Page 10 of Come Home to Me

Sarah

I sit at the desk in my hotel room, scrolling through possible cheaper living arrangements on my phone and wishing I had thought to pack my laptop. As much as I like staying downtown, there’s no way I can afford this hotel as a long-term option. There’s one of those extended stay deals for seventy-nine dollars a night a few miles away, and a couple for fifty-nine dollars a night just outside the city. All of them rock a solid two-star rating and the user pictures I’ve been perusing look sketchy as fuck.

I jot a few notes on the hotel stationary and then swipe my prescription bottle off the corner of the desk. I’ve been going through these babies at a rate I promised myself I’d never hit again. This stupid-ass trip was supposed to help cure my anxiety, not add to it. I sigh as I spin the bottle in my hand, the pills clattering against the plastic, before I plunk it back down on the desk.

I have plenty of pills as long as I manage to slow down, but if I don’t slow down, I might have to figure out a refill…

Which means figuring out which pharmacy is closest to wherever I’ll be staying for the unforeseeable future…

That is…if they’ll let me fill a prescription from out of state…

I really need to stop taking so many of these things…

They just make coping so much easier…

Money.

Pills.

Jobs.

Families.

Cars.

Hotels.

Too many thoughts. Too many worries. They get me out of my chair and pacing while I try to work it all out. Only, I can’t work it out because it’s all been such a tangled mess for so long, there’s no telling where one problem ends and another begins.

After a few restless minutes, I plop on the bed and drop my head in my hands, a familiar weight settling on my shoulders. I was a fool to think I could outrun my problems. It doesn’t matter where I go, I’m always there, baggage in hand. As much as I’d like to think my issues belong to my family, they don’t. They live buried deep in my heart.

They’ll chase me as far as I’ll run, my history destroying my future, the pain I carry with me coloring every experience I have. Sighing, I wrench the top off my prescription bottle, swallow a pill, and wait for the world to blur around the edges, for my emotions to quiet from a loud roar to a dull nothing.

This trip was a last-ditch effort to find something in my life that feels good because damn it, I’m tired of feeling bad. Yes, I’m running and no, that’s not healthy, but there’s only so much one person can take.

It seems I’ve hit my limit.

Outside the large window in my room, the sun sets on the city. I watch the sky catch fire and my thoughts turn to Frank, my knight in shining armor, the epitome of tall, dark, and handsome with just enough geek to help him stand out from every other good-looking man in a suit. Imagine my surprise when I opened my eyes after the accident and found someone that beautiful crouching beside me, fear and worry dancing across his face.

He didn’t even know me, but he was worried about me.

I can’t remember the last time someone looked at me like that, with genuine concern about my well-being softening the space between their eyes. It touched my aching heart and I’ve yet to figure out if I liked the way it felt. It’s like when an arm falls asleep, the tingling of the waking nerves is almost too much to handle.

Thoughts of Frank have been a constant companion since our lunch yesterday. From the sound of it, he’s not just a pretty face, he’s also thoughtful, hardworking, successful, and fun. Lord knows I need some fun right now. I push away my notes and close out the pictures of the skeezy two-star hotels, pull up his contact info, and initiate a call.

“Hey, you,” I say, after he answers.

“Hey yourself.” The smile in his voice makes me smile too. I lean against the window, staring out over the city, the cool glass feeling nice against my hot skin. “What’re you up to?” he asks.

I run a hand along the back of my neck, kneading at the tension in my shoulders. “Nothing good, that’s for sure. What about you?” My breath fogs up the glass and I draw a finger through the condensation before wiping it away.

“Fending off my mother’s wrath.”

So Frank Wilde is a momma’s boy? How cute is that? “You’re mother’s wrath, huh? Sounds serious.”

Frank laughs. “You have no idea. She cooks a full meal every Wednesday, hoping all of us boys will make it home for dinner, though we never manage to show up at the same time. I have a meeting in the morning, so I’m the one disappointing her this week and am now the recipient of her incredibly passive aggressive dismay.”

I think back to our conversation at lunch yesterday. “Didn’t you say home is two hours away?” Surely, his mother doesn’t expect him to drive that far, just for dinner.

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