2. Eden
EDEN
The McDonald’s menu is lit up in the darkness. My head is pounding, my vision blurry. I try to read the numbers beside the pictures of the food.
“Order whatever you want,” Sterling says.
I’ve never seen a more attractive man in my entire life. He’s so scary-looking, and for some reason, I find that hot. Just another thing to add to the list of reasons I’m completely messed up in the head.
My mama was right; I’m a lost cause.
“I’ll take a double cheeseburger, large fries, and a Sprite, please.”
I hope it’s not too expensive because I spent the last of my money two days ago on a bag of potato chips.
“We’ll take two number sixes with extra ketchup.”
I lick my lips, and my stomach rumbles again. I’ve been on the verge of passing out all day from hunger. I rub my belly under the rolled-up sweatshirt.
The first trimester symptoms hit me with a vengeance about a week ago. It was a bad time to run away from my boyfriend, but when he strangled me and elbowed me in the face, I knew it was only a matter of time before he hurt the baby.
Sterling pulls around to the drive-through window and hands the woman his credit card. He must have two because the other one is still in my pocket.
My gaze travels over the bulge of his muscled arm. He took off his jacket a few minutes ago, revealing his broad shoulders and veiny forearms. My mouth is watering from more than just the smell of the French fries.
Because you’re a whore.
I shove my toxic inner dialogue to the back of my mind.
We wait in silence until they hand us our food. When Sterling sets the brown paper bag in my lap, I dig in.
After I carefully hand him his food and two packets of ketchup, he smiles at me. “Eat. It’s better hot.”
I wish it weren’t so quiet in here, but I’m too hungry to care that much. I’ve never gone this long without food. When I was with Michael, we never had much, but there was always something.
Now that I’m growing a baby in my belly, it’s like I can’t stop thinking about eating. The nausea is worse on an empty stomach. The only thing I even want to eat is fast food and carbs.
I dig into the burger. I almost moan when my teeth sink into the bread. It tastes better than anything I’ve ever had in my life. When I shove a handful of French fries into my mouth, I swear I hear Sterling chuckle.
I glance over, only to see him shoving his burger into his mouth too. Maybe I imagined it.
After I devour the entire double cheeseburger and the French fries, my eyelids feel heavy. I sip on the Gatorade he bought me. I don’t want to drink too much, or I’ll have to pee. I’m probably dehydrated.
The baby needs prenatal vitamins and more calories. My mom was pregnant almost my entire life, so I know a lot about what it’s like. Being homeless and stressed out could lead to birth defects or even a miscarriage.
But going home is not an option. I come from a religious family, who has very strict morals and values. Getting pregnant out of wedlock is one of the greatest sins in my parents’ minds.
I lay my head back against the seat. Sterling has been quiet since we got our McDonald’s. I glance over at him, curious about the scar through his eyebrow.
Why do I feel so safe with him?
After getting pregnant by Michael, I don’t trust myself. Sterling could be just as bad, if not worse. Getting into his truck was a decision I made out of pure desperation.
I’m so, so tired. I don’t even remember the last time I slept well.
Somehow, I feel completely secure with him. So secure, in fact, that my eyelids are drooping. Before I know it, my head is tilting to the side and resting against the window as I drift off to sleep.
I jerk awake, my body rigid and fear spiking in my veins when I hear the truck door opening.
“Hey. Sorry, didn’t mean to wake you.” Sterling is looking at me with concerned brown eyes. “I was falling asleep, so I decided to stop for a hotel room. I guess they struck oil nearby, and everyone is booked.”
He climbs up into the truck and buckles his seat belt. “We’ll try the next one.”
I look at the dashboard to see that the clock reads three a.m. I’ve been dead asleep for five hours, but I’m still exhausted.
He drives a few miles down the highway to the next exit and takes it. When he parks the truck and starts to get out, I unbuckle and open my door.
When I walk around, he’s waiting for me, his expression cautious. He looks like he’s worried I’ll bolt at any minute.
“I need to pee,” I say.
He nods, seeming to relax a fraction. I almost smile when I realize he’s actually scared I’m going to run off, leaving him with the guilt about what might happen to me. He grabs a black duffel bag out of the back seat.
The Holiday Inn doors open automatically for us. The hotel clerk is playing on his phone, his tongue sticking out of the corner of his mouth in concentration.
“Hey. We need two rooms on the same floor.”
The clerk ignores us for a few moments until his phone makes a few beeps and he sighs.
He looks up at us, eyes shifting from me to Sterling. “I got one left. Oil field guys are in town.”
Sterling groans, looking around the empty lobby. My heart rate spikes. I look up at him, seeing him nod at the clerk.
“All right, thanks.” He turns to leave.
“Do you have a bathroom?” I ask the clerk.
“Around the corner.” He sighs, glancing behind him.
Sterling walks with me, and I go in and pee. I stare at myself in the mirror. My green eyes are red-rimmed. I need more sleep.
When I walk back out, Sterling takes his turn in the bathroom. When he returns, I blink up at him, gnawing my lip.
“You ready?” he asks. His eyelids look heavy.
I study his face for a few moments, thinking about how I slept peacefully for five hours in the car.
If he was going to hurt me, he would’ve had plenty of time to do it.
“I don’t mind,” I finally say. “I can … we could sleep. Here, I mean.”
His eyebrows scrunch together. He crosses his arms, studying me. “I bet we can find something else if we keep going.”
“It’s three in the morning. You look tired.”
“You could drive,” he suggests.
Shit.
I don’t know how.
I lick my lips, exhaling. Telling him my parents never taught me how to drive feels even scarier than getting into his truck was—or telling him I’m pregnant.
I shake my head. “Let’s just stay here.”
He clears his throat, shifting on his feet. “I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable. I want you to be able to sleep.”
I reach into my pocket for the credit card he never took back. “I’m fine.”
His jaw tics. He looks down at the card in my hand before reluctantly nodding.
I walk over to the clerk. “We’ll take the room, please.”
He rings us up before finally handing us two room keys. We walk to the elevator, riding up to the fifth floor in silence. When we get to the room, he slides the key in the slot and opens the door for me. I walk in, surprised to find one king-size bed and simple, modern decor.
There’s only one bed.
He drops the duffel bag on the side of the bed closest to the door.
“You want to shower?” he asks.
I do, but I don’t have a change of clothes. When I ran from Michael, I barely had time to grab my shoes.
“You go first,” I tell him.
He nods, grabbing some clothes out of the bag. I curl up on the bed, listening to the sound of the shower.
A few minutes later, I blink when he walks back out, shirtless.
Oh my.
He places his clothes over the hanging rack in the closet before turning to me.
“Shower’s yours,” he says.
I sit up on the bed, debating how to respond.
Maybe I stink.
I stand up, moving toward the bathroom. He lies on the bed, grabbing the remote. I step into the bathroom to see a folded-up army-green sweatshirt on the countertop with the letters USMC stitched across the front.