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Then I start to wonder if I should ask for a room on the first or the second floor.
First floor seems more unsafe…but it’s not like the second story of a motel is any safer, since all the room doors open to the outdoors. And at least in a first-floor room I can crawl out a window if necessary.
My fingers close around the door handle, but I can’t quite bring myself to open it. Because I can’t shake the worry that I’m making all the wrong choices.
I might be free now, but fear is its own sort of prison. And it’s far more uncomfortable than being locked in a bedroom.
I had to leave.
Ihad to.
I’ve never really considered the lines of my morals before. Never really thought how I’d feel if someone I knew broke the law. But it only took a few hours with a kidnapping crime lord to realize that I don’t have many morals to worry about, because him being intobad thingsdidn’t faze me.
Maybe I’m this way because of my jaded view of society. Or maybe it’s from growing up with shitty parents. Or maybe it’s because I was thinking solely with my neglected vagina. But I do know that human trafficking is a step too far.
Where I am now doesn’t feel safe, but it was the best idea I could come up with.
Because I knew I needed a big metropolitan area to get lost in, and because I knew I could get on Highway 94 and just follow the signs to Chicago, since I didn’t have a phone with GPS. Unfortunately, my budget doesn’t call for downtown hotels, so shitty motels I find by taking frontage roads off the highway will have to do.
Sighing, I start to pull the door handle when a beam of light shoots across the upper-level walkway of the motel.
I freeze as though I’m doing something wrong, not moving a muscle.
The door shuts, snuffing out the bright light, draping the little walkway back in shadows. And I have to squint, to make out what I think is a man, striding towards the stairs.
His legs are long, and he takes the steps down, two at a time.
It’s just a man leaving his room. Totally normal.
But I stay frozen, not wanting to draw attention to myself, when the man reaches the bottom of the steps.
I strain to see his features, but his long blond hair sweeps across his face, cutting off my view. Then, instead of turning toward me, toward the parking lot, he turns the opposite way, walking around to the back of the building. To the emptiness behind the motel. To nowhere.
Well, that’s terrifying.
There are two overhead lights in this parking lot. And the other one, not the one I parked under, just started flickering.
Just like in a horror movie.
This isn’t a movie, it’s your life. And you need to take control of it.
My head swivels, checking for anyone in the parking lot, but there’s no movement.
When my eyes lift to the rearview mirror, I notice a row of cars parked along the back.
Were those cars there when I got here?
I blink, but it’s still just a row of cars, parked in the dark.
My hands lift to rub my eyes. Six hours of driving has my brain playing tricks on me.
I pat my thigh, to make sure the cash I stuffed in my leggings pocket is still there. The rest is stuffed between my boobs, since I don’t want to thumb through all my money to pay for the room, and I’m too warm to put my hoodie with the pockets back on.
“Just walk up and ask for a room.” My hands close back around the handle. “It’s a motel. This is normal. So just act normal.”
With a heavy exhale, I open my car door and climb out.
The rain stopped about an hour ago, after it traveled across the Midwest with me, but everything is still damp. The air thick with humidity, muting the usual nighttime soundtrack of noisy crickets.