Page 15 of Tyrant

“We hope you’ve enjoyed your stay, and I apologize for the hold-up yesterday with the computers. They’ve implemented a new system recently that’s supposed to make it more secure for everyone, when in reality, all it’s accomplished is making my job harder by always crashing.”

“Appreciate it.” I hand over the two keycards, still in the little paper jacket she’d given us with the room number scrawled across the front.

“It's a shame you and your wife didn't get to finish out your stay,” she says absently while putting the keys in a box and pecking at her keyboard.

“My wife?” How on earth would this woman know we’re married?

She nods, smiling. “I saw her leave this morning too.” She drops the small bomb on me as she waits for her printer to comply.

I'm instantly intrigued and interested in knowing every single detail from this morning. "She mention anything on her way out?" I can’t help but ask, a glutton for punishment at this point.

Her brow screws up with worry as she takes the freshly printed paper and hands it to me. "No. She only asked where the closest bus station is, then said she was too stiff to ride all the way home with you. She didn't mention a complaint or anything, do you need to speak with a manager?"

"Nah. Thanks, you've been...helpful." With the new information at the front of my mind, I fold my receipt, tuck it into my pocket, and head outside to get my motorcycle. I wonder where it is exactly that Blair plans to go?

As I wait for valet to find the key to my chopper and do whatever they need to, I pull up the bus schedule on my cell and check for the closest station to Huntsville leaving from Las Vegas. She'd wanted to be dropped off by the Alabama state line, so I know she'll pick a spot around there. The search results show all three bus stations here, closest to the hotel, had routes heading in that direction with a bus leaving about an hour before I woke up. Based on the arrival times in Alabama, it looks like I may beat her there.

I've been on buses plenty of times before, as they’re a cheap way to travel and a lot less monitored. The stations are often nothing special, old and dirty, and typically surrounded by dealers or prostitutes. It's a decent place to hang out if you want to get robbed, stabbed, or propositioned for money. I hope she's smart enough to keep her head down and stay with a crowd. If she's alone, like I have a feeling she wants to be, she could end up in a bad spot and fast.

My chest suddenly seems tight at the thought of someone hurting her. Absentmindedly, I rub at the area while my gut twists. I don't know why I even care. It's not as if I know her well enough to have developed a case of feelings, but fuck, I kinda have. It has to be the marriage license and fucking her that's messing with my head. Both seem to be taunting me on an endless loop, driving in the details that I’m a dumbass. I never should’ve let my guard down. Mistake one-oh-one many rookies make, but not me. Never me. Until I met her.

I wonder if Blair is even her real name? Wouldn’t doubt it if it wasn’t. And the last name on the paper? Real or fake, I wonder.

I don’t think she'd still be around at any of the local bus stations, so it's useless to waste the time checking. She knows I probably would if I caught wind of her asking about the closest station to the hotel, I’ve already proved to her that I’m interested in her. The valet finally hands over my key and I load up. I have about the same amount of shit with me as I did when I left to come up here, except I notice two things missing right away. My hat and extra sunglasses are no longer in my saddlebag where we’d left them yesterday. Looks like my gut was right, and my girl wasn't planning on returning to the hotel again.

Why does the knowledge irritate me so badly? And why in the hell do I miss how she felt wrapped around me from the back of my bike? It’s going to be a long trip, no matter how fast I let the wind carry me.

With the thoughts silently torturing me, I pull up my directions and begin the long ride home. Alone.

Chapter 10

Blair

Last night, I allowed myself to be led into temptation.Again.When I woke up with my mind much clearer, everythingfrom the night before hit me all at once. The truth was a harsh slap that had me wheezing with my transgressions.

I'd let my guard down. I haven't drunk alcohol since I was in college, and even then, it was always in moderation. I was never the typical party girl; school kept me far too busy to offer up the chance of my head being swayed. After I’d left college, I quickly learned any drinking by a female in the community was expressly forbidden. It was then, when I found myself actually craving the escape alcohol could’ve momentarily provided. Although, now I know it’d only have gotten me beaten, or worse, the star of indulgence carved into my forehead. We’re forever sinners in the community to the point everyone will eventually be donning large, gruesome scars on their foreheads. It’s sickening, really, when I think of it and realize what the people are willing to support there.

Yesterday at the concert one drink swiftly turned into two. They all went down far too smoothly that I soon lost count, in favor of chasing the freedom the feeling of being buzzed gave me. That evolved into me wanting to be drunk to forget my past, if only for one night.

