Ridiculous: Mattory

20: Here I Am, Once Again

Mallory

I have an odd desire to burn the jeans I wore last night.

I shudder when I think of the note, that whoever had left it had slipped his hand into my pocket without me noticing. Suddenly I see all those letters I'd gotten over the months in a new light. Despite the differences in handwriting, now I was certain it was the same person.

I huff in frustration as I try to get the lock on my door to cooperate. It's old and a little rusted and no matter what I do it just won't lock tight.

"I just wanted to go out for lunch," I say out loud. There's no one there to hear me. With a sigh, I open my door back up and begin shoving my things back into my luggage with little grace. I wasn't very well going to leave everything I had with me in an unlockable hotel room. I wasn't going to sleep in an unlockable hotel room, either—especially not now—but there's no one at the front desk so I can't check out. I'd have to come back after lunch.

Why had I stayed instead of hitting the road first thing in the morning? That I couldn't even figure out myself.

My phone rings as I toss my suitcase in the trunk of my car. I pause to look at it, feeling my heart sink as once again it's Matt displayed on the screen, beside the little numbers that read1:52. I hang up with a tinge of annoyance. I went traveling to get away from him. How was I supposed to think straight with his presence constantly looming in the shadows?

Whatever was going to happen when I got home, it could wait until then.

I riffle through my purse and realize the charger for my phone is conspicuously absent. I don't remember unplugging it from the wall in the hotel room, so I lock my car again and head up to get it.

The phone rings again and I hang up once more. I retrieve my charger and stand in the middle of the room, glancing around again, to make sure I hadn't left anything else behind.

This time when the phone rings I groan before pulling it out, finding to my surprise that it reads Whitney instead. I do pick up this one.

It is decidedly not Whitney's voice that answers. "Mallory. Thank goodness."

"Matt," I start. "What are you doing?"

"Borrowing Whitney's phone because I knew you wouldn't pick up for me," he says sharply. "Where are you?"

"What's it to you?" I fire back.

"It's everything to me. Where are you?"

Something in his voice makes me tell him the truth. "Wyoming. Middle of nowhere, pretty much."

"Are you at a place called Yellow Lily Bed and Breakfast?"

My brows furrow. "How did you know?"

"Get out. Now."

"Matt, you're not making sense."

"I know I'm not making sense!" he shouts. "Just get out, far away as you can!"

"Why—"

"Please, Mal," he says, and the desperation in his voice is enough to get my feet unstuck from the floor. "If you've ever loved me, if you've ever trusted me, just get out of the damn hotel."

Whatever happened between us, I still trust him with my life. It's so far beyond the realm of unusual for him to actually swear that his words spur me out the door and down the stairs to the lobby. "What's going on?" I manage to get out.