by Taylor Dean
I decide to break my silence. “This doesn’t seem safe, Finn. What if we have car trouble? We’ll be out of touch with society. Will our cell phones even work out here?”
“What are you so worried about, Spencer? Don’t you trust me?”
No, I do not. I prefer to have as many people—or in this case, drivers in cars—around as possible. On the way to Austin, many parts of the drive were just as desolate as this landscape-wise, but I always felt like we were on a main thoroughfare because there were always other cars on the road.
Now we’re the only car in sight and I know we’re off the beaten path. The highway is a two lane road with a speed limit of a whopping fifty-five. We pass a road sign that says sixty-one miles to Snyder. That means we have a little over an hour on this lonely road. For some reason, I feel like I’m entering a time warp, a place where time stops and absolutely nothing at all happens. Roby is twenty-nine miles away and I can’t get there fast enough.
One hour of time suddenly seems like an eternity, as if life will go on without us while we are trapped in this one single hour.
The lack of life and bustling activity is eerie. This is the place where fun goes to die. After ten minutes, a car in the opposite lane finally whizzes by. A semi passes by a few minutes later. I’m comforted by the sight of a trucker. It gives me hope that maybe this isn’t the loneliest road I’ve ever been on.
I notice both sides of the road are lined with typical farm-type fencing, the kind of fence that keeps large animals inside, but other than that, really serves no purpose other than to say, “Hey, don’t go in here. This is my property.” Yet there are no animals and nothing to see for miles and I can’t imagine why anyone would want to trespass. But I’m encouraged by the fact that someone took the time to fence it in. It’s evidence that people do actually live around here, I just can’t see them and I have no idea where they’re all hiding. Occasionally we pass dirt roads that meander off into the never ending sea of land. I can’t imagine where they lead. Every once in a while, I see a small house in the distance, in fact most houses we pass are set back far from the road.
The landscape begins to change and now the road is not only lined with fencing, but also mesquite trees and prickly pear cacti, making me wonder why they need a fence. The cacti alone would keep me from venturing off road.
In some areas, the land is not completely flat, but boasts slight rolling hills. We pass a few bodies of standing water that are dangerously close to the road, but none of them have overtaken the road. They remind me of hungry predators waiting to pounce.
Before this trip Finn had assured me the roads were clear, and with several days of sunshine in the forecast, I wasn’t too worried. I didn’t know there were other things I should be worried about—like Finn himself. I didn’t know Finn had presented me with a side of himself that was entirely fake. His true colors are highly off-putting.
“I think you owe me an apology.” Finn reaches out and locks the car door. He does this obsessively, at least once every five minutes. The click of the lock sounds through the car each and every time. It’s really getting on my nerves.
“For what?” I ask. So much for the silent treatment.
“For being an ice queen this entire trip.”
Here we go. This is what happens to me every time I go on a date—all five of them anyway. I’ve never told another soul how I feel, not my mother, and not my best friend, Cait. But, as soon as the young man shows interest physically, I tend to back away. It’s like I just turn off, as if there’s some hidden button they push. A date can be going great initially, then the young man reaches out to hold my hand, and boom, the OFF button has been pushed and he loses all his allure.
Maybe it’s not the men. Maybe there really is something wrong with me. All of my worries come rushing to the forefront of my mind.
Of course, Finn is an entirely different story. He wanted too much all at once and he’s out of line, even if I did like him and was attracted to him. “Are you saying I owe you for this mini vacation?” I ask.
“I expect something in return.”
Of course he does. “Like what?”
“A little gratitude.”
With my psychology degree tucked firmly under my belt, I diagnose Finn with Narcissistic Personality Disorder. He’s an arrogant, self-centered, demanding, and manipulative man.
Now, I know I’m not perfect and have issues of my own. I believe the term for me is Emotionally Unavailable. I accept the label and see the truth in it. At least I’m trying to change. Finn is not.
