Page 4 of Diesel
At least it did in the moment. Now the weight of it all presses down on me and the darkness makes shadows pulse in the corners of the car park.
I should have stayed…
I should have tried.
You did. Multiple times.
I couldn’t reach him anymore and I was done being hurt. I feel like a coward for running, even though I did everything I could to make him see the problems between us.
So I ran because that’s what I always do when things get hard, when they feel too big.
The light behind me flickers and my heart leaps into my throat. It’s almost as if I can feel him breathing against my nape, his heat, his solid frame behind me, but I’m alone. I’m always alone these days.
Even so, he’s not going to let me go, but I had to find control somehow even if everything else around me is spinning.
I want to believe he still cares, but he’s been… distant. I don’t know what else to do.
My hands shake and it takes three attempts to get steady enough to unlock the door. I don’t know what I’m running from anymore—him, myself, the fear of remaining unseen and unloved…
I shove the door open and slip inside, fumbling for the switch. The light stutters on, humming softly as it bathes the room in a soft glow. It does nothing to chase the gnawing pain in my gut.
It’s not the worst place I’ve stayed in over the years, but it’s a far cry from the home I left behind. Our home. A musty smell clings to the old furniture scattered around the room and the floral comforter spread over the bed looks worn.
I shut the door behind me, tossing the key onto the sideboard. Stopping is a mistake, but I’m bone-deep exhausted and too tired to drive further. I’m too tired to care if I’m caught either.
To erase those years I thought we were living the dream. But that’s all it was—a dream.
I drop my bag at the foot of the bed like it’s filled with bricks and not carrying my whole life inside it. I got pretty good at packing light. A lifetime getting dragged around different homes, never knowing where I was going to land, made me an expert at taking only the essentials. I didn’t think I’d have to do that again.
Nausea squeezes my stomach, and awful, restless adrenaline spikes through my body like broken glass under my skin. I press a hand to my stomach, breathing through it. I am not adding vomit to this drama, so when acid climbs up my throat, I swallow it down.
My shoulders slump as I sink onto the edge of the mattress and I toe off my trainers. It’s like there are weights on my eyelids, pulling them closed.
I trail my fingers over the worn comforter, trying to ground myself. This isn’t living. It’s not even surviving. Running from town to town, staying in shitty hotels tucked away in places he wouldn’t expect, is grinding me down. But I can’t keep lying to myself anymore.
I tried.
Fuck, I really tried.
But a life laced with landmines isn’t safety. It’s an explosion waiting to happen. Better alone than wondering if I’m worth anything to him anymore.
I lie back. My hands drift to my churning stomach even though my limbs feel like lead. I just want to find a moment of stillness, but peace doesn’t come when the man you’re running from is the one who taught you how to disappear.
I’m losing my mind. Six days running without a direction,without a soft place to land feels like ten years. Six days looking over my shoulder waiting for him to find me before I can shore up my defences.
I press my face into the pillow like it might smother the anxiety building beneath the tension swelling inside me and I let my body float.
I don’t know how long I’m out, but when I wake the room is too quiet. I blink against the brightness of the lights, but I don’t move.
Because I’m not alone.
My lungs stutter, my heart too. I don’t twitch, not even my fingers as the weight of his presence fills the small hotel room.
“I know you’re awake.” His voice is a rasp in the silence, like gravel scraped over rocks.
For a second, I think I’m dreaming, but I’m not. He’s here and my body responds to him like it always does. Heat and relief. Heart and home.
Traitorous bitch.
