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One hundred kilometres from Lyon, I allow myself to analyse what happened in Malmö. Betty is an astute businesswoman and scary as hell crime boss, but I don’t think she has the skill—nor do her goons—to track me. Who could possibly have found me? I can’t think of anything that I have done that could alert anyone to my presence.
I have no answers. Sleep might help clear my mind. Running myself into the ground isn’t going to help. I still have a long way to go and I’ll need my wits about me. Vicky has a super comfy bench seat, perfect for a nap. Heidi shakes me awake when we reach Lyon.
Relying on the kindness of strangers is too unreliable. I have to hire a vehicle. It’s not a problem, I have all the right ID, in many names. Considering what happened, I can’t re-use any of the aliases I’ve used in the past year. In fact, I’ll use my emergency one that has never seen the light of day. That way, no one can make a link. Rose Pickford here. Nice to meet you.
My French is much better than my German, so getting a car takes me no time at all. I want to drive to the nearest hotel and sleep for a week but I can’t. I have to keep moving. Lyon to Barcelona takes me just under four hours. I have to stop before I fall asleep at the wheel.
I treat myself to an Ibis Budget hotel room. I lost count of the times I slept in my car, too worried about getting caught on a hotel’s camera system. I know underestimating Betty would be a mistake.Shemight not have the skills to track me but by recent events she’s finally found someone who can. I should lie low in my car but I need a bed and a shower.
The hairs on the back of my neck are at half mast now. I can feel that immediate danger has passed, but it’s not gone completely. A burning hot shower helps release some of the tension from my shoulders. Masturbating helps relieve the tension built up by missing my roll in the hay with the cute waitress. I’m only human, for god’s sake.
A relatively decent meal later from the restaurant next to the hotel, I’m back in my room, tucked up in bed. Questions and panic surge through me. Life on the run is getting harder. I have all the tricks needed to evade Betty forever; I know that, but my mind is struggling. It’s hard having no lasting relationships, no friends to call. I close my eyes and think of Daisy. My sweet Daisy.
Daisy was my best friend in the whole world. She was beautiful, with raven hair and almost black eyes. When she looked at you, it felt as if she was seeing through to your soul. Everyone around us passed her off as unimportant. I never understood why until I was older. To Betty and her “family” Daisy had no value because she had no use. Apparently, being born deaf was enough of a reason to be cast out. Even by her own dad. Twat.
Their loss was my gain, though. I studied sign language for months because I wanted Daisy to have someone who saw her as the perfect person she was. Everyone expected her to adapt to them. That’s why she tried so hard on her speech. I didn’t want that. I wanted to adapt to her. I remember the first time I signed at her, she almost cried. We had a great conversation, and she didn’t mock me once when I buggered up. Every time we saw each other after that, we signed.
Why am I thinking of Daisy? Because I’m lonely, obviously. But it has been a while since she invaded my thoughts. I had to put her in a box in the back of my head when I left. It was just too painful to think of her. It surely hurt her to find out that I’d gone without telling her, but I couldn’t risk it. What I would give to have five glorious minutes with her right now.
I wake to my phone beeping. Alarms are the devil’s work. I hate them with a vengeance. There is nothing more disturbing than being jolted from your dreams by an incessant beeping. Unfortunately, they are necessary sometimes. I need to be up and away early and I know myself. I would still be snoring if it wasn’t for that godforsaken alarm.
A breakfast of hot chocolate and churros from the café close to the hotel turns my mood around. Only a thousand kilometres to go. No sweat. My road trip supplies are magnificent. It’s like a ten-year-old was let loose with money in a sweet shop. My teeth already hurt at the thought of eating all that sugar.
There is a young guy close to my rental car when I return from the café. I don’t have the heart to name this one. I know I will be giving it up soon. Who is he? My hackles raise. Is this the person who has been tracking me? Ducking behind a vehicle close by, I watch him. After several minutes, I see that he isn’t my hunter. He looks lost, not physically, but emotionally. I can see it in his face.
“You okay?” I speak in English because he doesn’t look Spanish.
“Oh, shit, sorry, am I blocking your car?” He’s been crying. I can see the streaks on his cheeks and his eyes are red.
“No, it’s fine. Are you okay?” I watch his shoulders round, more tears spill from his eyes. I look at him closer. He has a backpack and nothing else. His clothes are well kept, so I don’t think he’s homeless, but he’s definitely a stranger to this city. “What’s your name?” Why the fuck am I asking? I need to leave.
“C-Chris.” He’s a spluttering mess. Whatever is going on with the kid is serious to him.
“Well, hi Chris, I’m Rose.”
“Hey.” His eyes are downcast. I should just smile and walk away, but there’s something about him that’s keeping me rooted to the spot.
“Okay, Chris, you look super upset and I don’t feel right leaving you like that. Fancy telling me what’s up?”
I see him take a deep breath, like he’s steeling himself to face whatever has him so upset. “I ran away from home last week. I told my dad I was gay, and he went nuts. He started screaming at me. He said he was going to send me somewhere to get better, and that he hadn’t raised a faggot.”
My heart hurts when I hear his words. What the fuck is wrong with people? “How old are you?” I have no idea what my next step is if he is a minor.
“I’m nineteen, twenty next month.” Oh, thank the universe. He’s an adult, a lost one, but still, a legal adult.
“Well, the way I see it, you didn’t run away. You left a toxic environment.”
“I don’t know what to do. I took everything I had in my bank account and hopped on a plane. I was so scared he would follow me and make me go to one of those places.”
“How much have you got left? Is there anyone you know that you can visit for a while?”
“No, it was always just me and my dad. I have about fifty euros left.” Well, shit! He won’t get very far with that. Chris might be approaching twenty, but right now he looks like a scared little boy.
“Listen, I’m travelling down south, you’re welcome to come along if you want.”Callie, you fucking moron, what are you doing?Maybe my loneliness has finally become too much. Chris doesn’t know me. He thinks I’m Rose and, as long as it stays that way, it should be fine to have a little company for a while.
“Really? But why, you don’t know me?” He’s right, of course. I don’t know him, but I understand how he’s feeling.
“I’m no stranger to running away. Plus, I’m a lesbian. Wouldn’t it be nice to form a queer car share?” Chris laughs, which is good.
