matchboxraev
He brought her her omelet the moment it was finished. Anything to spend more time with her. This one wasn't about a big tip, or just because the diner was in a slow muck. It was because she was something different altogether.
She cringed as she heard another plate crash to the floor. A bout of anger was overcoming him once again, and there was nowhere to hide, nowhere to run to. She couldn't leave without the fury being directed at her; but on the same token, she couldn't stay either. She was hostage to his ever-changing mood.
She pulled the car into park, and turned the key in the ignition. She hung her head, not ready to exit the safety of the car just yet. In here, everything was how it used to be. Out there, in that foreign motel, things would be oh so different. Sometimes change wasn't necessary. Maybe this was one of those times.
She grinned feebly, holding back a chuckle that she wanted to escape her lips. But it would draw attention to her, and she learned from day one that even the slightest attention would get you caught. Stay low, pass under the radar, be someone you're not as long as they don't know who you are.
She felt her heart not just shatter into pieces, but blast into them. Into something so corrupted and broken that it was forever irreparable. And it wasn't even him who'd done the damage. It was of her own accord.
"I'm eternally grateful," How many times had she heard that phrase? Only to be followed by the ever-so-false, "You won't regret this!" But she always did. Not once did she approve of the choice she made.
Wiping tears with the back of her hand, she forced herself up, knowing she had seconds to clean up the mess she'd created before she was caught. Sniffling loudly, she teetered over to the dresser, picking up broken shards and splintered wood that was strewn about everywhere. There was never enough time.
She wrung out the sopping sponge, hoping that all the trace bits of food found their way out with the dirty water. She was tired of this; of wiping plates clean, and smiling at customers that were nothing but rude. She was tired of the pleasant chatter that she always faked, and tired of the tips that never added up to enough.
She was all fancied up, like a Christmas tree in the wee days before the holiday. On her hung little ornaments and clothes that made her eyes twinkle. She felt pretty, just for one moment. Before she stepped outside the door, she glanced back in the mirror one last time. Before the harsh words of a once-lover crashed her view of herself to the floor.
Miles don't mean anything, or so they told her. She found the distance each one represented all-encompassing. Added up, they were infinite. She couldn't escape them. Their swirling complexity, and the inevitable end they'd lead to when she finally found herself at the end of the road.
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