Anyway, when I woke up after that first night in Utah, I had no idea what time it was, and I was afraid to look at the clock. I felt well-rested, and hadn't gotten to sleep until 8 that morning, so I figured it was at least 4pm. I didn't know what I'd have to do to get to sleep that night; probably drink myself into a stupor.
Or, if Reign was going to come by again, he might be able to help me get to sleep …
That thought, drowsy and dreamy, jolted me awake as soon as I'd fully processed it. Reign. Utah. The money. Jeremy. Oh shit. Oh shit. Oh shit!
What the fuck was I doing laying in this motel bed thinking about some motorcycle dude when Jeremy was probably after me by now, and I was probably wanted by the police for ditching that hotel room with the body in it? How could I possibly be thinking about sex?
Everything came back in a sickening rush. I let him take my fucking car … I'm such an idiot! Oh god, I'm such a stupid, stupid idiot! I've gotta get out of here!
All Reign's lovely words and heartfelt promises from the night before now fell to the floor, as useless as clothes had been twelve hours prior. It was like waking up from some strange coma where I'd been fully aware of what I was doing for hours, but which no longer seemed to be real. There was no way I'd done that. Any of it. Not the drinking, not the cigarette, not the sex, not the long hours of talking afterwards. Not only was that just not me … it was fucking dangerous, and I couldn't be the sort of person who engaged in that activity.
But what sort of person was I, then? Did I even know? Could I even answer that question honestly? Not really … I'd been Jeremy's person, his property, for so long that I didn't have my own person anymore.
I jumped out of bed like I'd slept through my alarm, the same panicky heart-racing feeling amplified by a thousand. My eyes darted around the room, seeing everything but not making sense of anything. All I had were the clothes I'd worn to work, my gym clothes, and my uniform.
Thoughtlessly, I threw on my jeans and the tank top I usually worked out in; it was form-fitting and a little dirty but I didn't care. I hadn't even stopped to put my panties back on. Once dressed, I felt a little better. But I still didn't have anywhere to go, or any idea what to do.
What had Reign said the night before? He wouldn't be up until 9? That left … four hours, I realized, finally looking at the clock. Four hours without my car keys, with no place to go …
Maybe I can break into the car and hotwire it, I thought, then realized how stupid an idea that was. For one thing, I had no idea how to hotwire a car. And, for another, if I just waited a little while I could just drive away with my keys … but the waiting, that seemed like unbearable torture. I knew that just sitting in the room would be hard enough, with my mind racing with constant thoughts of Jeremy and the police and all the trouble I'd be in.
Okay, okay, okay, I thought to myself, closing my eyes and willing my heartrate to go back to normal, my racing mind to slow down and be logical. There has to be something I can do …
As I focused on my breathing, I was surprised to feel myself actually calming down. A word seemed to emerge in my thoughts, repeating over and over, a word that I hadn't thought of in years. Something that I'd picked up in college, before I'd met Jeremy, taking a course on Eastern Philosophy. I'd been very into meditation then, and had latched onto ham-sah as my mantra of choice.
But I hadn't meditated in years, at least not since before my marriage. Life as Jeremy's wife had taken that sense of peace and surety out of me. Now, I almost wanted to cry as I felt myself slipping into a calmer state, the world around me no longer spinning dizzyingly out of control.
I control my own fate, I thought, the words sounding far-off in my brain. I can do whatever I want.
It was so strange, to be in that hotel room, in what was arguably the most dangerous situation of my life, and still be able to find solace engaging in a practice that I'd dropped so long ago. But it was just like everything else that I'd felt since leaving Colorado; I was coming back to myself. I was indulging in the things that made me who I was. I was letting myself meet myself again, brand new and ready to leave everything behind.
Let's take a walk, I suddenly thought, the words now sharp and clear against the stillness of my mind as I meditated. My eyes opened on their own, as though my brain was yielding to some greater part of me that knew best. Just as my eyes seemed to open independently of my telling them to, my legs moved me towards the door. As the trance-like effects of meditating wore off, I glanced at the clock once more and was shocked to see an entire half hour had passed by, though it felt like I'd only closed my eyes for five minutes.
Only three and a half hours to go, I thought, banking entirely on Reign's promise that he'd sleep until 9. I should have gotten his phone number, I thought, realizing just how silly it was that I hadn't; I wasn't planning on risking my safety by turning my phone back on and potentially cluing Jeremy in to my whereabouts, but there was a phone in the room and I could have used it to call him.
But this time, when I thought about this lapse in judgement, I didn't feel like a worthless piece of shit, which was generally how screwing up in any way made me feel. Instead, I felt like a normal person who'd made a mistake and didn't need to commit seppuku over it.
I opened the door and immediately had to shield my eyes from the brightness outside. It had been so dark in the hotel room, my eyes ached as I blinked into the sun. The air was dry and hot, the desert stretching out for miles in all directions, mountains ranging across the distance. It was gorgeous, really, with that sort of sad, desolate beauty that only exists amongst the sagebrush and red rock.
The bar was circled entirely by motorcycles once more, all of them parked and gleaming in the sun. A few men stood outside smoking; they didn't seem to see me. For the first time, I looked at the buildings that made up the actual motel, wondering how many other people were staying there. Judging by the lack of cars in any of the designated parking spots, it seemed I was the sole visitor to the Ditcher's Valley Sun Lizard Motel and Bar.
The sign declaring the bar's name hadn't been lit up at all the night before, so this was my first look at it. The sign was well-worn and weathered, the shoddy paint peeling around the edges, a cartoonish iguana clad in a motorcycle jacket looking googly-eyed onto the main street. I walked towards the road and shaded my eyes once more, peering in the opposite direction of the bar.
The town seemed to have only the one street, and all I could make out in the baking heat was a glimmering parking lot, what looked like a gas station, and a building that could have been a bank. Assuming that my car was parked in the lot, I made my way towards it, no real plan as to what I'd do when I got there.
I was just following that idea that had popped into my head at the end of my meditation: take a walk. It beat the hell out of chewing my fingernails off in the motel room, and I wasn't feeling up to the task of going into the bar and asking a stranger to tell me where I could find Reign – and my car keys.
The entire town was no more than a mile long, and most of the businesses seemed to be shuttered and closed for good. I thought about what Reign had told me the night before; that the club essentially owned the town, including the police force. I wondered if the lack of economic vitality was a result of the club's dirty dealings, or an intentional façade to keep outsiders away.
The small municipal lot where my car was parked was dusty and lonely; my little Subaru looked out of place amongst the old vans and junkers that were its neighbors. Past the lot there was, indeed, a bank and a gas station, as well as a small grocery store, a repair shop, a dinky police station, and a library. A Harley store sat on the very end of the main street, after which there was nothing but miles of desert speckled with the occasional shack, trailer, or one-story house.
The side streets of the town all seemed to go nowhere, and the only other signs of habitation were a series of apartment buildings that fairly towered behind the grocery store. It was almost spooky in the town; there were few people out and about, and everyone seemed to be idling around with nothing to do.
I wondered where the hell people worked or what they did; there wasn't even a movie theater. I assumed, correctly as it would turn out, that pretty much everyone in town spent their nights at the bar, and that the main source of work was the club. Even the sleepy gas station attendant wore a leather jacket bearing the name of the Black Smoke MC.
I was floored by the fact that an entire town could be run by an illegal operation, fueled entirely by drug deals and criminal pursuits. It really was like the Wild West; I wondered if the FBI ever tried to intervene in the club's activities, or even had Ditcher's Valley on their radar.