I rolled down the window of my timeworn truck, the cool night air felt uncomfortable as it brushed against the stained tears on my cheeks. I thought back to the argument I had just had with my mother and how I had been forced to leave with nothing but the clothes on my back and a couple possessions. Had I made the right decision? The very concept of being seventeen and homeless flooded my mind with regret but I couldn't live with her after her confession; not after what she admitted to.
I wiped the remaining tears from my face and pulled into a dim looking car park contrasted with a well-lit "Motel" sign which overhung a fairly sizable block of individual rooms. Once I had parked the car, I focused my attention on the, surprisingly, large house adorned with a number of steps a little further up the hill to which the motel belonged to I assumed. I grabbed my duffle bag and moved towards house hesitantly. The brickwork was dated and it looked out of place amidst the desolate roads of British Columbia. However I admired it as an antique and found myself wanting to see the interior but instead focused on getting myself checked in. I headed to a small building in which looked like the reception and was met with a middle aged woman with a tired smile.
"Hello dear, what can I do for you?" she lifted her head out of her hands as she leant over the counter, fiddling with her salt and pepper coloured hair.
"I need a room, do you take cash?" I held up the only cash I had in a desperate plead as I lacked a credit card.
"Of course, do you have ID?" she asks. My heart stopped at her mention of something I had completely overlooked. I slowly pulled my passport out of my back pocket and passed it to her with a defeated look. She took it and scanned it sceptically and handed it back
"Seventeen. Running from something eh?" she narrowed her eyes but not maliciously. I nodded, prepared to be rejected for not being the required age.
"Aren't we all. That'll be 35 dollars a night starting from tomorrow and there will be someone over to clean your room every other day." She said and my eyes lit up in disbelief as she bent down behind the counter and appeared again with a key, "Number three".
"Thank you so much miss" I thanked her, handing over my first payment and taking the key.
"Viola" she corrected, "have a good night sleep, Erin, you look exhausted," she said, kindness lacing her voice. I smiled knowing she discovered my name from my passport and thanked her once more before leaving for my room. As I passed the steps leading to the old house on the hill I felt as if I was being watched; the unpleasant feeling making me tug my denim jacket tighter around me.
The room was satisfactory, especially for the price, with a lone double bed and the necessary facilities. I dropped my bag on the floor and undressed, and only clad in a t-shirt and underwear slipped into the soft duvet, shielding myself from the unheated room. The day's events caught up to me as I closed my eyes and fell into a deep sleep.
I woke up, showered, and brushed my teeth, all with slow and sombre movements. It was only until about 7pm that I ventured out the confinements of my room and into the cool summer air. I got in my car with the intention of finding somewhere to eat. I attempted to start the car but to no avail as it made a miserable sound indicating that it had broken down, much like my patience. I let out a frustrated growl then proceeded to exit the vehicle and kick the tire, "What a pile of junk!"
Not long after, I heard careful footsteps approach me from behind. I didn't have time to turn around before a soft voice filled the air.
"Can't help but notice that you might be having trouble there"
I turned around to be met with Viola, her hair loose this time, fluttering in the breeze. I held my head in my hands, not coping well with being on my own for the first time in my life.
"I just wanted to get something to eat but... I can't..." I looked at my car, "...get this stupid piece of crap to move."
"Hmm," she looked at the red rusty monstrosity and then back to me, "Come to the main house for tea."
I looked into her eyes, searching for any signs of a flippant suggestion but she held my gaze; it seemed she was serious.
"I couldn't possibly...Do you live there?" I looked up at the house on the hill that, for some unknown reason, had lingered at the back of my mind since yesterday.
She shook her head and shifted her weight from one foot to another, "I insist. I live in the smaller house attached to the back but a close friend lives in the main house."
"And she wouldn't object?"
"He. He owns the motel" she corrected me, something she had a habit of, "I can assure you he would be pleasantly surprised." I noticed the slight hidden meaning in her words but said nothing of it.
"If you are sure, I'd be glad to join you for tea." I accepted, almost guiltily, but I couldn't deny the rumbling sounds of my stomach.
"Good, I've almost finished." She suddenly smiled, but as always it didn't reach her eyes. I followed her up the steps, her cardigan blowing in the breeze behind her.
The interior was nothing like I expected: a pristine dark mahogany floor, rooms sparse with furniture, walls meticulously painted in array of melancholy colours and wooden tables that were still glossy indicating lack of use. The amount of rooms seemed excessive for a man living by himself. I began to wonder if it was lonely to live in a house such as this and I remembered I was in the same position: alone. I was grateful for Viola's hospitality and it relieved me that at least I had someone to talk to; I would like to consider her as a friend if she'd let me.
"Are you sure the owner of this house wouldn't mind you cooking in his kitchen?" I inquired light-heartedly.
"This is nothing out of the ordinary. Mr Styles is a lovely man, you see, but isn't much of a cook." I noticed her eyes light up for the first time at the mention of this man. I chuckled and wandered about the dining room which was conveniently connected to the kitchen.
"Take a seat, Mr Styles should be home soon." Viola said.
"He will be dining with us?" I asked, in almost panic, not knowing how to address the man of the house.
"Of course, dear. This is his house after all. Don't worry yourself, he's not much of a talker anyway." She said and this didn't reassure in the slightest, awkward silences were never pleasant for me. Viola and I conversed while we were waiting for dinner to cook and it was dark by the time there were three plates of delicious looking vegetarian lasagne. Through conversation I had learnt that Mr Styles was a vegetarian much like myself, and this surprised me, but was nonetheless admirable. I was sat at the end of the long table, facing Viola which left the very end of the table to Mr Styles. I stared at the chair, anxiety rising within me, and as if on cue the front door harshly opened. My head snapped towards the sound of the door, waiting for a figure to emerge from the dark hallway.
"You have a guest" Viola stressed the last word as if there were some hidden meaning, "Dinners getting cold."
The tension overwhelmed me and I forced myself to look away and at my plate of food. That's when I heard heavy footsteps enter the room and I felt eyes burn through the back of my head.