and peaceful. She deserves a little bit of peace after everything she’s been through, including everything I have put her through.
I spend the rest of my shift thinking of all the ways I’d like to kill her dad if I ever get the chance to get my hands on him. I thank my lucky stars that traffic has been light, considering how distracted I’ve been, glancing over at Dolly curled up in her seat every few minutes.
I already promised to take care of her, to make up for all my mistakes in the short time I’ve known her. I feel that promise digging deep in my soul and taking root. I’ve never felt this way about anyone before—this intrinsic need to care for another soul—not even Crystal, back when we were together. It’s a call to protect her from anything and everything that would ever try to hurt her again, including me.
I want to keep her right where she is, curled up in my passenger seat. Something I don’t want to acknowledge has kept me from asking her how far she wants to ride with me. Since she doesn’t have a plan for what to do now that she’s free, I’m coming up with one of my own—one I hope she won’t fight me on.
I spot the sign for the truck stop up ahead, and I sigh happily, knowing I’ll be able to get a proper meal into Dolly soon. Though I kept handing her snacks before she fell asleep, she barely touched any of them, and they mostly ended up in a neat pile on the floor. She can’t keep going like this, and part of my plan to take care of her includes making sure she stays well-fed and satisfied from now on.
I pull in to gas up the rig before parking for the night. The bright lights and slamming doors around us wake Dolly. I stop to stare as she yawns and stretches her arms high above her, strands of hair hanging half out of her bun and stuck to her cheek.
She’s so damn pretty.
She smacks her lips a few times before turning her attention to me, giving me an unguarded, sweet, sleepy smile. I hope she’ll keep giving me those smiles, that maybe I’ll be the reason she smiles like that again and again.
“Hey, sleepyhead. We’re at our last stop. You feel like grabbing a shower and getting something to eat? There’s a bar with a kitchen nearby we can walk to.” At that exact moment, her stomach rumbles loud enough for me to hear above the diesel engines around us, and I give her a pointed look.
Her cheeks pinken, and trying for cool, she says, “I could eat,” then giggles behind her hand.
Lord, I want all of her giggles.