Finding the marriage license on the hotel table today, along with my foggy memories assaulting me left and right, was enough to have me hanging my head with shame. I have a bigger purpose, a higher calling and I’m not speaking of a divine prophecy Josef’s father had rectified, but my daughter. As long as she’s left in that gated cult, the more risk she’s exposed to. She’ll grow up believing I’m some heathen sinner and buy into everything else her father, the Profit, preaches. She’ll have no choice because she’ll know no better. It’s up to me to get her away from them before it’s too late, show her what real love is, and what it’s like to live without being crucified for having a different thought or opinion than their beloved Profit.

I'd allowed myself to be led into temptation once more and I know firsthand how dangerous that mistake can truly be. The last time I blindly allowed it, I unknowingly joined a cult and then married its leader. I may've gained my precious child in the repercussions of my decisions, but the only other thing I received out of it was pure trauma. Ultimately, my saving grace turned out to be that I was able to eventually separate rhetoric and brainwashing from reality.

Do I also feel guilt for the way I left Tyrant in the hotel? How I abandoned him to deal with the consequences of the night we spent together. For taking enough money from his wallet to get a bus ticket back to Alabama?Of course I do.However, my self-preservation must come first in my life right now. If I'm not protecting myself, how will I ever be able to get my daughter back?

I won’t.

The lure of temptation, of allowing myself to forget, has no place in my life, and I have to keep reminding myself of its bitter consequences if I do allow it. As much as I don't want to admit it, Tyrant is everything tempting. I've desired no man since marrying Josef. He's been abusive enough for me not to even think of having a man in my bed again, let alone a future with any of them. The books I read have been all I've needed since I escaped, letting me live safely through their fictional relationships...Then I met Tyrant. His genuine kindness comes so easily to him, even with his grumpy outer shell he likes to portray. I see him for what he truly is through his invisible walls—a good soul. After that, I found myself wanting to kiss him more and more. I still wish I could, which is nothing short of dangerous.

Standing from the dingy old bus seat, I make my way off into the fresh air. I position Tyrant's ball cap lower to help hide my eyes and to shield my identity. I managed to keep my hairaround my shoulders and tuck the rest of the length out of sight. Hopefully, if someone is watching for me at the buses, they won't recognize me like this. The community strongly prefers women to have our long hair braided and out of our faces at all times, unless going to bed, then it's permitted to be down. I'm praying no one will recognize me if I have shoulder-length hair and my forehead's covered, as they’re not used to seeing me this way.

Being out in public as I am is a huge risk, but if I'd chosen to hitchhike again, there's no telling how long it would've taken me to get back to Alabama. I couldn't go with my original plan and ride with Tyrant. I had to leave him in order to refocus because he's too much of a distraction and now I know he'll surely hate me after today. Guilt claws at me all over again for leaving him sleeping, without so much as a thank you or a goodbye. Heaven knows he certainly deserves it, as he willingly offered and gave anything I needed, even without me asking first. Everyone I typically come across isn’t so generous, or givingat all. Being homeless shows you exactly the type of soul a person has by the way they treat someone they deem lower than them. Never mind, I grew up in a decent home with two parents, graduated, went to college, said my prayers regularly, and showed kindness to others. None of it matters when you’re jobless, homeless, showerless, and hungry. All they see is damaged goods; a dirty, broken beggar and want nothing to do with you.

With a sigh, I handle my business in the restroom and then refill my water bottle with the fountain water in the waiting area. As I’m taking in my surroundings, my gaze eventually lands on the old TV in the corner. It’s certainly seen better days, but the chipped plastic outside and red stripe through the center of the screen isn’t what has me internally cringing. My face is splashed across the broadcast as a missing person, along with a reward for any information leading to my whereabouts. Panic seizes my chest as I glance around, paranoid someone will realize it’s me.The photo is from my student ID at college, so hopefully, no one will realize the woman on the television and me are one and the same.

As soon as my water is full, I close the lid and head back outside, looking for my next bus. I have to get the hell out of here right now, before someone lets my ex know where I am and he drags me back to my own personal hell. I won’t be alive much longer if he ever gets the chance.

I’m stirred awake from the bus stopping. It pulled me out of another nightmare, thankfully. Anything to escape from Josef and his devoted disciples. I’d stopped having them as frequently over the past month, being too exhausted to dream by the time my heads hit the ground, I suppose. After shaking things up a bit, they seem to have come roaring back with a vengeance. They seem so real at times, as they suck me in and nearly suffocate me before I have a chance to open my eyes and realize what they truly are.Warnings.Each time I’m thrust back into the hell, it serves to remind me of what I’ve escaped, of what I’m still running from.

---