Page 17 of Rise
9
Natalia
“Just a few more stops,dear. Then we’ll be on our way home.”
“Sounds good, Mrs. Wilmington.” My smile is forced as I lift my head from the side window and glance over at the woman’s cheerful face. I wonder when I’ll be able to smile that way again,with genuine contentment.
If I ever will.
What I’ve been through has stolen so much from me.
My mind’s innocence is gone.
The part of me that can trust is gone.
More than that. There’s a hole in my soul where those things used to be. A black emptiness. It’s broken and unfixable. No amount of light, or of this unfamiliar cheerfulness from Mrs. Wilmington has beenable to reach it since I sat in her vehicle less than an hour ago.
But I’ve never been one to wear my heart on my sleeves.Fake it till you make it.That’s what I’ll do for now. At least to give the woman something. Some hope that she’s helping.
Which she is, in the most tangible way, by giving me a chance to work for her and live under her roof. At least, that’s the plan. It hasn’tbeen an hour since we left the gas station and those men behind. I hope we never go back there. I don’t want to see their faces again. I keep praying, wishing that they didn’t notice me.
Every now and again, I search the roads behind me in the rear-view mirror attached to my passenger side door, hoping I won’t see their big black SUV with tinted windows. I haven’t yet. So far, I’ve onlynoticed pickup trucks that are all driven by men in cowboy hats, or well worn, bearded faces of truckers pulling their tractor trailers, or sun-drenched, lined faces of farmers on their big tractors or ride-along mowers, or the young and middle-aged faces of moms in full makeup driving their minivans with their kids in the back seats.
My chest goes tight and my body goes stiff as a boardwhenever I notice a darker colored vehicle in the rear-view mirror. My fingers tighten, gripping the armrest on the passenger side door and my legs draw up closer to the fabric covered seats when anyone at all drives too closely behind us. We might be weaving our way further from the gas station, from those men, but my heartbeat won’t stop racing. The panic won’t go away. I’m on edge, and it feelslike the adrenaline in my veins won’t let my body come down from its heightened state of awareness.
If I can just close my eyes…
But I can’t.
I need to see the danger when it comes for me.
Mrs. Wilmington is taking me to a better place, but she can’t protect me.
I have to be able to defend myself.
It’s a miracle that I could crouch down behind the driverseat for so many hours, feeling exposed, vulnerable, and blind, like an ostrich with its head in the sand as I let the tow truck driver unknowingly carry me around these mountain and valley roads. Who knows, there could’ve been times he crossed paths with the men looking for me. I couldn’t keep a lookout. I had to stay hidden. I needed to trust and hope that no one would find me in my hiding spotunder the driver’s stiff uniforms.
But sitting here beside Mrs. Wilmington, I’m out in the open. One hard glance from a stranger can end it all for me. It could be someone in another vehicle, a person standing at the side of the road, a patron or employee walking in or out of the little local shops, offices, workshops, and stores where Mrs. Wilmington has been dropping off supplies. Itcould be anyone at all.
Fuck, it could even be Mrs. Wilmington.
No.
I let out a ragged breath and push the last thought out of my head.
I can’t let this terror inside get the better or me.
I have to trust what’s left of my instincts.
Mrs. Wilmington turns on the right indicator lights with a flick of her wrist and lets off the gas. She turns onto a gravelroad and one of the tires rolls through a pothole, moving my body from side to side and causing my shoulder to bump against my passenger door.
“Sorry about that,” she says with a quick glance in my direction. “I didn’t notice the hole in time. Are you okay?”
I nod and try to smile. “It’s okay. I’m fine.”
“Can you check the box behind me and make sure nothing has tipped over?It’s filled with bottles of homemade peach jelly that are still a bit runny. They haven’t completely set yet.”
“No problem,” I answer, unclasping my seatbelt.
