I Can't Own You? (BOOK 1)

23 (NEW)

Sam gave me the cold shoulder for hours. He rented a car, which made sense, his license plate was known now. While he did this, I lay on the back seat of his car, not fully remembering climbing back. I blink away tears and attack myself.

I'm so stupid...what I did isn't even forgivable. What if Sam got hurt? Or I got hurt? What if my parents get hurt? I repeat these questions in my mind until I feel the weight behind them. The doom. Until the meaning makes my stomach turn. This could have been the reason I lost the people I loved. Is money more important than something unconditional? Is materialistic shit worth endless heartache?

My sight locks on the leather seats ahead of me, blurring.

The front door opens, but I don't move. I sense Sam's stare burning into the back of my head. He has every right to be pissed...the right to hate me. Cold air rushes over the inside of the warm car. I feel he's waiting for me to get out without asking. Non verbally, I do as he says, without protest and stubbornness. My body off balance and my head throbbing, equivalent to nails being shaken up.

My chin stays down as I exit the car. I avoid eye contact with Sam and the renter, only viewing the ground I walk. I take our packed duffle bags from the opened trunk of Sam's black Nissan, and pile them into the rental car's trunk. A small, red vehicle. I don't read what brand it is. I don't care.

"Drive safe; you have a long trip ahead." An old man warns in an airy voice.

"Thank you," Sam replies.

I enter the backseat again, to give Sam space, and continue on being mute. As the car travels, I doze off to its bumpiness. The heat from the vents echoes the vehicle. I hug my arms around my body...guilt eats at me, twisting my stomach and shortening my breaths.

There are 26 hours from New York to Texas, and I'm prepared to suffer through the time in silence. I deserve to. My selfish thoughts are in need of a wake-up call. I've been placing money above everything for days now. It's not that I was struggling that bad; I knew how to pinch and save. I just didn't want to wake up doing the same shit every day, without change, without enough time to myself.

Going to the club was the only time that I felt free, and that only happened rarely. I put in overtime like a robot just to make it to the next month. I'm used to struggling. I shouldn't have let my greed and desperation lead to this. I can't lose my soul to temporary happiness.

I squeeze my eyes shut.

When I wake, it's night time and the snow sparkles down a long road, under a full moon. The heat is off because the car is scorching, as it pulls into a gas station. I sit up, tugging a broken coat around me and exit the car with Sam. The ice between us grows thicker, he keeps his distance and I don't blame him. I open the door, swinging it a bit so Sam could catch it. I clear my throat. "Excuse me, can I use the restroom?" My voice is so small.

A woman behind the counter makes her way out and point to a short hall indention. "Sure, it's straight down the hall."

To a small, one stall restroom, I go, experiencing a big whiff of cherry air freshener. I use the toilet, wash my hands, and stare into the mirror. My eyes are red and dull. I huff and splash cold water over my face; I repeat this about five times.

At the checkout counter, Sam has breakfast sandwiches, orange juice, pistachios, DebbySnacks, and plain chips. I think of an excellent remark about this selection of food coming off like an old man with a sweet tooth, but I don't share the joke. I stare at the items instead, scared of his behavior, my gaze wounded and bashful.

Sam pays with a credit card and nods at the woman with a soft smile. Is he flirting right now? Don't tell me he's taking it out in this way. WOW! HOW COULD HE!!

Okay, okay calm down, relax. I may be over-analyzing. I'm upset right now. Chill. Think about something else; I can't afford to argue with him right now. I've never seen Sam so critical and distant. If I bicker...that might be his reason to leave me. For good. I can't do this alone.

The car drives I-40 West. I sheepishly eye Sam through the rearview mirror, watching a clenched jaw and heavy eyes. He needs some rest...maybe if I ask to drive...no stay quiet. If he wanted to take a break, he would have. It seems like he's distracting himself. But, god, he looks exhausted, the "snooze off and fall over" kind of exhausted. I look away and eat a sandwich, tasting nothing but carrying on because I need something on my stomach to help it feel better.

Sam turns on the radio and drinks orange juice, all while not taking his eyes from the freeway. Cars, trucks, motorcycles, and vans zip around us, their bright lights hitting the dark road. The full moon and starry sky holds so much beauty as we travel below it. I zone out: what if his car was tagged? What if my card, which has the money, was tapped? Is that even possible??

No. No. No, I don't think so.

I hope not.

I take my mind from the draining subject and focus on going home. It's been a while. I need support right now. Plus, I'll see my old bedroom and visit my high school. Maybe I'll even go to the park down the street; my old 3am hangout spot. Of course, I snuck out cus mama would've beat my ass.

Ohhhhh, I can get my dad's hot chocolate recipe... and ask about his diabetes. My mom is a healthy woman who could cut out sugar like a damn vegan. She started this about five years ago in hopes of converting my dad to do the same. My daddy is difficult, ha, like me, so his ass is not committing to a sweet free diet. I smile to myself, feeling my body regain vibrancy.

The car rolls up to a motel.

Sam books a room with two single beds. I expected this; I don't take offense. The room has a red carpet and light walls. How many prostitutes have been fucked here? How would the beds look with a black light? Probably so damn disgusting. I doubt this place has thorough cleaning. It's a two-star, if that.

I pull back white sheets and blankets, sniffing; each smell of heavy disinfectant spray and bleach; this eases my thoughts a bit. I remove my jeans and climb into bed. A tug of disgust rings in the back of my mind, concerning the hidden dirt.

I hear Sam showering in the bathroom. I lay on my side, facing away from the door of the bathroom. Tightening my eyes shut. At least he'll get some sleep. Maybe in the morning, he won't be as vicious. I'm not saying that he should forget it...but he may have more control over his emotions by then. Then we could try to get back to normal, hopefully.

I want him back...I need him back. The fact that I've dated no one else since he cheated, proves that I'm not over him.

Sam steps into the room about twenty minutes later, bringing steam and the smell of Mountain Falls body wash, cucumber and green tea. I love the scent so much. I don't turn to look at him, knowing that I'd see such hostility and judgment. Instead, I raise my head a bit to signal that I'm still awake. "Good night," I say, half afraid to speak, my eyes bouncing over the wall ahead of me.

He says nothing in return.

I hear a bag rustle and hit atop a nightstand. The creaking of a bed makes me jerk; I avert my eyes over my shoulders, anticipating a response. No words come. I lay my head back down against the pillow below me. "I'm sorry." The tiniest whisper leaves my lips. The lamp on his side of the room, which illuminates the entire space, clicks off.

My heart sinks.