I quickly gather several pieces of clothing and grab her journal from the end of the bed, then hurry back through the kitchen and up to the bathroom.
“It’s just me,” I shout through the door as I dig the key from my pocket and place it into the lock. When I round the corner, I find Ava is already out of the bath with a towel wrapped around her and a blank stare on her face. She doesn’t question me when I hand her the clothes, but instead, quickly dresses.
I reach out to her and she places her hand in mine. “We need to get outta here, darlin’.”
She gives a subtle nod. We leave the bathroom and hurry down the stairs. Passing through the kitchen, I see Earl face down in a puddle of blood. Ava’s breath catches and she pauses, her eyes wide and fixed on the gory mess.
“Don’t look at him,” I say, leading her to the foyer and straight out the front door.
The cold night air nearly takes my breath. Ava gasps and I pull her close to me, her damp hair sticking to my neck. It’s not until I open the door to my car that she really looks at me. “Thank you,” she whispers. “Thank you for saving me.”
And those words cut me. I didn’t save her. I broke her and she doesn’t even know it yet. Ushering her inside, I shut the door then jog over to the driver’s side and climb in. I immediately crank the engine, not waiting on it to warm up before I throw the gear into reverse and back out of the driveway.
We ride in silence. My hand rests on her thigh, my thumb gently drawing circles over her jeans. About a mile down the road she places her hand on top of mine and our fingers intertwine. “Don’t stop until the sun comes up,” she says. “I just want to see the light. I want to see the sunrise.”
And I drive, not knowing where the hell I am going. We keep barreling down the country highway until the dawn breaks, and as the sun rises above the horizon, painting the sky in that faint blue that so quickly turns to bright orange and pink, a soft cry slips through her lips.
I don’t want her to break anymore and I turn to look at her, surprised to find a deep smile on her face.
“I never thought I’d see the sun again.” Her smile widens. “I don’t think I will ever appreciate another sunrise the way I do this one.”
I pull the car over into an empty grocery store parking lot, park, and climb out of the car. And we just stand, she and I, watching as all of the darkness vanishes. Sometimes in life there are such subtle things that symbolize significant events, the thing is, we so rarely notice them. This moment, it’s one we both notice.
27
Ava
The pinksand yellows seem so vibrant, the whispers of clouds gray against the rising sun. Everything seems so big. The open spaces seem endless. I was beginning to believe the world was really nothing more than four walls, wondering if I’d made all this up, but I didn’t. I suck in a lungful of frosty morning air as though I am a person dying of thirst and this air is water.
After several moments, we climb back into the car and drive another hour and a half until we come to a run-down motel complete with the cliché fluorescent light flickering on the side of the highway. Max turns into the gravel driveway and parks.
“Wait here,” he says.
He anxiously looks around as he makes his way to the front office, briefly glancing back at me when he places his hand on the door handle to walk inside. The door closes behind him, and I can’t see anything through the tinted window. For a split-second, something inside of me tells me to open the door and run. My heart slowly picks up its pace. I reach for the handle, but…hesavedme.
When Max steps out of the office, my hand is still on the door handle. I snatch it away quickly as the guilt drowns me. The key is still in the ignition which causes an alarm to buzz when he opens my door for me.
“Come on, now,” he says, gently taking my hand to help me out of the truck.
My hand remains in his as we walk down the sidewalk, stopping in front of a rusted door at the end of the walkway. This seems so peculiar—us out here, going into a hotel room. And I don’t think it should, but it is strange not having my hands bound and not being in that house.
Max opens the door and the smell of bleach immediately slaps me in the face. I crinkle my nose.
“Fuck, that’s rancid,” Max groans, waving his hand in front of his face. He closes the door behind him and I sit on the edge of one of the double beds.
“Shit,” he says. “I didn’t get the bags. I’ll be right back.”
And with that, he leaves me alone.
Alone with a door I could easily open. I could easily leave. Run to the office. I could be free, but my legs don’t want to carry me to that door. And why? Because I do not want to leave him.
And all alone, I panic. Vertigo sets in. Sweat pops from every last pore. Ineedhim. I grab onto the edge of the bed in an attempt to feel grounded, to keep myself from thinking I am about to sink right through this grimy hotel floor. I count in my head, making it to one hundred and twenty before the latch to the door pops. The door swings open, and the moment I see Max’s face, I feel like I can breathe again.
His brow wrinkles. “You okay?” He tosses the keys down on the nightstand and drops the bags at the foot of the bed.
“Yeah, I’m fine.”
He shoots a curious glance at me, smirking ever so slightly. “You look worried.”
