One Week - By Nikki Van De Car Page 0,20

over to the board where the departure times are posted. “That's us,” he explains. “The California Zephyr. It leaves at the same time every day—11:49 a. m.. What time is it now?”

I look around until I see a clock on the wall behind us. “It's…oh God…it's a quarter after three.”

“So we've missed it. Yep.”

“What do you mean, yep?” I exclaim. “I've ceded control of this entire thing to you because I figured you had a plan, that you knew what time trains left and that we would be there in time!”

“I do know what time trains leave,” Jess says, very patiently. “And so I knew when we missed the bus that there was no way we would be here in time. There's a schedule to these things, right? Didn't you figure we'd miss the train?”

I swear to God, I want to kill him. “Obviously not!” My voice rises in panic, and people turn to stare at the squeaking girl. I shut up quickly, and hiss, “What are we going to do?”

Jess crosses his arms on his chest and gives me a calm look. “We're going to use some of that wad of cash you're carrying around and find another motel. Unless you want to sleep on a bench?” he inquires, gesturing over to what seems to be the section of the station reserved exclusively for sleeping homeless people.

“Fine,” I say through gritted teeth. “But you're paying for your own damn room tonight. You snore.”

“Only when I'm wasted,” Jess says cheerfully, hoisting his duffel across his shoulders like it's a wounded soldier. “I have heard these complaints before.”

All the motels within walking distance are pretty disgusting, but Jess insists we stay at what must be the worst of the lot. I pay for both rooms, since I owe him money anyway. He claims he needs to hoard the rest of what I owe him if he's going to travel with me, since I seem to “burn up both money and time like wildfire,” and that The Golden Cicada Motor Lodge had something called character that I would obviously know nothing about but should learn to appreciate.

If bedding that smells like pee equals character, I don't think I'm going to be appreciating it anytime soon.

Although, humiliatingly, I have to admit—I kind of smell like pee, too. I've been wearing this same pair of underwear for the past three days, and even though I showered yesterday, my shirt is rank and I don't have any deodorant. I turn on the shower—which has a moldy shower curtain, gross—and step under the water fully dressed. I use the entire bottle of Desert Rose shampoo/conditioner on me and my clothes and I still feel unclean. I hang my jeans and shirt up over the curtain rod to dry and sit naked in the middle of the bed eating my vending machine dinner and clicking through cable, most of which is in Spanish. I wonder what Jess is doing with his evening. Even though, obviously, I'm in no fit state to socialize.

* * *

I'm just starting to nod off when the yelling starts. As far as I can tell, it's coming from the room three doors down, and despite the volume, I can't really discern what it's about since all I can really hear is, “Fuck you, you fucking bitch” over and over again. I pull the pillow over my head, but it doesn't help. And then the woman screams.

I sit bolt upright. Should I call the cops? I scramble to the edge of the bed to grab my phone, when a door slams in the hallway and I hear the fight continuing outside. And it's clear that the woman is fine, and is in fact holding her own. The man is now whimpering, and I suppose that while I should technically still call the cops, I can't seem to muster up much sympathy for him.

I draw my knees up to my chest, shivering a little, though it isn't cold in the room. I glance at the clock on the nightstand, and it's after midnight. I know I should try to find the funny here—character, wasn't that the word Jess used? I'm sure he thinks this is all kinds of hilarious.

I decide to go across the hall. Jess can tell me that this is perfectly normal, and that I'm just a sheltered little rich girl, and we'll all feel much better. I reach over the curtain rod to grab my clothes, but they're still dripping. I try

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