Hey! This is my new story, Say You'll Stay, I absolutely love Rob Lowe, he's hilarious in Parks and Rec, and he's so adorable as Sodapop!
Enjoy and make sure you review!
I owe nothing.
Run.
Faster.
Don't stop.
Don't look behind you.
Sharp rocks pierced the tender flesh of her foot as her bare feet hit the street's pavement.
The young girl screamed in pain as she fell, tearing a hole in her silk nightgown. The hard road scrapped a jagged line of skin off her knee, and blood gushed from the dirtied wound. In an instant, she was up and continued to run with a limp, too blinded by fear to be concerned with pain.
No one was in the road. Everyone was tucked away in their warm, safe beds asleep.
If only they knew.
The woman at the window flinched when the pale, wide eyed girl flung money through the tiny hole.
"I need a ticket on the next bus out of here!"
"The next bus comes in a couple minu-"
"I'll take it!"
The ticket lady slid the change and ticket to the frazzled girl who went to take her items.
"Is that blood?" The window lady gasped as she saw the dried, red substance caked onto the girl's palms.
The girl snatched her things and took off towards the bus stop.
"Hey, someone stop that girl!" The window lady shouted to a confused bus station. As an old lady began to board, the girl shoved her in order to hop onto the bus.
"Hey, now, you'll get to where your going!" the old lady snapped as the driver closed the doors. Ignoring her, the jumpy girl ran to the back of the bus and flung herself into a lone seat.
I'm safe.
As the bus began to pick up speed, the girl curled up in a ball and allowed the tears she'd been holding back to fall.
"Hey, girl, wake up! Bus has gotta go!"
Her eyes snapped open as she shot up in her seat.
The busdriver scowled at her in the reflection of the rearview mirror.
"We're at your stop," he said, "Get off. I gotta move."
Shakily, she grabbed her backpack and limped off the bus.
The sun had just begun to rise, and she did not know where she had been taken. Reaching in her jacket pocket, she pulled out the wrinkled bus ticket.
"Tulsa," she read aloud in a hoarse voice.
Yikes.
Her voice sounded like she had been garbling marbles.
I need some water.
She glanced down to her cut, blackened feet.
And some shoes.
She glanced around the town. Not too many houses inhabited the area, and the ones she saw were small. No stores. Only a DX gas station.
Slinging her single bag on her shoulder, she trudged down the road to the station. One car was parked. The station was probably opening for the day.
Bells attached to the door jingled as she pushed the door open.
"Hello, good morning- Oh, cheese and crackers!" the boy behind the counter screamed as he caught of a glimpse of the newcomer.
The girl wanted to burst into tears, but instead she ran to the bathroom.
Hazily, she slammed the door and fumbled with the lock. Sitting on the closed-lid toilet, she rested her head in her hands to and took a couple shaky breaths to steady herself.
After a couple of moments, she dared to look at herself in the mirror.
Gross, well, she couldn't blame the cashier for his unpleasant reaction. She was a mess. Her tangled, blonde hair looked like a tumbled weed, and her red lipstick dripped down her mouth as if she had drunken blood. Her mascara smeared from her empty, haunted brown eyes to her cheeks.
Her brown jacket barely covered her lavender, silk nightgown that was now stained and torn, and the dirty gas station floor felt cold on her cut, blistered feet.
She felt naked. Worthless. Vulnerable.
It was getting hard to breath.
She couldn't stay in this tiny bathroom anymore.
She fumbled with the lock again and ran out the bathroom only to crash into the cashier boy.
"Woah! Easy there, are you okay?" His voice was kind. Too kind. She wanted to cry all over again.
His large hands grasped her tiny biceps to hold her upright. She was so skinny and fragile. He could have easily thrown her across the gas station if he wanted to.
"Do. . .do you maybe sell hair dye?" She rasped. He released her and glanced around the store thoughtfully.
"Yeah, not too many selections," he said with a smile, curious eyes staring into her dirty face, "hair dye isn't really our best seller here."
"Any scissors?" her voice was barely above a whisper.
He walked to the counter and came back with large scissors. She took them and went to peruse the selection of hair dye as he returned to work. The station had three options: blonde, blue, and black.