Emotionally Unavailable. I hope that’s all that’s wrong with me. I understand it and I can work with it. I had a happy childhood and there’s nothing in my past that would explain my behavior.
My mom says my diagnosis is: Too Picky. Maybe she’s right. But I’m pretty sure that’s not a technical term.
At any rate, Finn wants favors all the time, yet he’d be shocked if someone asked him for something in return. He doesn’t understand why he shouldn’t be served by others, as a matter of fact, he expects it. At the same time, he gives no thought whatsoever to other people around him. I see this kind of behavior in psychiatric patients all the time. What does that say about him? “Thank you for taking me to Austin, Finn.”
“That’s not what I meant and you know it.”
“Then what did you mean?”
“A little love, maybe.”
“Physical love?” I cringe inside. I have no desire to be close to him. Even the interior of the car feels too close for comfort.
“That would be nice.”
“Is that what you expected all along?”
“You know I did.”
“I didn’t know that at all. You agreed separate hotel rooms were fine by you.” Anger burns in my chest.
“Separate hotel rooms don’t mean anything. It just means we have our privacy when we want it.”
This is maddening. I don’t respond to his twisted thinking. I refuse to argue with him over the matter.
That’s it. I’m never dating again. I seriously hate the dating scene. I’m going with my dad’s plan. Just find my future husband—the one I feel insta-love for—and date the heck out of him and him alone.
Except I’m positive that only happens in the movies.
If my mom were here, she’d break out into song right about now. She has embarrassed my brother and I on more than one occasion by encouraging us through her favorite song titled Nothing from A Chorus Line. She tends to use this particular song in teaching moments, only she changes the words to match the circumstance.
“This man is nothing. This date is nothing. If you want something, go find a better man. And when you find him, you’ll be happy—and I assure you that’s what’ll finally come to pass.”
Yep, that’s what she’d be singing to me right about now. Off key and out of tune. And yet, her point will have been made.
And you know what? She’d be right. I need to find a better man. A better man will make me feel something. A better man won’t leave me feeling cold.
At this point, I’d be thrilled with a warm fuzzy feeling from simply holding hands.
We ride in silence. Occasionally we pass a homestead in the distance, surrounded by crops. I stare out the window and catch the worry in my reflection. I’m trying to keep my emotions in check and act like this entire fiasco is no big deal, but I’m really upset with Finn’s behavior. I dwell on a memory from last night’s dinner that still leaves me feeling bitter. We ate at a crowded buffet that had run out of serving trays. Before I even had the chance to pick up a plate of my own, Finn asked me to hold his salad plate while he took his time piling it high with his selections. Then he asked me to carry his salad plate and drink to the table while he finished filling his dinner plate. I assumed he’d help me next. Instead he sat down to eat and let me fend for myself. Maybe I’m being silly. It’s such a small thing, and yet it speaks volumes about his character. Then he had the nerve to complain when I wasn�
�t finished eating at the same time as him. I took my time eating, knowing each bite irritated him even more. I felt a little childish for my behavior, but the man needed to learn a little common courtesy. When it comes to Finn, there’s no give and all take.
All at once, Finn pulls over, jerking the car rather roughly and bringing my thoughts back to the present. The angry driving carries the message that he’s in total control. I receive his message, loud and clear. “There’s no one around. Can I at least have a kiss?” he sneers.
I’d laugh at the inconsistency of it all, but nothing is remotely funny right about now. His hand reaches out and covers my knee with a steel-like grip and I want to knock his hand away so much, I can hardly control myself.
We’ve been bickering like children all day and he wants a kiss? I hate the fear that washes over me as I wonder if I will have to fight him off me. This is not a situation I want to be in.
He leans in closer, his lips headed right toward mine as his hand moves further up my leg. I stop the progress of his hand and struggle to push it away. He resists my attempt and our hands almost resemble an arm wrestling contest, but I manage to push him away firmly. He immediately changes tactics as his hands grab my shoulders forcefully.
