I’ve always been a good girl. Even buzzed, I’m careful to behave. Years of being an only daughter raised in a strict religious household have ingrained it in me. And maybe it was that lack of structure, of authority, when I drifted free in my twenties that led me to this unprecedented situation.
It’s dark. It’s late. My ass is sore, because I’ve been sitting in a car for four days. And at night, there’s always his hand to leave it red in a new hotel room. It’s going on eighteen hours of sleeplessness and driving has become dangerous. That’s why we stopped at this rest stop, eighteen-wheelers lined up along the front, the truckers asleep or otherwise occupied inside because it’s three AM on a hot summer night. I can barely keep my eyes open under the trees, and next to me, a tall man is holding me up while we sit on an uncomfortable picnic bench.
“You said you would,” he says.
So tired. My head swims trying to find an excuse. Knowing he doesn’t tolerate hearing no. “That was hours ago. It’s not private here. There might be snakes in the grass…” Desperate, I throw them all out.