Road from Ruin

Chapter One

"Hi there. Can I pay for the gas at pump 2 and a pack of Marlboro Golds please?" I asked the gas station attendant while my mind wandered aimlessly along.

Being behind the wheel of a car is kind of crazy. You hold a lot of power, but you never really think about it. You just get in the car, put on your seatbelt and drive from point a to point b, with the only goal being to arrive safely at your destination.

I have never in my 25 years of living gotten into a car and just drove. I am currently driving my beautifully well worn 1967 Shelby g500 Mustang with absolutely nowhere to go, yet moving slowly towards freedom. There have been so many times in my life while driving to work or to my parents house on the highway where I have had to physically stop myself from taking a random exit just to see where I end up. So, this time I did it. My car is filled with clothes, shoes, a few books and anything else I could get my hands on in the five minutes and three seconds it took me to make my final exit from the house I thought I would call home when I moved in three years ago.

If my mother could see the state of my backseat or the dingy gas station I was standing in right now she would probably peel over and die. The Queen of Clean as I used to call her keeps every single aspect of her life in perfect order. Her home is spotless, wardrobe is always up to date and fitted impeccably, friends look like carbon copies of herself, husband mows the lawn every morning, even her children fit perfectly into her plan. My sister Bea is graduating from high school tomorrow as valedictorian before heading on to Princeton with the plan of being a lawyer, just like dad. I was also valedictorian, went to Princeton, met the dream guy that I knew undoubtably my mother would drool over, passed the Bar exam and got married, exactly how my mother planned it.

By 25 I had been married and living with my husband for three years, seemingly living the perfect life. Even though Bea was the only one who knew the truth, my entire life was a lie. Three months into my relationship with Dean Thompson, I knew he wasn't my soulmate. It was a pretty simple realization since it was him saying the words "soulmates don't exist" that finally made me see it, but it was a shock none the less. In those three months I had already mapped our entire lives together, just like my mother did with my father. The dates, the wedding, the house, the car, the dog, the kids and eventually the happily ever after. But sitting in that cafe the cold autumn morning when dean admitted he didn't believe in soul mates my entire future crashed in front of my eyes.

I have a theory that I've believed since I was a little girl — that one day I would feel a part of my soul dislodge from my body, attach to another persons, and the hole in my soul would be filled with a piece of theirs. Now I didn't get that feeling with Dean, but I assumed that in time it would happen slowly. There were other signs that we weren't meant for each other as well obviously, like the time's when our humour didn't quite match up, or when I could see my exuberant personally physically make him uncomfortable, but his non belief of soulmates was the final nail in the coffin. Unfortunately for me, I had the habit of falling under my mothers will and doing exactly what was asked of me just for her approval. She wanted me to go along with her picture perfect plan of my life, which meant staying with dean, so I did.

I lived the hallow life she wanted for me, picked the four bedroom house with enough room for the inevitable three children we would fill it with over 5 years, went to the job that made my father proud and me feel like poison was running through my veins, and got into bed with the perfect husband each night that looked at me like I was the sun but treated me with such disdain I felt like I could scrub it from my skin in the shower. I had three things that made me truly happy, my sister Bea, fixing my classic Mustang with my bare hands after work, and volunteering at the local animal shelter that was conveniently located one block away from our house. Sister, car, dogs.

"Ma'am." The gas station attendant said in a voice so annoyed I could tell it had taken him multiple attempts to get my attention.
"Sorry... what did you say?" I said trying to sound as genuinely apologetic as possible.
"I asked if there was anything else I could help you with?" His eyes sparkled as if there truly was something else he could help me with. Gross.
"No, the gas and pack of Marlboro golds is all I need. Thank you." I said as I grabbed my receipt, cigarettes and headed out the door. I've been living on autopilot for so long that I didn't even notice the man directly in front of my attempting to start a conversation with me.

I knew I was pretty, my mother made sure of it. I had her blue eyes that earned me the nickname blue jay, and long blonde hair that seemed to completely define me. My body was fit and unmarked, no scars, tattoos or piercings, just 5 feet 7 inches of skin and muscle that screamed dancer. My mother almost had a heart attack when I hit puberty and my flat chest turned into double d's while my ass and thighs rounded and filled. I was used to the attention my looks brought on, but I was so numb to the outside world that I couldn't even feel flattered by the sweeping looks I received from the two men in leather jackets smoking beside their motorcycles while I got back into my Mustang. I started her up, turned the volume as high as it would go while I Hate Myself for Loving You by Joan Jett screamed through my speakers and got back on the road to freedom.