Keep the Storm Clouds Back

My Fist Your Face

I crept closer to the motel, listening and looking very carefully for any sign of Jim. I did not need him to find me now, when I was so close to getting back to safety…getting back to Steven. A thinner and more melted amount of snow crunched beneath my feet as I walked, the shovel still gripped tightly in my hand. My whole body as stiff as a board from a combination of stark fear and being cold.

It seemed to be maybe a little after noon as they sun was nearing the horizon. On my way to the front door, I passed my car and the van that had carried Steven and the rest of the guys to the motel several days ago. Soon I was on the stoop just before the door, wishing it was still that first day when I’d made a fool of myself in front of Steven falling down on the ice. I wished I could have that day back. I wished that on that day Steven and I would have been able to drive off in my car and never look back at this fucking motel.

I outstretched my shaking hand and carefully grasped the door knob. Before I opened it, I pressed my ear to the cold metal, listening for any noise behind the door.

I heard nothing, so I turned the doorknob silently and pushed. Even though there wasn’t any sound coming from the other side, my heart still sped up to an astronomical speed. When the door was finally open, I found that the lobby was empty and sighed in relief. My instincts told me to go and find Steven, so I walked toward his door, still keeping my slow and silent pace.

Just before I knocked on his door I realized that I was still carrying the shovel. I debated whether or not I should put it down, but I told myself that I wasn’t out of the woods yet, because anything could happen.

I tapped on the door gently, hoping Steven was inside.

I remembered Jim’s cruel words when he’d said that Steven was drinking again. I hoped that was all he’d done. I couldn’t have ruining Steven on my conscience.

From behind the door I heard a rustling and then a slow dramatic shuffle of feet scuffling along the floor.

The door opened a crack, and there was Steven, looking down and mumbling something I couldn’t really understand. I only picked up the words “tired” and “keep on botherin’ me”.

I could tell he was intoxicated not only by his behavior but also by the nauseating smell of liquor emanating from his room. But I didn’t care. I was in his presence again, and just like that I felt better. Nothing else in the world mattered anymore; not Jim, not the girl in the shed, not the storm, not my family who’d worn me down to the point of running away, not another thing. I couldn’t keep from lunging toward Steven, and wrapping my arms around him. He gasped, but realized it was me, then returned the hug. It felt so right when he was in my arms, nothing felt more natural.

“S-Sandra! Oh my god…are you alright? Baby where were you?”

I signaled for him to be quiet. I didn’t want him to blow my cover and potentially get us both killed.

Ten seconds into the embrace I realized that I had made a fatal mistake. I had dropped the shovel in my excitement when I’d jumped into Steven’s arms. It was a strange thing…because it was almost like I didn’t hear it at first. I didn’t hear the loud crack of metal slamming into the wood floor until it was too late.

The din it created all throughout the otherwise silent lobby was earsplitting.

I pulled back from Steven who was dazed by all this sudden action. He looked dizzy and I was scared for him. I put my arm around his back to support him. As he stumbled, I grabbed his arm by the silky fabric of the button-down shirt he was wearing, and pulled him toward the front door. I again was aware of the extreme danger we were all in.