Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
THE CITY OF FORKS WELCOMES YOU Population: 3,783
I never wanted to live the life of a nomad, yet I was forced into it by the people I loved—people I love.
I'm not so sure about that part anymore.
The sign welcoming me to Forks is just barely readable through the dense fog that obscures it, yet my sleepy eyes catch it nonetheless as a temporary calm fills my bones. You made it.
Like any other city, I would be safe here for a while until I wasn't. Forks would make my seventh city just this year (twenty-fourth since my mother died), Though it would be soon before I would have to leave again. Theodora's words were running through my head, you seem only to be prolonging the inevitable—The inevitable death that plagued me since that fateful day in San Diego—Nymph has called the men Apotamkin and another woman, while I was staying in Rhode Island, called them Vendalla. Both hadn't explained any further than that.
For a second, with my eyes focused on the skyscraping evergreens and seemingly endless road that showed through my window, my mind drifted off to all the people I'd met. The ones like Theodora who had promised me sanctuary despite me telling them little to nothing of what I was running from. Their faces were like beautiful blurs now, but I tried to hold onto them. They were what kept me going despite the exhaustion that continually tried to settle into me.
"Ladies and gentleman, we will be pulling up to our second to last stop in Forks, Washington at the Carver Café. Please feel free to stretch your legs, eat, use the restroom before boarding once more to our final destination of Portland." The driver announced. The bus was empty, except for myself and a couple with their two children along. As we rumbled to a rolling stop, I readjusted Remus' hoodie, which still smelt heavily like his musk. Slinking my backpack over one shoulder before beginning to make my way off. Shooting the two woman a small smile, which they returned, we stepped off the bus and headed inside.
Carver's Café seemed more like a small twenty-four-hour truck stop compared to the cafés in Seattle and New York. The weathered green and white building was from what I could tell, tucked away just a few meters off from the rest of society. The five of us walked into the rundown café to find the theme was one cowboy boot away from western. Wood paneled walls and green molding. Two rows of grey tables sat on top of black and white tiles, then ahead was a long counter that stretched across the length of the interior with stools lined up for customers' comfort. There weren't a lot of people either, two tables were occupied on the floor by couples and a stool at the counter by a man.
