Isolated

Chapter 69

Chapter 69

On our way to Washington, we slept in foreign hotel beds every night. I suppose being back in one was fitting. With the tan comforter draped over my lap, I was just as scared and paranoid as I had been during our hellish time on the road.

Perched with an ice pack and towels lodged between my back and the headboard, I mindlessly stared at the black-screen TV across from my bed. The room was dark. Everything was still and calm. A long curtain covered the window to my right, blocking out most of the morning light. The thick fabric ruffled slightly from the active heater below the window, humming away as the only sound in the room.

Quiet, dark.... A great sleeping environment, isn't it? That was kind of the point. In the matching queen bed to my left, Francis managed falling asleep. Lucky. Trust me, I tried. I tried falling asleep. Being up all night into morning, I was exhausted. Even after a hot shower though, I couldn't relax enough to sleep. Partially because I was so damn sore.

From where I was propped up, my wet hair dripped. It slowly soaked against my shirt and the towel around my neck. I didn't mind. My head hurt and the water helped. The ice in a baggie propped against the side of my head helped too. The rest of my body had a tougher time. The ice pack on my back wasn't as effective. Nor were the scattered patches along my arms, legs, and feet. Annoying stinging sensations traveled through my head, throat, and nose. Jesus. Where was Francis's weed?

That wasn't the only reason I couldn't sleep. My mind was racing. The reality of everything was slowly sinking in – and it was too freaking depressing to deal with. Though I was alone, and able to process, I did not want to. Instead, I tried focusing on other things. Like checking the clock on the table between the beds.

The red numbers stood out in the dark. It was 9:40am. My hair was slowly drying. I fiddled with my patched hands over the covers. 10:12. The wait was killing me. 10:25, 11:13, 11:49. By the time it was noon, my mind was racing with all the insane possibilities. Did something go wrong? Why wasn't Jackson back yet with Luke?

Being cautious and safe was important. Considering Luke was being monitored, it meant everything for Jackson to be careful. You can't blame me though for feeling anxious. More than anything right now, I wanted to see him. I wanted to see my man. I wanted him safe and away from those killer's filthy eyes. And it did not make me feel good to remember how reluctant Jackson was to help.

Yes, that's right. Let's rewind a few hours, guys.

When Jackson pulled into the driveway, he initially showed he had some form of a heart. The second Francis and I walked out of the house, Jackson rushed out of the truck. His eyes radiated concern. Racing over, he wrapped an arm around my back. Strangely enough, he pulled me closer too, as if to hug me. It was weird, something we knew would be awkward. That's why last minute, he stopped himself, and instead guided me into the truck. Though I was happy he restricted his emotions, he at least showed care.

After we got on the road though, he remained straight-faced with only the occasional glance of worry. Though he was presenting his usual stone manner again, I didn't expect to run into a wall when I began updating him.

I told him the psychopaths were watching Luke. That they probably knew where every one of us lived. He understood, and we immediately started driving in search of a lowkey motel. However, when it came to getting Luke away from the people watching him, he wasn't on board. Can you guess the bullshit he spewed on me?

"It's too late. Our best bet would be to stay away from him. He will lead them to us."

Familiar... wasn't it folks? Talk about having massive fucking balls. I could have blown a damn hole through the truck roof. When he said that, all I could do was stare daggers at him from the passenger seat. I still cannot believe he said that.