Chapter 3 #2
My stomach was still grumbling for something more substantial though, so I opened the fridge.
True to her word, Dolly had stocked it with the basics.
I grabbed the sandwich meat and some cheese, then found bread in a little breadbox shaped like a little canvas-covered wagon.
Of course it was a wagon. Everything in this place seemed to have some kind of country kitsch theme.
As I made my sandwich, I glanced around the tiny apartment. It was quiet. Far too quiet. In California, there was always noise whether it be traffic, neighbors, or the constant hum of human existence through the next wall. Here, I could hear the tick of a clock somewhere and not much else.
I finished my sandwich and washed it down with tap water that tasted different from what I was used to. Not bad, just... different. Everything here was different.
Sleep had cleared my head a little, but the reality of my situation still felt surreal.
I’d actually done it. Run away from my life, from Tommy, from everything I knew.
And now here I was, in a tiny apartment behind a diner in a town I couldn’t even find on most maps, with nothing but a suitcase of clothes and the shattered pieces of my dignity.
“Get it together, Hayden,” I told myself, leaning against the counter. “It’s just a month. You can survive anything for a month.”
I thought about turning my phone back on, checking my messages, maybe even calling my mom to let her know I’d arrived safely. But the idea of dealing with any of that made my skin crawl. I didn’t want the questions, the pity, or the inevitable conversation about Tommy. Not right now.
Tomorrow. I’d deal with it all tomorrow.
Right now, what I needed was a walk.
I grabbed my jacket and headed for the door, needing to get out of this tiny space before the walls started closing in.
The night air hit my face like a gentle slap, cool but not cold, carrying the scents of grass and something floral I couldn’t identify.
Streetlamps cast pools of amber light along the sidewalk, and Christmas lights twinkled from nearly every building like some kind of small-town conspiracy to be aggressively festive.
The main drag was mostly empty except for a pickup truck parked outside what looked like a bar called The Rusty Spoke.
Through the windows I could see the warm glow of neon beer signs and the silhouettes of a few patrons nursing their drinks.
For a moment I considered going in, ordering something strong enough to numb the edges of my thoughts.
But the idea of making small talk with curious locals made my skin crawl.
Instead, I turned away from the town center and walked toward the residential streets.
The houses were small and neat, most of them decorated with enough Christmas lights to power a small city.
Inflatable Santas and reindeer dotted front yards, and someone had gone completely overboard with a nativity scene that included what appeared to be a plastic sheep dressed like it was going on a Hawaiian vacation.
I shoved my hands deeper into my jacket pockets and kept walking, trying to clear the fog from my head.
The silence out here was different from the apartment.
It wasn’t quite oppressive, exactly, but strange.
I was used to the constant white noise city life.
But this was the kind of quiet that made you hyper-aware of your own breathing, that made you question if it was supposed to sound that way.
My phone felt like a lead weight in my pocket, even though it was turned off.
I could practically feel the accumulated messages piling up.
Mom would be sending increasingly frantic texts, and there would probably a few more attempts from Tommy too.
And maybe some concerned messages from people who weren’t really friends but felt obligated to check in. The thought made my chest tight.
What the hell was I even doing here?
I’d driven halfway across the country to hide in a town that probably had more cows than people, sleeping in a practical stranger’s spare room and eating cookies for dinner.
This wasn’t a fresh start or a brave new adventure.
This was what happened when your life imploded and you were too much of a coward to deal with the aftermath.
A dog barked somewhere in the distance, and I realized I’d wandered pretty far from the main street.
The houses here were even smaller, some of them looking like they’d been built decades ago and lovingly maintained ever since.
Gardens were dormant for winter but still neat, and most of the driveways held trucks that had actually been used for work, not fashion statements.
Out of nowhere, a pair of headlights swung across me as a truck turned onto the street I happened to be walking down the center of.
I glanced up, catching the silhouette of a man in a cowboy hat as he drove by.
Then, to my horror, the bright red of brake lights filled the street as the truck came to a stop.
“You doin’ alright?” a warm, smooth, masculine voice said as he leaned out of his window. It was the kind of voice you’d hear in a romance movie, the kind that was supposed to make men and women melt into submission.
“Yeah,” I called back half-heartedly, trying not to show any interest. I couldn’t see his face. “Just heading back to the diner.”
“Then you’re goin’ the wrong direction.” There was an amused tone in his words. A hand poked out of the window, pointing in the opposite direction. “Dolly’s place is back that way.”
I hadn’t realized I’d gotten so turned around. “Thanks.”
“You want a ride?”
There was nothing about the question that felt loaded or dangerous, but my stomach turned, nonetheless. I didn’t want to be around anyone right now, not when I felt like such a pile of shit.
“I’m fine,” I replied, leaving no room for argument.
The mysterious man tipped his hat, a comical Texan gesture if you ask me. “Have a good night, stranger,” was all he said before he drove off.
I had the slightest inkling that small town folks found it suspicious when strangers were wandering around town in the middle of the night.
In California, everyone was out all the time.
But here… well, Sagebrush seemed like the kind of place where everything closed after seven.
It was probably best if I got back to the apartment before someone called the cops on me.
But as I walked, I couldn’t help wondering. Who was that cowboy with the buttery smooth voice? Oh well. It didn’t matter anyway. I’d never meet him again.