By the time I’m finished hacking my hair off, it’s chin length and looks like shit, but I feel satisfied. I pack my stuff along with the letter my mom wrote to Evan. I grab a stash of cash from under my mattress, the one my father gave me for emergencies. Then I get in my car and drive away from the house I grew up in, never looking back, as if the last fourteen hours haven’t happened. I’ll turn it all off. That is my goal as I drive down the road toward the bus station.
It’s a pretty far drive since we live in the more rural, rich area of town, and by the time I pull into the parking lot, the sun is coming up. I leave my keys in the car since I won’t need them. Then I grab my suitcase from the trunk and go inside the bus station.
As I walk by people, I wonder if anyone can see what I am. What I’ve done. Can they see the blood on my hands? No one seems to be alarmed, yet I still feel nervous as I cautiously walk up to the counter to buy a ticket.
When the cashier asks me where I want to go, I tell him, “Anywhere.”
He gives me a confused look, like he has no idea what to do. “I’m sorry, but I need a destination.”
I blow out a breath and think of the first place that comes to mind. “Do you have any buses going to Great Falls, Montana?”
He types something on his computer. “There’s one headed in that direction in about an hour. There’s quite a few stops, though.”
“Sold,” I say without missing a beat.
Montana is far. Rural. An unlikely place for me to pick. And it just happens to be the address of the letter. I’m not sure if I’ll find this Evan man or if that’s even the point, but it might be a start to trying to figure out who the hell I am. Who the hell my mother was.
After I pay for the ticket, I briefly consider asking the cashier guy if he’ll come screw me in the bathroom. He’s not bad looking at all, just a little preppy for my taste, and I need to relax somehow. I could do it again, just like with Layton.
Layton.
Pain crushes my chest, and after staring at the cashier guy long enough that I make him uncomfortable, I end up walking away for reasons I can barely comprehend. I take a seat on one of the benches, waiting to get on the bus. While I’m watching people wander around, searching the crowd for signs of the Defontelles, my phone goes off in my pocket. It rings on and off for five minutes, but I ignore it until a text comes through. I check it, and no surprise, it’s from my father.
Dad: I’m okay, Lolita. On my way home. Stay there until I get there and please call me. I know you must have questions about everything.
I read the message over five times, and with each time, I grow angrier. Everything. I want to ask him exactly what he means by everything. About his debt. About my mother. About why Layton thinks he’s a liar. And why the hell he got me into this mess after all those years of protecting me.
Finally, I throw my phone into the trash bin. The last connection to my home is now gone. It gives me a little sense of peace. I wonder if Layton’s doing the same thing. If he’s erasing his identity. For the briefest moment, I think about pulling my phone out of the garbage and calling him, just to make sure he got away okay, but in the end, I don’t. I can’t bring myself to do so. And deep down, I know he probably won’t answer.
Therefore, I wait for the bus, and when it’s time to board, I do so without looking back, leaving everything behind, knowing I can never be Lola or Lolita again.