It's the middle of the night. I'm exhausted, but I can't sleep no matter what I do. I flip over from side to side, doing the same with the pillow to get comfortable, but I can't sleep. So, I decided to ditch the bed and walk around my room (Davis' old room), checking out everything from big to small to get an idea of who Davis was or might still be. People change through the years. I changed overnight.
God doesn't love me. God isn't real.
By the looks of it, Davis was or still is obsessed with old-fashioned vehicles ranging from Corvettes, Firebirds, Mustangs, Fords, etc. You get the point. On the dark wood dresser, there are photographs in frames of what I believe are the parents who he mentioned earlier and, I guess, a brother who's definitely younger by a few years. There are also photos of Davis with a chestnut-colored horse with a beautiful long white mane and a white streak going down between its eyes and its nose. Next to those framed photos is a bible that looks worn out and used, but I don't touch it out of fear it'll fall apart if I do.
Davis welcomed a complete stranger into his home for the night, so it's only right if I keep my hands off of things that don't belong to me and respect what he's already offering.
Yawning into the palm of my hand, I sit on the edge of the bed, feeling tired again after walking around the bedroom for twenty minutes. I lay on my back, tucking myself under the blanket for comfort and security before closing my eyes to hopefully fall asleep this time, but suddenly, something falls off the wall right next to my head on the pillow. At first, I thought it was one of the posters, but its sound was too light and small. Opening my eyes with a frustrated sigh, I turn my neck to see the culprit that disturbed my rest: a piece of yellow notepad paper with red lines. Snatching the piece of paper with a curious mind, I also pull out the flashlight I found in the bedside table drawer while snooping. I click it on, and it flickers a few times as if running low on battery before it steadies and brightens the area around me on the bed. In bold, messy writing, it reads.
Fear not, for I am with you; be not dismayed, for I am your God; I will strengthen you, I will help you, I will uphold you with my righteous right hand. -Isaiah 41:10.
It was clear that Davis was a religious man the moment I met him at the door when he spoke to God, saying that he trusted Him, and even though I no longer believe it gives me a sort of peace knowing he may live by good morals and good intentions while inviting me into his home to stay until the storm passes. But while many people may take this bible verse as a sign that God is here in this room with me, I don't believe anymore. I can't believe it because this same God, who's telling me He's with me and will help me and give me strength through hard times, failed that night. He didn't protect me or my parents from those evil men. They killed them with a simple press of a trigger, and they kidnapped me off the street where my home sat and took me away to some old, abandoned garage just to play with me like I was some sick toy to them.
I wish I could have died that day.
Everything would have been simpler and so much better if they just picked up that gun and shot me to death. No one wants their worst nightmare to play in their head on repeat every single hour of the day and have the feeling of being unsafe around every man that gives off a bad vibe that looks like they would hurt you if you moved a single muscle in your body wrong. This is my life now, and I will never be able to get my past life back because of them. All six of them.
But when I met Davis, something felt different. Something in my gut told me I could trust him and would be safe if I stayed at his house. So, with that in mind, I should be able to sleep.
I am safe, and no one is going to hurt me. I am safe.
○○○
I didn't sleep a wink last night. I mean, I did, but with the constant nightmares, it gets harder each night. It's always the same dream about the moment my parents died, and I'm in my bedroom crying and screaming, and it's always my real voice when I wake up. It's frightening and scary to go back to sleep and have to go back to the beginning of where my life ended in Flint, Michigan. Though I'm not very sure where I'm at, at the moment, it's going to change when I get the chance to speak to Davis today. I've been on the run with nothing to eat or drink unless stolen for seven days. When I escaped from the hands of those five men, I never stopped running until I ended up here on Davis' farm-my safe haven.
When I hear Davis' voice coming from downstairs, I realize that he has company and it's probably his parents and younger brother visiting him for the weekend, which also means I should leave. Pulling the blanket back, I get out of bed, holding my arms up over my head for a stretch before leaving my room (Davis' old room) and head downstairs. Stopping on the last step of the stairs, I'm greeted by three unfamiliar pairs of eyes and faces after hearing my footsteps behind them. Of course, why wouldn't they look? Their son likely didn't tell them about my arrival late last night. I should have left earlier, but it is only a little past nine thirty. They are the early ones since Davis did say his family wasn't visiting until noon. I feel bad for him since he probably wanted to sleep in later because of me.
