Page 22 of Ink

“Thanks for the ride,” I say, not able to meet his eyes as I hop off the bike. I’m embarrassed. So freaking embarrassed.

Ink nods his head and waits for me to step back before he takes off without a backwards glance.

The anxiety that was suffocating me the entire ride here eases the farther off in the distance he gets. By the time he’s a little dot in my vision, it’s gone.

I’m not ready to answer the questions that were swirling in those blue eyes. Nor do I feel like he’s the one who deserves those answers.

On my journey to Ravenna Heights, there was writing on the wall in a rest stop bathroom saying that trust isn’t a given and needs to be earned. If the life I left taught me anything, it’s that the people closest to you, the ones you think you can trust without a second thought, are the first ones to destroy you until you have nothing left. The enjoyment they get out of ruining you is disgusting. There’s a special place in hell for them, and I know karma will make sure they get there.

Dread consumes me as I walk through the front entrance of the motel.

Gosh, I really don’t like this place. The smell of stale sex and sweat is almost enough to make me throw up on the spot. And the gross thing is, I doubt the guy at the desk would even care. The puke stain would fit right in with the other questionable spots that I’m sure are from bodily fluids.

I try to walk as fast as possible past the front desk without it being obvious that I don’t want to talk to him, but my efforts fail me.

“Hey,” he calls out to me before sucking up snot in his nose and gurgling it in his throat.

Maybe I really will throw up on the spot.

Swallowing down the small amount that is working its way up my throat, I answer, “Yes?”

“Someone was here lookin’ for ya. Asked me to pass on a message.”

The little hairs on the back of my neck slowly stand up, sending a chill down my spine.

No.

I was so careful to cover my tracks.

It’s just not possible.

“What is the message?” I fail miserably at keeping the fear out of my voice.

“Found you,” he says, smiling wide enough to show off his yellow stained teeth. He thinks this is funny.

I dig my nail into the tip of my finger to keep me from freaking out. The sharp pain is enough to distract my mind, but I’m paralyzed in place, unable to move from this nasty spot.

“Excuse me?” I whisper, unsure that I heard him right.

He shrugs. “He said, ‘Found you.’ You should be thankin’ me, girl. I didn’t tell him your room number. That’s gonna cost ya. I don’t do nothin’ for free around here.” He’s still talking, but the pounding fear in my ears has drowned him out.

How did he find me so fast?

He doesn’t know my room number so that buys me some time. Zach isn’t stupid. He knows when to push and when to let up. That’s how he plays his sick and twisted game in slowly breaking you down piece by piece.

“Thanks for letting me know,” I say, cutting him off as I turn on my heel, practically sprinting down the hallway towards my room.

“Don’t forget what I told you about paying your dues around here, girl!” he shouts after me.

How can I freaking forget?

I didn’t leave my room the entire night.

The paranoia had set in with a vengeance because how did I not know I was being watched? All I could think about was the second I step outside the motel he would be waiting, ready to snatch me and take me back to what became my own personal hell.

Zach would only know where I am if he was following me, because I paid for the motel room in cash. In fact, I’ve been very careful to pay for anything I’ve purchased in cash.

Tears pool in the corners of my eyes as I walk to work because I’m tired. So freaking tired of being scared, paranoid, and broke. I’m running on fumes, and it doesn’t seem like life is going to cut me a break anytime soon. Honestly, at this point, I’ll take being broke if I have a place to call mine where I can feel safe and secure. And if that means eating ramen noodles for the rest of my life, so be it. I’d rather cry over a bowl of noodles on my own couch than on a bacteria infested bed.