Chapter Sixteen

Chase

Standing in the bathroom, leaning in front of the sink, I stare at my reflection in the cracked mirror.

A man with sunburned skin, a mustache, and the beginnings of a golden beard, creating an uneven fringe on his jaw, stares back at me.

I run my fingers over my lips and chin, noting that it’s the thickest layer of hair I’ve ever had on my face.

It felt uncomfortable at first, itchy even, but I’ve gotten used to it, almost like a second skin. It’s time to get rid of it, though.

Grabbing the shaving kit I purchased earlier from the cover of the toilet tank, I get the tube of shaving cream from inside, squeezing a generous amount on my palm. Putting the tube down, I rub it on both palms, spreading the cool, minty paste over the lower half of my face. I massage the cream into my skin, letting it linger for a few seconds. Then I pick up the razor and start shaving.

The icy blade glides across my skin with careful precision, the white-coated strands of hair falling on the sink clump by clump.

As I shave, my eyes fixed on the mirror, my thoughts dwell on the past several weeks.

So much has happened. I became a farmhand. I learned how to graze cattle, to milk cows. I cleaned stables. I made fences. I helped sheep give birth. I fed little lambs. I dried hay. I survived a tornado. I fixed pipes and windows. I slept in a barn.

And most importantly, I fell in love with Lauren.

What I told her isn’t a lie. I meant it.

In a short amount of time, she’s made me feel things I’ve never felt before, realize things I’ve never known.

It’s precisely why I have to do this.

Right now, I’m a nobody. I have no IDs, no credit cards. I have no family. I have no car to my name. Heck, I’m not even supposed to be alive.

I’m powerless. I have no weapon and no allies. I don’t even have a certainty of what I’m up against. I could very well end up dead.

I am not in a good position to fight but now, more than ever, I have a reason.

The pile on the sink grows, my skin becoming more visible. When I’m done, I tap the razor on the side of sink then turn the faucet on, watching as the water washes the entire pile down the drain. I lift my head to stare at my reflection once more, running my fingers over my chin. It feels smooth now. It feels clean. It feels new.

I feel new.

No. I feel like the old Chester again, the real Chester.

I put away the shaving supplies and go back outside to the room.

Lauren is still asleep, her arm draped over the pillow that has my scent and my residual body heat, the one I’ve given her as my substitute when I carefully got out of bed.

She’s sleeping soundly, maybe even snoring, though I don’t hear it because of the rain pouring outside, its large drops splattering against the window pane like bullets. Her hair, though a mess, gleams under the light of the lamp. Her curved eyelashes create a veil over her quivering eyelids. From beneath the quilt, I can glimpse the top of her breasts, her chest rising and falling with her slow, even breathing.

Suddenly, she stirs, snuggling against the pillow. The corners of her lips arc up to form a smile.

A smile.

Her smile, peaceful and content, makes her face even more radiant and beautiful in spite of the disarray she is in. It takes my breath away. It should have made me smile, too. But it doesn’t.

Instead, my chest tightens, clamping under the weight of my decision and pulling my head and shoulders down. Outside, a bolt of lightning sheds its light on the floor and I feel something inside me split open. Thunder claps, eclipsing the sound of my heart shattering to pieces.

Truth be told, I’d rather stay cooped up in this room with Lauren. Better yet, I’d rather run away with her to some place no one has heard of, where no one knows who we are. But I can’t. I have to set things right.

I have to take my life back, to sort out my past. Only then can I start a life with Lauren, share a future with her.

And I have to do it alone. I may not have been able to stop her from leaving the ranch but I refuse to drag her into my mess any further. I refuse to put her in harm’s way.

True, she’ll feel hurt when she wakes and finds I’ve gone. She’ll probably hate me and that thought makes me want to punch myself. But at least, she’ll be alive.

She’ll be safe. And that’s all that matters.

Swallowing the lump in my throat, I reach for the notepad on the nightstand and begin scribbling a letter.

I know she might not even read it. Even if she does, there’s no guarantee she’ll understand me, much less forgive me. She might choose to forget me. That’s fine.

I say goodbye, though it certainly hurts to say it, my fingers quivering as I pause to take a deep breath, the tip of the pen hovering over the piece of paper.

Somehow, I manage to finish the letter. I put it back on the nightstand beside the notepad, moving the clock on top of it to keep it in place. Then I slowly open the first drawer to retrieve my wallet, taking out most of my bills and folding them, placing them beside the note I’m leaving.

I know Lauren left the house with no money so these should be enough for her to pay for gas and to get home, maybe even buy a decent breakfast before leaving.

I slip my nearly empty wallet into the back pocket of my pants then go to the corner. Sitting on the chair, I put on my shoes, the sound of the downpour drowning out the sounds I’m making – the shuffling of feet and the rustling of clothes. Then I stand up, grabbing my jacket and then my backpack.

I put them on, standing over the bed.

Lauren is still asleep, probably having a good dream, completely oblivious to what I’m about to do.

I want to run my fingers through her ebony hair one last time, to plant a kiss on her soft cheek. But I don’t. I can’t risk waking her.

Instead, I lift my fingers to my lips and blow her a kiss, hoping the one I’ve left behind, still visible as a reddish patch on her skin, will remind her of me.

Turning off the lamp, I drag myself to the door. If I linger for a minute more, I may not be able to leave, my mind already screaming for me to stay.

Why do I have to find the perfect woman only to have to walk away from her?

I ignore the voice in my head and the prick in my heart, reaching for the doorknob and turning it slowly. It opens and I slip out, out of the relatively safety of the motel room where the woman I love is sleeping innocently into the darkness of the deepest night, into the pouring rain, back into the world of Chester Donahue.