Never Coming Home

3.

Is this who I am now? I wrote in my phone. It had managed to sustain a charge after not using it for two days. Am I addicted to leading guys on then stealing your cars? Have I become some sort of maniac since I left West Virginia? These strangers... I don't know them, their lives, their families; to me they are just empty faces, but to them, I'm the pretty girl who took their cars. What am I even searching for? I'm not sure I'm cut out for New York. But the craziness, the city that never sleeps. Where else could I possibly belong? 

I walked into the first Starbucks I could find an hour away from the city in Pennsylvania I was in. I got here last night, around one-thirty in the morning. I stopped here to refill gas and get some chips and beef jerky from the gas station. I was living off borrowed money, and I didn't have much left. I had about fifty dollars in cash and a few hundred I had from past jobs, which sounds like a lot, but with gas money and food money, there's not really much left. 

I stood in the line, four people in front of me. I ordered a drink then settled at a table with my laptop and phone. 

"Cassidy," the barista said, setting my cup on the counter. I watched my stuff as I got up to get my drink. When I grabbed my cup, I discovered someone's hand was already on it.

"Sorry," I muttered, taking my hand off the drink at the same time that he apologized to me. 

"Oh, um. It was probably yours anyway," he smiled, checking the sticker on the side of the cup. "Blonde roast?" 

I half smiled and, under my breath, said, "yeah." I grabbed my cup and walked back over to my computer. He sat in front of me without explanation or greeting. I looked up from my laptop, and for the first time, saw this guy. He had shiny, black hair, he was short, but he looked like he didn't have a care in the world. "Yes?" I asked, taking out my headphones.

"What's your story?" he countered, sitting back in the chair and crossing his arms across his chest. 

"Don't have one," I said flatly, looking at the wall, the displays, the coffee machines, the other patrons. 

"Sure you do," he strained, reaching to get his drink. "Everyone's got a story. So what's yours?"

"What's yours?" I asked back, smirking.

"Don't have one," he laughed, sitting up. "Actually, I take that back. Maybe I do have one."

"And I don't get to know it unless?"

"Unless you let me take you to dinner."

"I met you, what, a few minutes ago in a coffee shop? What makes you think you could get me to go anywhere with you?"

"Because I see it in your eyes. I see the loss in your eyes even though you're cold and you're closed off and, frankly, kind of rude."

"You don't know anything about me," I snickered.

"Maybe I don't. But I guess you'll never know," he said, getting up and walking away. 

I checked my phone percentage, and my messages from my friends asking if I was okay or if I needed anything. Of course I told them no, even though I was desperate for any money I could get. In hindsight, it probably wasn't the best idea to have bought coffee from somewhere so expensive, but I was exhausted. Just a few more days till you're in New York. I closed my computer and got my cords, walking back to the car, holding the door open for the person behind me. "So now you're following me?" I asked, turning around. But it wasn't him, and the guy who did walk out looked concerned. I apologized as he walked out. "So you just leave?" I said to him.

"That's what you did," he stated, walking over to me.

"I got kicked out, idiot," I spat, opening the backseat and shoving my laptop into my suitcase.

"I was just talking about your drink," he said, stifiling a laugh. "But see, look at that, you do have a story."

"I don't need you to patronize me. Are you going to talk or can I drive away?"

"This is your car?" he asked. "Where you headed?"

"Yeah, it's mine," I lied, "and New York."

"Really? Me too. I'm visiting my parents here and I have to drive back to school soon. Want to drive together?"

"We don't know each other," I chuckled, opening the driver's door. 

"That could change," he smiled.

"God, please don't flirt with me. I've had enough of that lately."

"You are so cocky. Just because I'm trying to be friends with you, you think I'm trying to flirt with you. Please get over yourself enough to differentiate between the two. Also, I'm going to keep trying to be your friend. Because despite this full-of-yourself facade, you seem kind of cool."

I got into the car and backed out, the guy behind me. Why didn't you ask him for his name? Instead of pulling onto the road, I went into a different parking lot and, as expected, he followed. I got out of my car and walked over to his BMW. "What's your name?" I yelled, tapping on the window, hoping nobody could hear me and deem me a lunatic. 

He rolled down the window. "Finally; I thought you were never going to ask. Maybe you're not as cocky."

"You say maybe a lot," I said. "Are you going to tell me your name or not?"

"Fine," he said. "It's Thomas."