“Where are you going? You can’t just leave! Carson, get back here and talk to me!” I could hear him yelling even louder as I ran down the street, but I didn’t stop. I have to get away; I can’t stay here any longer.

My phone started vibrating in my coat pocket. I knew who it would be, and he was the last person I wanted to talk to.

I’ve been running for about fifteen minutes, so I slow to a walk and get my phone out. If the circumstances were different, this would be my normal routine. Run fifteen minutes; walk five. Tonight, though, is different. I was running away. Away from him. Away from her. Away from the damage they had caused me and starting anew.

My name is Carson Randolph. Two days ago, I walked into the apartment that I was renting with my now ex-boyfriend, where I caught him screwing another girl. We’d been together for three years, and just like that what we had was gone. I’ve been on the road for at least ten hours. Driving cross-country by yourself isn’t very fun. No matter what I do, I can’t seem to get Brent and that girl out of my mind – even with my music cranked up as loud as it is. My best friend, Jenna, is the only one who knows what happened and that I am coming home.

I didn’t dare tell my parents; I already know exactly what they will say. I could hear and see them now when I walk into their front door tomorrow afternoon.

“What are you doing here? Where is Brent? Why didn’t you call us?” There questions surround my entire being, and I don’t know where to start this story with them.

I would never be ready to tell them the truth. Tell them that they were always right about Brent, and that I wish I would’ve listened.

Thinking about my parents and how I was going to tell them made time go faster, so fast that I hadn’t even realized I had crossed the Illinois border and failed to call Jen like she had requested.

Looking around, I see a sign up ahead that has fast food restaurants listed as well as a bed and breakfast type of place. It would be perfect for the night, so I switch lanes art at exit ramp. I would get food and stay the night, then get up early tomorrow morning and back on the road. Maybe.

I pull into the parking lot for the small bed and breakfast. Getting out of my car, I stop and stretch a little before going in.

 “Hello, there!” An elderly woman greeted me when I walked inside.

“Hi,” I replied.

“What can I do for you, sweet pea?”

“I’m hoping you have a room available?”

“Well, I’m sure we do. Let me just check. How long were you wanting to stay?”

I stop and think. “Can you do a week?” Maybe I won’t leave tomorrow after all.

“Oh. Well, we normally don’t do more than a few days, but I suppose it won’t hurt. We don’t get many visitors this time of year, and we have four rooms still available. I just need your name for the reservation and how you wish to pay.”

“Carson Randolph, and debit card.”

“Well, Carson. Your room number will be 5A. It is up the steps, third door on the left.”

“Thank you. I’ll be right back, let me go get my bag from my car.”

“Oh, no problem. You just take your time. Dinner will be ready at 6:30 p.m.”

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