The cellphone feels like a brick in her hand but she holds on tight, giving him a smile and a nod as she gathers up her stuff. "Thanks, sugar," she says with a gentle pat to his dashboard. "You make sure to get some rest."
Lord knows he deserves it.
Heading inside the room, she locks the door behind her and sets the bags down on one of the beds, forcing herself to methodically unpack everything. Items are removed from wrapped, tags removed from clothing, and a simple sandwich made from a slice of bread and some peanut butter. It tastes like nothing as she eats it, staring blankly at the wall and very pointedly not looking at the window. Will he still be there if she looks? She hasn't heard the revv of his engine but—
No, she can't spend the entire night waiting to hear the sound of him leaving. She can't.
She turns on the television, flipping over to some mindless infomercials for kitchen appliances and setting the volume as loud as she dares — she doesn't want to disturb anyone who might check into one of the rooms beside hers. The air conditioner is turned on as well, those jarring thumps followed by the humming white noise of chilled air being pushed into the room. The effect combines to cover up the ambient noise from beyond these thin walls and she finally begins to relax.
Relaxing isn't a good thing.
As she lets her guard down, the fear comes rushing back in, like water spilling into a sinking ship. The terror of not knowing what waits for her tomorrow and whether she'll face it alone, the overwhelming crush of guilt for somehow dragging Knock Out into this, the panic of not yet understanding all the factors at play here. Her hands shake as she gathers up a few items and moves to the bathroom, avoiding looking at her own reflection as she brushes her teeth and washes her face. Her hair is brushed and then pulled back into a braid in the hopes of minimizing fallout. When she's finished getting ready for bed, everything is neatly packed away into the backpack, which is set at the end of the bed she curls up on. She's still in her normal clothes, still wearing her shoes, ready to run at a seconds notice even if she doesn't know where to.
Ten minutes later, she's holding the backpack in her arms, clinging to it and shaking in the darkness that's illuminated by the television and bits of neon filtering through the curtains. Tears burn their way down her cheeks as she begins the rollercoaster of crying, then calming, then panicking and crying again. It's a vicious cycle that repeats again and again as the hours creep by and she refuses to look out that front window. In the dark of night, it's better not to know this now.
It's one of the longest nights of her life because she does know what's out there for her now. She knows what the Sentinels will do if they find her, what the lab will be like where they'll lock her up. She knows how much it will hurt to be so completely alone, abandoned by someone who means so much to her... and she knows she won't hate him for it.
Eventually, she drifts off into an exhausted slumber, waking again when the sun rises and brightens the room to something that isn't quite so scary. In the light of day, she groggily pushes herself to keep going, washing up and changing before cleaning the room on autopilot. Even though it's been so many years, she still knows how to wipe down a room, using the few supplies she'd picked up the day before with efficiency. She has another sandwich for breakfast, eat bite settling in her like cardboard-flavored lead, and then, with a resolute sigh, she steps outside the room, bag in hand, to face her fate.
no subject
Lord knows he deserves it.
Heading inside the room, she locks the door behind her and sets the bags down on one of the beds, forcing herself to methodically unpack everything. Items are removed from wrapped, tags removed from clothing, and a simple sandwich made from a slice of bread and some peanut butter. It tastes like nothing as she eats it, staring blankly at the wall and very pointedly not looking at the window. Will he still be there if she looks? She hasn't heard the revv of his engine but—
No, she can't spend the entire night waiting to hear the sound of him leaving. She can't.
She turns on the television, flipping over to some mindless infomercials for kitchen appliances and setting the volume as loud as she dares — she doesn't want to disturb anyone who might check into one of the rooms beside hers. The air conditioner is turned on as well, those jarring thumps followed by the humming white noise of chilled air being pushed into the room. The effect combines to cover up the ambient noise from beyond these thin walls and she finally begins to relax.
Relaxing isn't a good thing.
As she lets her guard down, the fear comes rushing back in, like water spilling into a sinking ship. The terror of not knowing what waits for her tomorrow and whether she'll face it alone, the overwhelming crush of guilt for somehow dragging Knock Out into this, the panic of not yet understanding all the factors at play here. Her hands shake as she gathers up a few items and moves to the bathroom, avoiding looking at her own reflection as she brushes her teeth and washes her face. Her hair is brushed and then pulled back into a braid in the hopes of minimizing fallout. When she's finished getting ready for bed, everything is neatly packed away into the backpack, which is set at the end of the bed she curls up on. She's still in her normal clothes, still wearing her shoes, ready to run at a seconds notice even if she doesn't know where to.
Ten minutes later, she's holding the backpack in her arms, clinging to it and shaking in the darkness that's illuminated by the television and bits of neon filtering through the curtains. Tears burn their way down her cheeks as she begins the rollercoaster of crying, then calming, then panicking and crying again. It's a vicious cycle that repeats again and again as the hours creep by and she refuses to look out that front window. In the dark of night, it's better not to know this now.
It's one of the longest nights of her life because she does know what's out there for her now. She knows what the Sentinels will do if they find her, what the lab will be like where they'll lock her up. She knows how much it will hurt to be so completely alone, abandoned by someone who means so much to her... and she knows she won't hate him for it.
Eventually, she drifts off into an exhausted slumber, waking again when the sun rises and brightens the room to something that isn't quite so scary. In the light of day, she groggily pushes herself to keep going, washing up and changing before cleaning the room on autopilot. Even though it's been so many years, she still knows how to wipe down a room, using the few supplies she'd picked up the day before with efficiency. She has another sandwich for breakfast, eat bite settling in her like cardboard-flavored lead, and then, with a resolute sigh, she steps outside the room, bag in hand, to face her fate.