Don't Run
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Sofia Landeiro
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2,6M
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45
Chapter 1
MAYA
The breath I exhale dissipates into tiny clouds in the chilly air as I step off the bus. Itâs unusually cold for spring.
I grip the strap of my backpack tightly as I sling it over my shoulder. No one else is disembarking here, which suits me perfectly. Itâs easier to notice if someoneâs following me that way.
I look around. The sign in the middle of the bus station is barely visible in the thin rays of the late-afternoon sun.
Old Bern. This will have to do.
Itâs a small town, smaller than I initially thought. The station is more of a bus stop with a small ticket office and a few benches. In front of me is a large road, lined on each side by individual houses and framed by a dark forest.
A young woman with a small child passes me. She raises her eyebrows as she glances my way, pulling her little one closer as she hurries by.
A newcomer always causes a stir at first, but as long as I keep to myself, people eventually lose interest. I remind myself of my rules as I start walking toward the town center.
Keep moving. Donât get attached.
Iâve been on the road for two years now, and it never gets easier. The paranoia of always looking over my shoulder to make sure Iâm not being followed, of wondering if I can trust anyone, is exhausting.
But after Toronto, I have to be more vigilant than ever. They canât get that close again. My life depends on it.
My first priority is to find a motel or something. Someplace where they take cash and wonât question if I take off in the middle of the night.
I stop at the edge of a cobblestoned town square. Store fronts face its large open lawn, a big fountain resting in its center. Their big display windows are dark, already closed for the night.
Maybe I can find a job at one of them tomorrow. I could use the cash. Tonight, I just want to collapse into bed and pray to all the gods for a nightmare-free rest.
I pause to admire the beautiful flower beds encircling the water feature, reaching out to touch the petal of a tulip when the hair on the back of my neck stands up.
I turn quickly, but I donât see anyone. Still, the feeling that someone is watching me lingers. Fear washes over me as I squint down each of the shadowed alleys between the shops.
They couldnât have caught up with me yet, could they? I changed buses three times. I took all the necessary precautions to hide my trail. It shouldnât be possible.
I try to shake it off as I hurry past the square, crossing through a narrow alley and coming out on the other side. I hoist my backpack up, shifting it over to my other shoulder as I search for somewhere to hide.
I need to find a crowd or a building. Being out in the open like this isnât safe.
I groan as I settle my bag. Iâm stiff and need a long, hot shower. I sat on that bus for six hours. No one can say that they feel fresh after such a long trip on public transport, but I still havenât seen a single sign for a motel or anything.
Have I ended up in such a small town that they donât even have accommodation to rent?
Iâm just about to turn around when I see a sign.
Café and bar. Okay, a beer with my muffin please? What an unusual combination of establishments, but hey, who am I to judge?
The sun has already started to set, the temperature dropping quickly as my stomach rumbles loudly. I can hear the buildingâs music playing from across the street. Probably a good sign that thereâs a crowd.
I can stop there, warm up for a while, and lose whoeverâs tailing me. Maybe ask the barista or bartender where the nearest motel is.
I put my hand in my pocket and pull out the last of my cash, counting it quickly.
Fifty dollars. That should be enough for some food, a beer, and hopefully one or two nights in a shabby motel.
I grab the wooden door handle. It creaks when I open it. Iâm greeted by laughter and clinking glasses as I step into the warmth.
Itâs not a big venue, but the atmosphere is very homely. Thick wooden beams stretch across the ceiling, extending from one end of the space to the other. The walls are painted a dark green, and framed pictures are hung asymmetrically throughout the room.
Large potted plants rest in the corners, and mustard-yellow curtains hang over the windows. There are a few small tables with chairs to my left, and a long wooden bar to my right.
A huge glass display case full of pastries sits at the front of the bar. Behind it, there are rows of liquor bottles and a large espresso machine. Itâs the strangest mix Iâve seen in a long time.
Some of the guests are drinking beer, while others are chatting over steaming mugs and plates of cookies. Two large men at one of the tables have a pile of empty shot glasses in front of them and a plate of half-eaten cheesecake.
The door slams shut behind me, and everyone turns. I swallow hard when their gazes land on me. Straightening, I walk to the bar, feeling all their eyes follow me.
Oh my god, have they never seen a stranger before?
I place my backpack in front of one of the barstools before I sit down. I donât have to turn around to know they are still watching me, but I forget all about them when the woman tending the bar walks up.
Sheâs absolutely stunning. She has fiery-red hair and green eyes. Her tall frame is dressed in a tight black T-shirt and ripped jeans.
I blink, shaking my head when I realize that she said something to me.
âUmâŠwhat?â My voice is raspy, and I clear my throat, ashamed that Iâm coming across like some drooling idiot. âSorry, what did you say?â
She giggles and her eyes sparkle.
âWhat can I get you?â she repeats happily.
âAhh, okay.â I look behind her and then to the glass case. âA beerâŠand a blueberry muffin?â
âComing right up!â
She turns, grabbing a cold beer from the fridge and opening it before placing it on the bar in front of me. Foam rises from the opening, sliding down its neck, and I quickly pick it up, licking the cold liquid before taking a sip.
She places my muffin on a small plate next to my beer a moment later.
âThank you,â I say, fiddling with the label on my beer bottle.
Itâs damp and has started to peel up at the edges. I tear off a piece, placing it on the edge of the plate.
âYouâre not from here,â she says, more of a statement than a question as she leans against the counter.
It feels like the whole café has gotten quieter.
âNo. I came into town today on the bus.â I hesitate, quickly diverting the conversation away from me. âIâve never seen a cafĂ© and bar before. Itâs a bit of an odd combination.â
I meet her gaze before taking a bite of the muffin.
Oh my god! This is divine. Did she make this?
She laughs, wiping a towel over the bar. âYeah, itâs a little weird maybe. My partner and I wanted to open something together. Iâve always loved being a bartender and she loves to bake, so why not combine the two?â
Her smile is contagious, and I canât help but grin back.
âYeah, why not? Whatever floats your boat,â I answer as I take another sip of my beer. âHey, whereâs the nearest motel?â
She gives me a surprised look. âUm, Old Bern doesnât have a motel, but we do have a bed and breakfast. Itâs farther up the street on the left. You canât miss it. Itâs called Missyâs B&B.â
âSounds expensive.â
âDonât worry⊠Whatâs your name?â
âMaya.â
âDonât worry, Maya. I know Missy,â she says, winking at me. âIâll let her know youâre coming. Sheâll give you the friends and family discount.â
âWow. Thank you, umâŠâ
âSamantha, but everyone calls me Sami.â
âThanks, Sami,â I say, raising my beer to her and smiling.
I feel myself relax a little.
I like this woman. Sheâs easygoing and fun. In a different world, maybe we could have been friends, but I canât afford to take the risk.
âSami! Can I have two more tequila shots?â shouts one of the cheesecake-eating men as he wobbles toward the bar.
âOf course, Jonah,â she replies.
I remind myself of my rules as she turns around to grab the bottle.
Keep moving. Donât get attached.
The man stands unnecessarily close to where Iâm sitting. The scent of his cologne is intrusive, overpowering my senses.
The bar stool creaks under me as I lean away. Heâs huge and doesnât seem to understand personal space, reminding me a lot of the people I grew up with.
âHey, beautiful,â he slurs.
