End of the Innocence

Chapter 66

My feet tired first, not from the exercise, but from injury. They were raw, dirt caking into cuts from gravel, rough cement, and small pebbles on pavement. I ran on sidewalks when I could, stopping frequently to hide when a car passed. I needed to find a minivan—a minivan driven by an overweight soccer mom with three adorable kids, preferably listening to Christian music. But minivans didn’t pass through this part of town. This was the area of truck stops, seedy gas stations, lumberyards, and warehouses. At one point I saw a cab, two blocks over, moving slowly through the streets, its top light off. I hesitated, then let it pass. Paranoia dominated my thoughts, every person, car, and business a trap, designed to catch me and deliver me back to those who wished me harm. To make everything worse, my headache, dull when I had woken, was now a full-fledged jackhammer, the pain causing occasional spots in my vision and a piercing pain when I would lean over to rest. I had vomited twice, the horrible aftertaste residing in my dry mouth, and was thirsty, my throat and body begging for liquid of some sort. I eyed puddles as I passed, their dark pools dotted with oil and waste, cursing the lack of public water fountains in industrial areas. In addition to my head and my feet, my shoulder throbbed, every swing of my arms stretching a muscle that screamed in response. There was a bandage there, the adhesive on its edges pulling on my skin, and my mind itched with the desire to pull it off, to reveal whatever it was that it hid. But I didn’t. I ran, I hid, I ran, and I thirsted.

I headed toward the sound of quiet, heading away from the noise of the highway, hoping to find a residential area, a place of libraries, well-kept homes with flower boxes, supermarkets, and joggers equipped with cell phones. I would call Brad’s cell, wary of the police after learning of their corruption. I saw movement, the bumper of a car rolling out of an upcoming side street and immediately veered, my speed increasing as I moved down the side of a building, worried that I wouldn’t reach its end before the car passed. Or, that I would turn the corner and run into a group of thugs, trading one danger for another. I held my breath as I sprinted around the corner, hearing the rumble of engine as the car traveled down the street, my feet disappearing from sight just in time. Then I skidded to a stop as my eyes raced frantically over the scene before me.

Two vehicles. Alarming. I would have preferred an empty lot, no strangers. In this area, every individual was a potential foe, my mind not trusting anyone. I searched frantically for any sign of the car’s owners. I listened to the street behind me, and ducked behind the first car, my eyes flitting over and then focusing on a green hose, coiled on the floor beside a parking bay. Water. The hose glowed, like a spotlight was focused on it, and everything else faded to gray. I crawled behind the second car, a green truck jacked up on off-road tires, neon yellow shocks blocking my view of the building. I exhaled slowly, listening for danger, then ran, loose gravel kicked up by my raw bare feet, a few hitting the truck behind me. Water. My sole focus followed that hose, the nozzle mounted on the side of the building and my hands reached for it greedily, turning the handle rapidly and hearing the perfect, orgasmic sound of water flowing from its end. I grabbed it, pressing it directly against my open mouth, grains of dirt mixing with the initial flow, the hot water pouring down my throat in a powerful stream, too much for me to take, and I lifted my mouth briefly, gulping in air and fighting a cough, swallowing the water and pausing before lowering my mouth to the hose. This time I was more careful, sipping from the stream, the liquid turning cool, tasting better than it ever had, my starved body drinking it like it would never stop, a need that would never be fulfilled.

I finally stopped, my hand stumbling over the wall until it reached the handle and turned, the hose going limp in my hand. My stomach was physically engorged, a round ball of liquid, and I felt sleepy, my mind turning on me, becoming a drugged machine that performed at half-speed. I crawled, on my hands and knees, finding a space between the dumpster and a fence, and laid down, not minding the unyielding feel of parking lot beneath my body. At that moment, with my belly full and the weight of my body no longer carried by my feet, I was beyond content. Encased in a dumpster shield of privacy, I felt safe and secure enough to briefly close my eyes and rest.