Chapter Three 797

Chapter Three

Edward

Light coming through the thin curtains wakes me, and I blink as my eyes adjust to the brightness. Turning my back on the window, I grab my phone off the nightstand and check the time. It’s early—just after 6am—but as much as I’d like to close my eyes and go back to sleep, I still have a long way to travel today.

I stretch out my legs, and my feet slip off the end of the bed. The sheet slides down my torso to my hips, and I reluctantly throw it off me, then sit up. Yawning, I stretch again and get to my feet, then shuffle off to the bathroom to freshen up. The cool AC on my bare skin raises goosebumps, and after I’m finished in the bathroom, I pull on a fresh set of clothes and gather all of my things together.

After doing one last sweep of the room, I remove the keycard from the slot by the door and leave. Shutting the door behind me, I stop by the receptionist’s window to drop off the card and check out. The young woman from the previous night is gone, and a middle-aged man is sitting behind the window, with a cup of coffee that’s steaming up the glass.

“Hey,” I say, getting his attention, “I’m checking out of room five. ”

“Keycard?” he asks without looking up from his phone.

I slide it to him, and he looks at the number and taps a few keys on the keyboard.

“Thanks for staying at Riverview Motel,” he drones out in a rehearsed and lifeless tone.

Smiling thinly, I nod and head toward my car. I unlock it and pop the trunk. Slinging my bag inside with the rest of my stuff, I shut it firmly before making my way around to the driver’s side and sliding in behind the wheel. Before I turn on the ignition, I fire off a quick text to my mom to let her know I’m leaving, and then set up the navigation so I can check my route.

Once everything is done and I’m ready, I turn the key and the engine roars to life. With a sigh, I reverse out of my space and rejoin the highway, beginning the next leg of my journey home. I’m more than halfway there, and if I hadn’t been so tired from the late night with Jenny, followed by several hours of driving, I probably would’ve completed the journey in one stretch.

However, I know better than to drive when I’m tired and unfocused, and Mom would never let me hear the end of it if she knew or if something happened while I was en-route. In every other aspect of my life I’m not really one to play it safe, but since I lost my childhood friend in a car accident a few years ago, I’ve been more careful—Jackson crashed his car into a lamppost while driving tired, killing him instantly and sending his girlfriend to the hospital. It’s better to break the journey up and stay safe than take stupid risks.

Shaking those dark thoughts from my mind, I focus on the road ahead, and crank up my music again until my ears are vibrating with the heavy beat. The pulsing rhythm and the scream of the vocalist into the microphone pours from the speakers, giving me energy and getting my blood racing.

Switching into fifth, I press a few buttons on the wheel to set the cruise control and let the world rush by. The minutes turn into hours, and after stopping briefly to fill up with gas and grab a bite to eat, I continue the long drive back home. It’s late afternoon when I start to recognize various landmarks and see familiar towns on the road signs. I’m getting close now, and as I turn off the highway and begin making my way through the smaller towns, a sense of trepidation starts to flow through me.

It’s been nearly six months since I last came home. I’d made enough excuses for my absence and lack of visiting over the past two years, that Mom and Dad eventually stopped asking when I would come home to see them. I hadn’t outright lied to them, I did have studying to do, and it was a long way to travel for just a weekend, even if I did choose to fly. The truth is, I didn’t want to face my feelings, and I didn’t want to face them.

Denial is a powerful thing, tell yourself something enough times and you’ll start to believe it. For me, it didn’t quite work out so successfully. Jenny was proof of that. I tried to convince myself that I didn’t care about what—or rather, who —I’d left behind, but it didn’t exactly pan out how I’d hoped. I’m just as stuck as I was when I left home at the beginning of the first semester, only now I’m six semesters in and fuck all has changed. I’m still just as lovestruck as I was when I left, but it’s far more complex than I’d ever admit, even to her .