I wish I could see my parents at least one more time.
''Sophie, I made you a plate for breakfast. It's in the oven keeping warm," Davis tells me, and I take my focus off the others in the room and give all of it to him. Giving him a nod in understanding and walking to where I hope the kitchen is on the left, Davis stops me by saying. "I hope you like eggs and bacon, and if you ever want seconds or thirds, help yourself. There's plenty for everyone."
"Thank you, Mr. Davis," I say and mean it from the bottom of my heart. I'm starving. He gives me a nod in return before returning his focus to his dad, who now I realize has been displaying the most disgusted and disapproving facial expressions of all time as if I'm some crap on the walls. He's saying something to Davis in a clear tone, obviously hoping I hear him, but since I don't want to listen to it or think it's any of my business, I walk into the kitchen and retrieve my bacon and eggs from the oven. But standing here with a plate in hand, I don't know where to eat. It wouldn't feel right to sit with his family, especially since I haven't been introduced, and its already clear Davis' dad hates me, and I don't want to be part of whatever is being said about me.
Men are so dramatic it's not like I'm staying forever.
After a few minutes of decision-making, I decided to stay in the kitchen and eat standing over the counter. It's better for digestion, and maybe I can gain some weight to put some meat on my bones as well. I could really use it right now. I'm like a walking zombie.
The kitchen door pushes open, and Davis walks in, releasing a big sigh as if he's stressed the heck out. For some reason, I don't blame him, but I'm sure if he told his family that I was here before, it would have gone much smoother. His eyes lock onto my body, looking me up and down before sitting on my chest. I stiffen suddenly, feeling like prey to the predator all over again, but when he points at me with his index finger like he's accusing me of something, I'm taken aback, and seconds later, I realize he's pointing at my shirt where a big egg yolk stain sits on my chest. My body relaxes, and I almost smile.
I'm safe. Davis is my safe haven. He won't hurt me.
"I'll get you new clothes when I go to town later. Just give me your sizes, and I'll head to the store." He says and walks over till he's standing next to me by the counter and sets a piece of paper in front of me with a pen. The same yellow piece of paper with red lines in his old bedroom. This makes me smile. I smile without holding back.
"You know why don't I go with you? I haven't been to, to?" I pause, still unsure where I'm at, which also gives me the perfect opportunity to ask. "Where are we exactly?" I say before stuffing the last bit of my breakfast in my mouth and swallowing.
He scratches the back of his neck. "Uh, Clinton." He tells me as if that's supposed to ring a bell. I open my mouth to ask more, but he continues after obviously noticing the uncertainty all over my face. "Indiana, it's Clinton, Indiana."
Wow, I'm not entirely sure where that's located on a map, but Indiana is still quite a distance from my hometown in Michigan by car, and now knowing I walked, that is just unbelievable. "Alright, so when do we go to this town, Clinton?" I ask with a bit of humor to hopefully get his mind off of the fact that I'm not from around here.
"Once I'm done in the barn."
Well, now I'm curious.
"What's in the barn?" I ask him.
"Things that belong in a barn." He says, and I open my mouth again to speak, but he cuts me short by saying. "Are you always full of questions?"
I give him the biggest smile I can handle. "I can be if I want to."
"Then please don't. If you haven't noticed, I'm not much of the talk-Ish type and prefer things quiet."
My smile falters. I, in fact, did not notice, but that may be my lack of being able to read people and myself being the opposite. I love talking, making new friends, and getting to know people. I thought Davis was the same way from the way he spoke last night, but now that I think about it, he probably wanted to hurry up and go back to bed where he could be alone.
Yeah, that makes much more sense. I should leave.
This isn't my home to stay in. I need to leave like I said I would last night. The rainstorm has passed, and I'm just a person passing by for a quick refresh.