Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 79681 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 398(@200wpm)___ 319(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79681 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 398(@200wpm)___ 319(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
It wasn't a suggestion.
It was an order.
I took my clothes, making my way down the hall, trying to stifle the swirling discomfort inside at having to take orders. It was a foreign thing, not having any control.
I could get used to it.
Like my mismatched pajamas.
Like not knowing what clothes I would have to wear.
Like literally everything else.
I went into the bathroom, avoiding the shower. I tried to convince myself that it was because of time constraints. Though it was clear that I was not ready to get back in there just yet. I wondered a bit fleetingly as I slipped into tan slacks if there would possibly be a tub at our next stop, if maybe that would help.
It wasn't until I was out of my pajama top that I realized I had forgotten a bra. On a sigh, I thanked whatever higher power might be out there that I had chosen a black wrap blouse that had a slight ribbed pattern that would be forgiving of my bralessness.
I pulled my hair up, brushed my teeth with one of the sealed toothbrushes and travel pastes kept in the drawer under the cabinet, then grabbed my clothes, slipped into my shoes, and made my way back out to sort my things.
Makeup and other beauty products weren't a big deal. I knew I had packed too much to begin with. But they were expensive, and I hated the idea of leaving them behind to likely be tossed.
But as I sorted my personal belongings, a small part of me shriveled each time I convinced myself to leave something behind, wanting to bring as much of my old life with me as possible. Like leaving your security blanket in the car on your first day of kindergarten.
I left the keepsakes, the things I had picked up on special vacations. The photo albums I likely wasn't supposed to have anyway.
I packed my collection of notebooks, pencils, colored pencils, and watercolor paints. I even managed to fit my small, foldable tabletop easel, two books I had been meaning to read for years but never had the free time, and a journal which I had bought on a whim when I thought it might be important to start trying to find a work/life balance, jot feelings or memories, or dreams down.
But that was it.
That was all I could bring with me.
Not for forever, I reminded myself.
Eventually, they could find a way to ship me the rest of my things.
"Good," Gunner said when I was finished. "I already have your cash in the car," he added, meaning what was left of the somewhat obnoxious sum I had withdrawn after paying them their fee. It was enough. Enough to start me over. Not hold me over for any length of time. But to get me a place to live, basic furniture in it, a used car, pay my bills until I found work.
"Alright," I agreed, trying to take a steadying breath.
"Got food packed too. Just enough to hold us through until dinner. We'll pick something up by then. If you want coffee, there are travel cups above the machine," he added, grabbing my bags, and taking them across the common area to the door.
With that, he was gone. I rushed to make the coffee, grabbing a granola bar just in case as well.
By then, he was back, impatiently waiting for me in the doorway.
Just like that, I was shuffled into a giant black SUV, and was officially on the way to my new life.
"Take something."
That was Gunner, about two hours into our drive. They were the first words anyone had spoken since we had gotten in the car together. He had immediately flicked on some sort of talk radio station. And paid attention to the road.
Me, I just watched the world go by me.
"No need to try to be a hero," he added when I said nothing.
I thought I had been keeping it somewhat to myself, the way the rough roads were jostling my body, making my stomach either send shooting pains through me, or throbbing ones. I didn't want to complain, to be a hassle. We had to do all this driving. I couldn't get on a plane, couldn't use my ID. This was necessary. Even if it hurt.
"I'm alright," I insisted, shaking my head.
"They gave you pills for if you're hurting. You're hurting. So take them."
I didn't like taking pills. Not even Advil for a headache. I had other tricks that worked, certain scents, ice packs, heating pads, there was always some way for me to avoid taking medication.
"It's new," he went on when I didn't reach to open my purse to get the pill bottle inside. "And sitting is the worst position for you to be in right now. Today is going to suck. Take the fucking pills."