When his mouth is close to touching mine, my skin begins to crawl and my off-button is on panic mode. That’s when I lose it. I shove him away and slap his smug little face.
His shocked expression quickly turns into a dark scowl. I cover up my fear by unleashing my temper. “Don’t touch me again. Do you understand? I don’t want to kiss you now or ever, Finn. I don’t kiss someone because I owe them. I kiss someone because I like them and I want to. I don’t like you, Finn, and I certainly don’t want to kiss you. I’d say this isn’t working out and I’m pretty sure you’d agree. When we get back to Lubbock, I think it’s best if we go our separate ways.”
His face reddens and a vein in his neck bulges. I know I said too much and made him angry. Probably not too smart on my part, but he’s been treating me like property all weekend and I’m sick of it.
“I couldn’t agree more. Get out.”
My pulse quickens. “Excuse me?”
“Time to go our separate ways. Get out of my car.”
“Finn, we’re in the middle of nowhere.”
“Not my problem.” He reaches over me and pushes the door open. “Get out.”
“You can’t be serious.” I should’ve politely declined and held my tongue until I was safely home. My instincts told me to fear this very thing. But he was pushing the limits and I absolutely could not sit there and take it.
“I’m not kidding at all.”
Panic washes over me. “You can’t just leave me here.”
“Yes, I can and I will. Get out or I’ll throw you out.”
I look into his eyes and see no life, only hard obsidian balls with no light in them. I believe he really will push me out of the car with no reservations on his part. “Don’t you dare touch me.”
“That about sums up our weekend.”
“You’re an awful person, Finn Delaney. I want nothing to do with you.”
“The feeling’s mutual, sweetheart.” His jaw clenches with anger and I know he’s seething.
I unbuckle my seatbelt and step out. “Jerk!”
Yes, I know. So lame. It’s the meanest thing I could come up with in the heat of the moment.
I grab the backdoor handle to get my purse and rolling suitcase, but the car surges forward and I lose my grip.
I watch with mounting panic as he speeds away. Surely he won’t really leave me. No way. He won’t be that cruel.
His brake lights glow in the distance as he pulls over and I run to the car. I’m not fooled. I don’t think he’s changed his mind, I think he just wants my stuff out of his car. Besides, he knows I’ll be helpless without my purse and cell phone. Maybe he has a tiny black heart after all.
Just as I approach the car, he speeds away a second time and I hear his laugh echo in the dust.
This time he doesn’t stop.
And he doesn’t come back for me.
CHAPTER
Two
I’VE BEEN WALKING for two hours. The sun is beating down on me and I long for the relief of rain. I know I’ve got to get to Roby before nightfall. Even then, I’m not sure what I’ll do.
I swipe at the tear running down my cheek and curse the day I ever met Finn Delaney. I can’t believe he actually did this to me. What kind of person leaves someone helpless in the middle of nowhere? At least he could’ve left me with my purse, my credit card, and my cell phone.
I’m trying not to panic, but I’m not in a good situation. In fact, I’m in an extremely dangerous and vulnerable situation. I swallow down imminent tears. I don’t have the time for a gut wrenching cry right now.
Sweat runs in rivulets down my chest and back. I’m overheated and parched. What I wouldn’t give for a glass of water. My tongue feels as though it’s stuck to the roof of my mouth. Ninety-eight degrees suddenly feels like one-hundred and five. Where is the rain when I need it the most?
I figure Roby is about fifteen miles away. By foot that seems daunting. It takes me twenty minutes to walk a mile on the treadmill, but that’s at a fairly fast pace in an air conditioned room while wearing my Nikes. In this heat, I can’t even maintain a brisk walk—at least, not without water. My feet are rubbing the wrong way on my normally comfortable sandals and I know blisters are forming. I’m not sure I can do this for the next few hours. With how slow I’m walking it’ll take even longer than that. I can feel myself fading, slowing down, becoming overheated. Without water I could find myself in a precarious spot very quickly.
