Runaways by Nicole Dykes
We caught a bus to Wichita and stayed for one night in another rundown hotel, paying in cash. Now, we’re stepping off the bus in the crowded downtown area of Kansas City. We’re on the Missouri side. Lawson thinks we’ll be able to find jobs here and hopefully save up enough money for an apartment of our own.
I’m still in a numbed state. I have no idea how to go forward. I was just hellbent on getting away from Colin.
Lawson has both of our bags, even though I told him I can carry mine. He’s been treating me like glass since the night we ran.
I know he means well, but it makes me feel weaker than I am. I don’t know how to convince him that I’m still strong. I’m not broken.
“You hungry?”
I nod, looking around the crowded street. It’s colder here, much colder than it was in Texas and even Oklahoma. There’s snow on the ground, and I’m sure the locals think we look crazy in jeans, hoodies and sneakers, but this is pretty much all we have.
We go inside a small café, both of us keeping our hoods up over our heads even though our hair is vastly different. We’ve watched the news, but there hasn’t been anything about us on it. Still, we’re cautious.
I have no ties to this area. So, there’s no reason for Colin to look for us here. If anything, he’ll look in Dallas and maybe even California. But not here.
We grab coffee and a muffin to split, sharing it in the warmth of the café but still not really talking. He’s still pissed I ran out on him, and I don’t know what to say to make it better. I guess I’m going to have to just let him be mad for a little bit, but it’s hard.
“We need jobs.”
I nod absently as I look out the window. “Jobs where we don’t need ID and where they’ll pay us in cash. What kind of jobs are those?”
His eyes meet mine as I look back toward him. “Not good ones.”
“Stripping?”
He rolls his eyes at me, but I see a hint of playfulness in them. “No. I think even strip clubs need your information for taxes.”
I swallow the warm liquid in my cup and then hold it with both hands as it rests on the table. “Hookin’?”
He shakes his head at me, but there’s a smile trying to lift the right side of his mouth. “Fuck no.”
I smile at that. “What?”
“I don’t know. Maybe we can use a computer at a library or something and search for gigs. Small side hustles.”
“We have two grand in cash. That should last for a bit, right?”
His eyes meet mine, worry flowing through them. “We have a lot less than that now after taking the bus all over the place.”
I frown, having forgotten about that. “Still. We’ll be okay, right?”
I need to hear him say it. I have no idea why. He takes a slow sip of his coffee and gives a subtle nod. “Yeah.”
I don’t believe him. Before we ran, Lawson was so sure of everything. Now, we both seem so damn lost, and I can’t help but think it’s all my fault. No matter how often he says he only blames Colin for this, he wouldn’t be in this position if we’d never met.
He’d be home in a warm bed, trying to get through high school and getting out of that small town the correct way.
After breakfast, we walk and walk . . . and walk. Really far in the cold and snow, but we’re looking for something specific, according to Law. We need a motel that has a low weekly rate and where we can stay for a bit and get our bearings.
Despite the distance between us I fear is only widening, I trust him more than anyone in the world.
Finally, we see one. There are no cars in the parking lot that I see at first, and I wonder if it’s even open, but when we make it to the front door, it opens. A bell rings, and a man comes out from a room to stand behind the dusty counter.
He’s in his mid-fifties, if I had to guess. Balding with a belly that hangs over his jeans and wire-rimmed glasses he peers at us through with suspicion. “Can I help you?”
Law, either on purpose or subconsciously—I can’t tell—steps in front of me and speaks, “We need a room. What’s your weekly rate?”
He eyes us again, looking us both up and down. I’m afraid he’s going to ask our age or for ID, but instead his gravelly voice gives a price. “Three hundred.”
I look at Law, worried because that can add up fast, but Lawson remains calm and cool. “How about two fifty and we clean our own room?”
The man sizes him up and then grunts, looking for a key on a rack full of them. Lawson counts out two fifty and places the bills on the counter, taking the key from the man as he hands it to him. It’s an actual brass key, not a card, and I feel my heart rate kick up when we walk outside, looking for room number twenty.
“Law . . .”
The place is rundown. And I mean badly. The motel sign out front is rusty and doesn’t light up any more like it must have at one time. But the sun is starting to set in the sky, and at least we’ll be inside somewhere soon.
He takes my hand and leads me to the room, unlocking it and pushing it open. When we walk in, I’m hit with the overpowering smell of bleach and nearly gag. There’s one queen-sized bed. There’s also a small fridge with a microwave on top of it.
A TV is mounted to the wall, and the floor is weathered tile. Lawson places our bags down on the wooden dresser and locks the door with a flimsy chain and then the bolt. “One week?” I ask, my voice shaky.
He sits on the bed and looks around. “At least. Two fifty seems like a lot, but it’s probably the best deal we’re going to get around here.”
I nod absently as I sit next to him, my emotions welling up inside with fear and guilt winning out over most of the others. “I’m scared, Lawson.”
He wraps his arm around me and holds me close, kissing my temple. “It’s going to be okay, Rae. I promise.”
I know he’s still mad, but I smile because I can also feel that he loves me.
