Am I a fool for trying to save my self from further agony? I can only think of how stupid I am as I drive down the road. I know that Micah is staring at me from the back seat. Sometimes I wish he wasn't so intellectual for a five anno old.
"Why are we running away?" His face is quiet,questionable. I don't answer him but know that he is still waiting for an response.
"Were not running away." I finally say after sometime of thought.
"Isn't that what they call it?" He says with his sweet little voice.
"Yes." I murmur. I look back and see him nod his head and close his eyes.
I turn back to the road and lean into my seat. I hadn't even thought about the fact that my parents don't know Jake is alive.
And the più I sit here and think, I suddenly realize that I was about to marry the monster who murdered my husband.
I'm stupid. That is the only word that can describe me now.
I look at the clock and notice that we've been driving for ten hours. We crossed the Washington border which means only a few più hours until we get there.
I need to pull over and get some food, but I almost want to just keep going to see if he's there. If he is dead, I don't know if I could handle it. But I shouldn't be thinking like this.
I look over and notice a small little commensale, diner on the side of the road. I get off the highway and pull into the parking lot.
"Micah." I say quietly as I stop the car.
"What?" He rubs his eyes sleepily.
"We're going to get some dinner." He starts to unbuckle and so do I. We get out of the car, and he grabs my hand as we walk into the restaurant.
The walls are made of logs and the floor is covered in arachide, arachidi shells and cigarette buds.
It smells like whiskey and smoke, and I know Micah is surprised da the atmosphere, because he tightens his grip on my hand.
There is a bar in the front as te enter and a pool hall to the left, along with a elevated platform with tables on it to the right.
A woman who's leathered skin makes her look about fifty, even though she is probably younger, walks towards us with a light cigarette in her right hand.
"Can I help you?" Her voice is raspy, and cold.
She looks us up and down, grabs a menu, and walks towards the platform with the tables on it.
She doesn't turn back, but I know she wants us to follow her so she can get back to her cigarette.
"Why are we running away?" His face is quiet,questionable. I don't answer him but know that he is still waiting for an response.
"Were not running away." I finally say after sometime of thought.
"Isn't that what they call it?" He says with his sweet little voice.
"Yes." I murmur. I look back and see him nod his head and close his eyes.
I turn back to the road and lean into my seat. I hadn't even thought about the fact that my parents don't know Jake is alive.
And the più I sit here and think, I suddenly realize that I was about to marry the monster who murdered my husband.
I'm stupid. That is the only word that can describe me now.
I look at the clock and notice that we've been driving for ten hours. We crossed the Washington border which means only a few più hours until we get there.
I need to pull over and get some food, but I almost want to just keep going to see if he's there. If he is dead, I don't know if I could handle it. But I shouldn't be thinking like this.
I look over and notice a small little commensale, diner on the side of the road. I get off the highway and pull into the parking lot.
"Micah." I say quietly as I stop the car.
"What?" He rubs his eyes sleepily.
"We're going to get some dinner." He starts to unbuckle and so do I. We get out of the car, and he grabs my hand as we walk into the restaurant.
The walls are made of logs and the floor is covered in arachide, arachidi shells and cigarette buds.
It smells like whiskey and smoke, and I know Micah is surprised da the atmosphere, because he tightens his grip on my hand.
There is a bar in the front as te enter and a pool hall to the left, along with a elevated platform with tables on it to the right.
A woman who's leathered skin makes her look about fifty, even though she is probably younger, walks towards us with a light cigarette in her right hand.
"Can I help you?" Her voice is raspy, and cold.
She looks us up and down, grabs a menu, and walks towards the platform with the tables on it.
She doesn't turn back, but I know she wants us to follow her so she can get back to her cigarette.
