Page 20 of Cruel Cravings

Just a foldable luggage rack and some wooden hangers that clatter against each other from how swiftly I’ve wrenched open the door.

A laugh shakes out of me. “Maybe it’s true. Maybe I am imagining things.”

But I keep inspecting the room anyway, just to be sure. Just to sate the hungry paranoia clawing away at me from the inside.

The bed is next. I drop to my knees and lift the edge of the bedspread. Nothing’s underneath but a forgotten sock and a discarded candy wrapper. No one’s hiding under my bed like he did the last time I was in the hospital.

Last up is the bathroom. The shower curtain hangs limply from a rusty rod. It bulges slightly, as though concealing something behind it. I take in a quivering breath to ready myself, then on a sudden burst of courage, I grab the curtain and shove it aside.

Still nothing. Just grime and mold and a chipped porcelain tub.

The occasional drop of water leaking from the faucet.

I step back, my knees weak. The relief is so strong that it makes the room feel like it’s spinning. The dark panic that was edging my vision recedes. There’s no way anyone else is in this room with me. There’s no way he’s here.

I plop down on the bed and focus my attention on the TV.

A rerun of Wheel of Fortune plays. For a while the dazzling sparkles on Vanna White’s dress and the excited contestants clapping along to the spin of the wheel are enough to distract me.

“Big money, big money, big money,” the woman whose turn it is chants.

But for the first time in hours—almost a whole day—I’m sitting still enough to realize how exhausted and hungry I am. Not just hungry butstarving.

I haven’t eaten anything since last night.

The vending machines are one room away from mine. I probably have enough coins to grab a soda and some chips. Enough to keep me from feeling like my stomach is eating itself.

Digging out a couple quarters and dimes from one of the pouches of my backpack, I make sure I have my room key and iPhone on me. The moment I step outside my room, I’m drawing shut the door and beelining toward the vending machines.

They stand wide and tall, lit up brightly compared to everything else at the motel. Their hum almost feels therapeutic given the deep unease I’m feeling.

I push the quarters through the slot and press the selection for Diet Coke. The machine makes a mechanical noise before it cranks out the soda bottle at the dispenser. I move onto the machine next to it, showing off the decent selection of candy, cookies, and chips.

Counting my coins up, I see I have enough for two more items. I select a bag of chips first, and once that’s dropped to thedispenser shoot, I push in the last of my coins to go for some peanut butter cups.

The machine makes the same mechanical noise, the droning loud. It quakes on the spot, the metal rings pushing the candy out like it’s supposed to.

And then it stops. The candy gets stuck in the metal ring.

“No,” I growl, banging at the glass. “Give me my coins back then.”

My hands stretch out to grip the sides of the machine and give it a shake. A lame attempt to rattle it enough so that the candy tumbles down into the dispenser.

Frustration’s boiling up inside me and flushing onto my skin when I notice something out of the corner of my eye. I look up to find I’m no longer alone.

There’s a man on the other end of the hall. A large, hulking man well over six feet and so massive he fills up the entire space he stands in. His head almost scrapes the ceiling, his face obscured by darkness.

My breath freezes inside my lungs. I open my mouth to scream but no sound comes out. The soda bottle and bag of chips slip out of my hands and crash to the floor.

I spin around to run. Get the hell out of here and go… anywhere else.

As far away from him as possible.

Instead, I collide with the man who happens to be standing behind me.

The motel manager, who’s knocked half a step back and then reaches out to steady me by the shoulders.

“He’s here!” I gasp. “He’s followed me here. He was just watching me?—”

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