Well, she was already blonde, and she didn't want to stick like a sore Smurf thumb.
With dye and scissors in her hands, she headed back into the bathroom and dumped the contents of her backpack into the sink. Her bag only contained a hairbrush, toothbrush, wad of cash, driver's license, deodorant, and a pair of black socks.
Trying to relieve her feet from any additional damage, she slipped on the socks and gathered everything back into her bag. The sink's hot water knob was gone so she settled for ice cold water as she used all the hand soap to clean the ruined makeup off her face.
Fifteen minutes later, her face was as clean as she could get it with cheap soap. Though with the makeup gone, nothing could distract from her haunted, almost black eyes and hollow cheeks. Staring into the mirror, she grabbed her waist long blonde hair.
Suddenly, a flash of blinding, hot hatred coursed through her. Strands of blonde hair fell to the ground like fall leaves as she began snipping, more like hacking, off chunks of her pretty hair.
An hour later, she emerged with chin length, unbelievably uneven, ink black hair.
The gas station became more lively while she was in there transforming herself.
While finishing ringing up a trucker, the lanky boy from the cashier caught a glimpse at her and let out a low whistle.
"Wow, nice 'do," he joked, running his fingers through his scruffy bangs. Suddenly, she felt very shy and very aware she was in a tore nightgown. Apparently, he noticed too.
"Um," he uncomfortably looked away from her, "don't you have any shoes? Or pants?"
"N-no," she whispered, "I-I don't . . . h-have . . . a-anything!"
Just when she thought she couldn't cry anymore, another flood of tears cascaded down her cheeks. Shocked, the cashier boy stared as the girl wept in her hands.
"Woah! Hey, hey," he jumped over the counter and rushed to her, "No need for that! I wasn't insulting your fashion choices or anything! I don't know much about style myself, I'm kind of a bum."
Through tear-filled eyes she tried to laugh, but instead made a straggled wheeze.
Looking around the station, he led her into an employee break room with only a dirty refrigerator, small table, and three chairs.
He pulled out a chair for her, and once she was settled he sat across from her.
He placed his hands on the table and interlocked his fingers, unsure what to say.
"Well, first thing's first, what is your name?"
She took a deep breath and finally looked at him from her hands with red eyes. "I'm. . .uh Louisa, . . . just Louisa."
"Nice to meet you Just Louisa," he smiled, "I'm Sodapop Curtis."
She frowned. "Huh?"
"Yep. Speechless you have the pleasure of hearing such an awesome name, right?"
She let out a shaky laugh. "That's ridiculous."
"Well, that's your opinion. What kind of name is Just Louisa?" he said in a teasing tone, "to me, Sodapop is a great name! I might even name my kid that, Sodapop Jr."
She just stared at him.
"Tough crowd," he said, "Are you okay?"
She stayed silent again. His eyes flicked down to her dress.
"You're not a . . . prostitute, are you?"
A tiny light of indignation sparked in her eyes. "I am not a prostitute!" she yelled.
Or tried to.
Her voice still hurt.
Sodapop noticed and got her a bottled water from the fridge.
"Okay, sorry, I meant no offense," he sounded genuine, "but you can't exactly blame me when you're running around like that. Why, exactly, are you running around like that?"
After a long drink of water, she harshly looked away from him. "I can't tell you."
He held his hands up in surrender. "Ok, ok, can I call someone for you?"
A long pause stretched in between them. Slowly, she looked down at her lap.
"I-I don't have anyone to call," she said, tears welling up again.
Sodapop's eyes widened. "Hey, hey, no more crying! That won't do any good!" he leaned closer to her, "I'll tell ya what, let me finish up my shift today, you can wait here, and I'll take you to my house so we can figure something out over a bowl of mac and cheese, okay?"
She scowled at him with suspicious eyes.
He scooted away from her. "Hey, don't give me that look! Nothing bad ever came from mac and cheese, it can fix anything! I won't hurt you. I swear on the good, honorable name of Sodapop Curtis!"
He wasn't sure, but he thought he saw the corners of her mouth twitch just a little.
"Okay . . . Sodapop."