Two cars have stopped and asked if I needed a ride. One was a guy with a long, scraggly beard. He was wearing a wife-beater and his belly hung over his seatbelt. Empty beer cans were scattered on the passenger seat.
I decided he was an unwise choice.
I smiled my best smile and told him, “No, thanks. I live just up the road. I’m just out taking a stroll in the sunshine. Nice to have a break from the rain, huh?” I’d silently prayed all the locals—if he was a local—didn’t know each other.
“Yeah, I guess,” he’d said with a disinterested shrug. His tires screeched as he drove off like he was irritated with me.
Good riddance. I’m done with men who are angry when they don’t get what they want. Maybe I’m done with men altogether.
The next guy drove an old pick-up truck. There were about six men sitting in the bed of his truck and they eyed me with interest.
No way.
“Just out taking a walk. Thanks, anyway,” I’d said with a forced smile.
I know I was being a little judgmental, but I don’t want to put myself in yet another risky situation.
Now I’m praying for a sweet family in a minivan with six rambunctious children in the back. I don’t care if I’m besieged with whining voices, sticky hands, and a chorus of “Are we there yet?” There are worse things in life.
Unless someone picks me up, someone safe that is, I’m about to be in big trouble.
I press forward and try not to think about an ice-filled glass of lemonade. Pink or yellow, I don’t care, as long as it’s wet. Birds circle overhead and I wonder if they’re waiting for me to die.
I can hear the sound of gurgling water in my head as if my body is day dreaming. I find myself thinking about the sound of ice cubes clinking against a glass and I’d salivate at the thought if I could. I’m not sure I could even muster spit if I tried. I’m dry as a bone.
I pass a few distant abandoned-looking homesteads and seriously consider knocking on a door and asking for help. Actually, a simple glass of water will do. I’m in fairly good shape. I can walk to Roby. But not without water. It seems ironic that I’m surrounded by the remains of flood waters, yet I’m dying of thirst. I imagine kneeling next to a pool of roadside water, cupping my hands, and taking a sip, but the murkiness is a definite deterrent. Yuck. Just the f
act that the thought enters my mind tells me how thirsty I am.
Water. Water. Water. Water. Water.
I shake my head and try to think of something else besides thirst.
Fear of the unknown propels me onward. There’s no one around to hear me scream if I choose the wrong house for help. For all I know, they’ll toss me in their basement and leave me to die. I’ve watched too many crime dramas. I’m suspicious of everyone. I have my addiction to Criminal Minds to thank for it. Seriously, it has warped my mind. It doesn’t help any that every home I see in the distance looks like the kind of place a serial killer would hole up in—and bury bodies all over his property.
When I finally come across another home, I give in. I can’t wait for the perfect opportunity. I need help now. It’s a little dilapidated and deserted looking, but I decide to take my chances. I approach the door and ring the doorbell. Again and again. No one answers.
I know the public has been warned about drinking from a garden hose, but at this point dehydration is a serious threat and I’m willing to risk it. I’ll just let the hose run for a few minutes before taking a sip. I circle the house, but they don’t have a garden hose hooked up anywhere.
Why would they? There’s no yard to water.
Time to move on.
Utility poles with power lines run parallel to the roadway. They must bring power to someone. I pass old decrepit chicken coops, oil pumps, trailers that have seen better days, and empty garages surrounded by old rusty jalopies. All signs of life, yet there are no people. Everything looks deserted and creepy, as if all the people were abducted by aliens and no one even noticed.
I come across a historical marker commemorating the Woods Chapel Cemetery. Buried there are settlers from the 1880s. Of the twenty-six marked graves, thirteen are infants or small children. The thought makes me sad and I don’t want to think of this place as a place of death. I don’t want to be one of the statistics this harsh land has taken.
