Burn It and Move On

Part 10: Winter 2018 - Maryland

I reclasped my bra and leaned over the bed to try to find my t-shirt.

Evan – Aaron? Ian? – Tinder Boy offered me a water bottle as he took a sip from his own. "Are you leaving?"

"I don't want to impose." My shirt had been hidden under one of the pillows we'd knocked to the floor and had been caught on the button of his discarded jeans. I pushed his pants toward him and pulled my shirt on again.

"Are you sure you're good enough to drive?" His eyes flittered between the empty glasses on his side table and me.

1872, the side of a rural English road. Our carriage pulled into the ditch so the horses could rest. A dalmatian bounces between my lap and the legs of his favorite steed. Puppy dog brown eyes.

"Yeah, I'm pretty much sober now." Pants? My pants? There. On top of my shoes.

"At least let me walk you out." He pulled on his jeans and his shirt, the latter of which he put on inside out.

The two of us, hastily put together, left the warmth of his room. The rest of his house was cold, echoing with the quiet breath of a lived-in home. In one of those closed off rooms down the hall, Tinder Boy's family slept. Were they his parents or siblings? He told me when we went out for coffee but all my coffee dates were blurring together at this point.

We crept down the stairs. I tread as lightly as I could, not wanting to wake his mom-dad-sibling and have to face the awkwardness of introducing myself.

Convent of the Conceptionists, Ágrada, 1530. Halls that still smelled of the bread baked for dinner, empty and dark. An escape from a home I never felt welcome.

Tinder Boy unlocked his front door as quietly as he could. "Text me when you get home safe?"

"Sure." Who cares?

He hugged me with one arm – because how else do you hug someone you've spent a night with? – and I took a moment to appreciate his muscles shifting under his thin shirt. "Can we do this again?"

I checked my phone, calculated the days until I left, and then shrugged. "Sure, when are you free next?"

"I'll text you." He opened the door for me and we stepped out into the biting cold.

Nepal, 1924. Ice-crusted snow sparkling in the fire burning through the night. Freeze. Burn. Dance between the two for balance.

"You don't ask too many questions, Emma. Is it just because you're tired or...?"

Did I tell him my name was Emma? I thought I was Emily this time around. Did it really matter? Why should I bother to get to know a boy I'd only be sharing a bed with for a few more days? "Yeah, sorry. I'll text you."

I kissed his cheek and darted off to my car before he could say anything else, before he could ruin what we had. He was cute, and good in bed, but I didn't want to hurt either of us by caring.

I pulled out of his driveway before the car even had a chance to heat up. The windshield clouded with frost and I hit the buttons for warm air as I turned on the radio.

Drum beats. Bass. Guitar riffs. A pretty boy's crooning voice.

The roads were painted with a welcoming orange streetlight glow. I relaxed into the leather seat and the gentle curve of these suburban streets.

I could just keep driving, take the highway north to New York City, South to Florida, West out to California. No one would report me missing, no one would even really miss me. Demi may be a bit annoyed if I just take off, but he'd get over it. They all would. I could just keep driving, start over again, alone. No planning this time. A fresh start. I could be nobody.

Not that I was anyone now.

A red light persuaded my car to stop and the impulse to run dwindled. I couldn't just leave my family. It'd be too hard to find them again if I lost track of them. If they left without me, they could end up anywhere on Earth, any time in existence.