Ohio Isn't Forever

t w e l v e

"Why are they staring at me?" I asked Rob.

We had long since left the trucker, who surprisingly didn't ask anymore questions when we flat out explained our situation to him. He just said he was once a teenager, and that was all we managed to get out of him. Rob's trust in him was surprisingly much better than his trust in Ramona. When I asked him why, he simply said:

"Truckers are cool guys."

Now, we were walking through an area that we had not one single clue about. We weren't even aware of the time, because our phones were dead, and we hadn't had a place to charge them. A lot of guys kept staring at me who were out and about at that time, and it just made me plain out uncomfortable. Maybe it was the bruises on my forehead, but that was impossible because I had found a way to cover them with my hair.

"It's probably because you're attractive, but seriously, keep walking. They might recognize us." Rob muttered, grabbing my arm and picking up the pace.

I rolled my eyes. "Where the hell do you suppose we go?" I asked him.

"Well I remembered last night that I have a distant cousin who lives up here, but the chances of him taking us in are slim. Not to mention he's probably more than likely in jail by now."

I scoffed. "Jail? For what?"

"He's a really screwed up guy, but he's doing surprisingly well for himself in other aspects like keeping his bills paid and being able to afford his own car. He has anger issues, and the littlest things set him over the edge."

"There's no way we're staying with some psychotic freakazoid." I snapped.

"What other choices do we have?"

"Several, and they don't have to involve him!"

"His name's George Miller, and we're finding him." Rob said in a tone that left no room for arguments.

I snorted. "Alright, alright, we'll find your redneck psycho cousin, but just how do you suppose we do. Do you have his number?"

"No, and its not safe to use our phones. The cops could easily track us."

He had a point, and I had forgotten that risk.

"So what do we do?"

"He works at a steakhouse up here in Louisville." Rob said.

"That's where we are?" I asked.

"Yeah."

There were probably like 5000 different steakhouses, and I was going to punch Rob if he didn't know which.

"Do you know exactly which one." I asked.

"Yeah, Jeff Ruby's." Rob said.

I breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank God, I mean-"

"What're you kids doing? This is private property!" a voice said.

Our heads snapped up, and I realized we had actually walked onto someone's yard, not paying attention at all. A older man squinted at us, waiting for a response.

"Sorry," I said. "We're not from around here."

"I don't give two shits. Everybody 'round here knows this is my property, and you're gon' know to."

"Dude, relax. Who the hell are you anyways?" Rob smirked. I didn't see how he could be so unintimidated by the guy. He looked like he'd shoot us.

"I'm George Miller. Who the hell are you?"

We froze, unable to move.

We were on George Miller's property, and we had just pissed him off.