Clichés In the Dark Past {FIN}[Editing]

Chapter Two.

Beyoncé

After riding down a lengthy, deserted road that made my skin begin to itch from its bareness, we came to a stop at some dilapidated looking motel that had few vehicles parked out front. My mind wandered aimlessly to thoughts of a steamy shower and clean clothes with the vigorous smell of fabric softener. The mere feeling of being pure and free of dirt and residue soon left me in anguish as I realized that we hadn't any other clothes.

As our circumstance came more into perspective, I longed to know what sort of plot lied in the head of Shawn Carter, and what the future held for us.

"What's the plan?" I inquired after a while of contemplating whether to ask or not. I wanted not to anger him, especially since I knew he was easily agitated when under lumbering amounts of pressure. He looked at me skeptically and offered a devious smirk that I wasn't quite sure I'd seen him use before. I tried to decide whether I liked it or not.

"Wait until we're inside," he told me, "I don't want to chance anyone hearing." Grabbing the keys to our car and walking in to get a room key, that smirk still left itself planted on his face, unfaltering. After jogged back out dangling the key on his index finger, which he held out, he wrapped his free arm around my slender waist, clinging me closer to him. He then kissed my forehead and rested his lips on the top of my head, bringing me to a small giggle.

Once in the room, I sat on the bed and took in the happenings of the previous hours. When my head began to fog itself up with worry like a bathroom during a scorching shower, I retrieved my phone that I'd tucked away into the strap of my bra; A bit ghetto, but handy regardless.

"Bey," Shawn stated simply. His features contorted into that of confusion.

"I need something to distract myself," I defended.

"No more phones, baby. Every time you use that thing, they're tracking it. We actually need to get rid of them; Your phone and mine." Again, woe overtook my thoughts as I soon began to defend myself.

"Well let me tell Solo I'm okay first," I tried, only to be shot down.

"Make smart moves. Put the phone down and turn it off." Tears cascaded down my cheeks as my well contained emotions finally oozed out.

No more family, no more clichés, no more boring job, no more 'Shawn and I's' house, no more bumble-bee house-shoes.

"Shawn where are we going to go?" My sobs became increasingly louder as he made to comfort me by wrapping his arms around my small frame.

"I'm gonna get us out of this country, BB, I promise. We just need money," he declared, the latter part of his sentence sounding more sinister than I would have liked.

"Okay," I reasoned, regaining equanimity. "Tomorrow we can find a Bank of America and I'll make a withdrawal," I suggested, sniffling and swiping away at a few tears. I could nearly feel the uneasy expression on Shawn's face.

"We can't do that. They'll find where we took the withdrawal from and be on our tail in hours. It's way too risky. The only other option is-"

"Robbery," I interjected. Somehow, I knew that was coming, but it never actually sunk in that I'd be apart of a robbery. We were going to be inhumane, immoral criminals.

"We don't have any good enough weapons, though," he began, only causing my heart to beat with increasing speed. "We need everything; From guns, all the way to masks." I looked at him, sort of wide eyed and started to open my mouth.

"From where?" My own question surprised me. I had went along with it and neglected to have the melodramatic meltdown I usually would have orchestrated. He reached into one of the pocket of his dark-wash jeans and pulled out a disposable phone, which was apparently un-trackable, or at least I concluded as much from his use of it. His eyes locked unto mine as a sign of reassurance, and he ran his hand through my short, blonde bob.