For the second time in a week, I was leaving in the middle of the night. 

My legs throbbed with each thumping heartbeat, and with each one, I got angrier and angrier. I'd pushed through the pain, letting it propel me the dark four miles to the Greyhound station on the outskirts of Crown Creek. And with the last bit of money I'd somehow had the foresight to secret away from my parents and the greedy, grubbing hands of the Elders, I'd bought a one-way ticket to New York City. 

Now I was on a slightly stinky, and dizzy-making bus, bumping and jostling my way through the night. My entire life, I had never left Crown Creek. Now, each passing mile was the farthest I had ever been from home. But I was too exhausted to think about this for very long. The bus's sway was lulling me as the last bits of adrenaline ebbed away, leaving me desperately sleepy. 

Click.

My eyes snapped back open. There was that noise again. The man in the seat diagonally ahead of me had spent the past twenty minutes playing with a deadly looking folding knife. He'd flick it open and then twirl it lazily in his fingers before, click, he snapped it back shut again. 

I stiffened and sat up straighter, glancing over at him warily. His wildly unkempt gray hair was corralled underneath a battered leather cap and he wore the leather vest I'd come to associate with the men who drank all day at the Crown Tavern, leered at me when Beau wasn't looking, and then headed out to their shiny motorcycles to shatter the peace and quiet with their loud engines. I quailed against the window, hoping he hadn't seen me looking at him. 

I shifted in my seat, trying to find a comfortable way to hold my injured legs. As I moved around, I hissed as I inadvertently sat on my braid yet again, yanking my head back. The sting of it getting torn out at the roots along my forehead brought tears to my eyes and for a second I just wanted to give in to the tears. To curl up into a ball and feel sorry for myself. "Goddammit," I moaned, hugging my arms around my chest. But swearing held no power anymore. I reached back and lifted my heavy braid again in sudden irritation. I'd worn this braid every day of my life. It was a mark that set me apart from the world. It told everyone in Crown Creek that I was Chosen, that I belonged to that weird, secretive cult they'd all heard about. I stiffened just thinking of the word, having spent a lifetime being conditioned to reject it. But isn't that exactly what the Chosen was? A cult that brainwashed its believers into accepting corporal punishment for the sin of... .singing?

I yanked the tie off the end of the braid and then hastily combed my fingers through my hair, letting it fall loosely around me. I didn't want to ever be marked as Chosen again. Without the heavy braid tugging at my scalp, I felt freer. A headache I'd been living with my whole life suddenly eased.

But the bus was overly warm. And my hair clung to me as hot and itchy as a wool blanket. It hung down in front of my face when I leaned forward, a curtain to hide me from the world. 

I didn't want to be hidden anymore. 

Click. The biker's penknife flicked again. I jumped, and as I did my hair got twisted in the zipper of the secular jacket I had unearthed from my mother's sewing pile before she could cut it up for a quilt. "Shit," I hissed as another small clump along my hairline was torn out at the roots. Wearing it loose was even worse than wearing a braid. Angrily, I reached back and braided it back up again. And then I mustered up all of my courage and leaned forward. "Hey? Excuse me?" 

The biker turned and for the first time, I saw his eyes. They were kind. "You need somethin'?"

"Could I?" I swallowed. I was done letting other people make me feel bad without my permission. I wasn't scared of him, or anyone. "Borrow that knife for a second?"

He looked down at it, and then back up at me, and then shrugged. 

Then he watched me take it and slice off my braid. 

Instantly the weight was gone. I breathed a sigh of relief, and then whooped out loud. "Oh my God!" I breathed as I reached up to touch my hair, now swinging along my jawline. "I'm free."

The biker glanced up. "Better?" he asked. 

I held it up, that thick ratty rope holding me down. Anchoring me to a life I was done with. "Yes," I breathed. So much better. I extended my hand and looked at it, wrinkling my nose. "I want to throw it out the window. “

"Nah, keep it." The biker sniffed and then snorted up something into a handkerchief before continuing. "You gotta always move forward, but sometimes it's nice to look back and see how far you've come."

I blinked. "You're right."

"Fuckin' A," he agreed. "Can I have my knife back now, miss?"

"Oh!" I handed it back to him. "Thank you."

He gave me another look that lasted so long I felt some of my fear of him creeping back in. Until he suddenly nodded again. "It suits you."

I looked out the darkened window and absently raked my fingers through it, marveling at how smooth and untangled it was. "I'm glad you think so." I thought of Beau and how he'd wrapped my braid in his hands before kissing me and a sudden pang of regret made me tuck my braid back into my purse. I closed my eyes and tried to picture his reaction when I saw him. 

Several hours later, I suddenly jerked back awake from a jumbled and restless sleep. I blinked, and then blinked again, then rubbed my eyes to make sure I wasn't still dreaming. All around, glass towers jutted into the sky. Buildings loomed skyward like the walls of a canyon, and the bus was part of a river of cars that flowed along the canyon floor. And all around us were people. So, so many people.

Panic clawed at my throat, but I had to be sure. "Excuse me?" I leaned over to the biker again. "Where are we?"

He blinked up from the doze I'd startled him from and looked out the window. "Henry Hudson Parkway, looks to be. Gonna be at the Port Authority soon." He shuffled around, gathering up a surprising amount of bags. "Hey, thanks for waking me up, kid."

But I was still confused. "Henry Hudson Parkway in..." I hesitated.

A flash of sympathy crossed his face. "New York, kid."

"New York City?" I stared out the window, feeling faint. "This is New York City? It's huge!"

"That's a true statement, right there."

He went back to gathering up his things, leaving me to gape out the window. Somewhere, in this massive, bustling city, Beau was playing music with his siblings. But I had no idea where to look for him. I had no idea who even to ask or when he was leaving again. 

I closed my eyes and silently cursed myself and my stupid, sheltered naïveté in thinking I could simply hop on a bus to New York City and immediately walk out and find Beau again. I was a fool. And now, thanks to the bus ticket here, I was a broke, penniless fool. 

It killed me to know that somewhere in this city was the man I loved. But he'd be leaving soon, and I was trapped here with no money and no way of letting him know I had come for him. 

I was never going to see him again.