Coven

Chapter Two - (The Present)

Motels, Hotels, and What to do When Your Phychotic Ex is Following You.

The room you'd taken for your own is dark. There's brown spots on the walls, the curtains are stained an off-white after years of nonexistent cleaning with various sized rips running through, and shattered glass litters the floor in large chunks. Everywhere you step a sloshing sound follows as water soaks most of the bowling-alley carpet thanks to the rain and missing window. The only furniture left is either broken, or bolted down, unable to be stolen but not necessarily untouched. It's a mess, practically unlivable, but none of this damage is your fault. In fact, the only thing you'd messed up is the rickety 70's style bed. Everything else was like this when you got here. 

You aren't complaining though. This is the first real, albeit damaged, bedroom you've had in a year. It's not nearly as luxurious as your last, but you wouldn't trade this dangerous environment for the running water and modern day comforts the manor supplied. Maybe that's an answer you shouldn't have to give. The choice shouldn't be life in poverty or life in pain, but you do know at least here you have one thing they never gave you; freedom. 

You can wake up when you want, eat when you please, and wear whatever items you desire. Sure your options are limited, but you still have them. There isn't anyone telling you what to think or how to feel. No one is watching over your shoulder monitoring every little thing you do. It's a bit boring, sure, however you have no problem with the lack of activity. After all, it's your lack of activity. Your decision. A choice made of your own free will, and that's all that matters.

There's a smile on your face as you flop on the rumpled bed, still exhausted from a week's worth of travel. Whilst your happy demeanor shines through, beneath you the rough fabric scratches at your skin, it's aged fibers not taking kindly to the organic matter placed upon it. Bits of dust and dirt help irritate the pores as well, but you're able to ignore it, knowing well that is minor in comparison to your overall state.

 Everything aches, some parts of you puss and bleed like there's no tomorrow, but your feet are by far the worst, having carried your body across three states in seven day's time. They're swollen, showing clear signs of overuse with damaged toenails and bruised heels. Dried blood from worn, broken skin paints the grisly display in thick coats while an ugly shade of brown leaks from every crevice. Calluses you've built up for years have been stripped and ankles rubbed raw add the final cherry on top to your gangrene sundae. You've tried cleaning them during your stay, washing off with bottled water and sanitizing them with whatever you can steal, yet nothing's really worked. Your skin is just too coated in sweat, dirt, and blood to be treated with such limited. supplies. 

The pain and grime doesn't bother you too much. You've dealt with worse for years; handled punishments that left bones poking out from under your skin and went weeks without feeding just for refusing a hug. Experiencing busted feet and a few wounds during this chase hasn't been all that bad in comparison. Of course, it's not like you like them, it's just that you know there's plenty of worse things that could be happening to you right now. Things you unfortunately know you can't avoid forever, and will have to go back to once you're inevitably caught. So, you'll deal with the annoyance for now. You'll handle the pain, because freedom is a fleeting sweetness you're not quite done with. 

After getting comfortable, your hand moves for the bedside table, hovering over the surface as you assess the options laid out. Three books, all being of different styles, genres, sizes, and states of disrepair rest right within reach. The first is a murder mystery, an older novel with a plot so convoluted that even after five reads you still can't make out what's happening. It isn't in the best of shape, with a broken spine and many loose pages, but you've consistently come back to it night after night. Not because it's good, but mainly because you're set on trying to figure out what the hell is actually going on.