(No) Rest Area
The truck took speed leisurely as Chloe drove along the ramp taking her back on the I-5 South, and Max stifled a yawn as she pressed herself deeper into the passenger seat. It had still been dark as they departed the truck stop near Orland, CA where they had rested for the night and the pink-haired girl was having trouble not to doze off.
Unlike her punk driver who, in Max opinion, seemed to deal incredibly fine with it, Max was not used to waking up in the wee hour of the day. As a matter of fact, it was more an hour she was used to go to bed to; so she had a sensation of suddenly taking a twelve hour jetlag she could not yet shake off.
Of course, the tension of sleeping in the cramped, by comparison to a real room, cabin with another person she only met a few days before – and who snored like a wood chipper as soon as she was on her back – was not a way to help her sleep easily.
The result had been dreadful. When the blue-haired chainsaw's alarm clock had started to fill the truck with its blaring noise, at Oh Dark thirty, Max had barely managed to fall asleep. So she had stirred up groggily, dressed up – which meant putting her shoes back on, since she didn't trust her driver enough to remove any pieces of clothing, yet – and followed the punk girl to the truck stop's restaurant for much needed coffee, like a zombie shuffling after a brain to eat.
She did not have time to enjoy the coffee either; it seemed her fellow traveler was not one to dally much between the moment she woke up and the moment she began to work. She was probably not as much an early riser as her ungodly waking hour might let believe.
In any case, Max quickly began to doze off in the passenger seat as the truck reached its cruise speed of 54 miles per hour - just one below the state wide limitation because despite her rebellious look, Chloe was a law abiding trucker – lulled by the rumbling bass of the diesel engine.
On her side of the cabin, Chloe simply concentrated on the road, taking even more care with checking the position of other cars around her as she was in an unfamiliar truck. She checked now and then on her passenger, smirking at the relaxed state of the girl sleeping with her face pressed on the side window, drool dribbling at the corner of her lips, probably looking to those outside as if the girl had tried to get out and smashed herself on the glass.
She chuckled softly and reached for the radio, tuning to a Californian station and keeping the volume low so as to not wake up the girl beside her.
Chloe liked driving in the early hours of the morning. Not that she was a morning person, far from that, which was why she tried to cut the period between her waking up and taking the road as short as possible, so as not to fall asleep again. It was more the quietness of the roads, free from the rushed traffic of the day with cars and trucks zooming around as if they were the only one in a hurry, only to find themselves stuck in a traffic jam - usually because the same zooming driver messed up and crashed his car – honking her ears off as if it would make things move faster.
No, driving in the quiet of hours was much better. And as an added bonus, when she arrived at a truck stop for her daily 'evening' stop – in the middle of the afternoon or the early evening – the other drivers are still on the roads, leaving the best parking spots free for her truck.
They drove by Sacramento early enough that they avoided the morning rush hour with a comfortable margin. It served a double purpose, as far as Chloe was concerned. The first one was that by avoiding the morning rush, they would save maybe over an hour of travel time otherwise spent in traffic jams, barely moving if at all; which in itself was good enough to call it a definite win. The second one was that by passing by so early and so quickly, her passenger had a lesser chance to wake up while in the vicinity of the city, with the added bonus of avoiding the drama linked to the traumatic events preceding their meeting.
Of course, Max would have to learn to deal with it if she decided to take on trucking, as Sacramento was one of the hub where several roads intersected, but taking it one step at the time seemed like a good idea with a girl prone to drawing her knife or gun at the first sign of danger – be it real of not.
They were close to Los Banos when her passenger finally woke up, groaning as she stirred and unstuck her face from the window with a grimace that drew a few chuckles from Chloe.
"Morning. Sleepy head!" Chloe chided, checking her side mirrors in an automatic gesture. "Hope the glass was a comfortable enough pillow for you!"
The pink-haired girl stared back at Chloe with murdering eyes, and a raised finger. "Shut up… I barely slept last night… Someone kept feeding crunchy things to the wood chipper under my bed." Max retorted before adding. "And why did we have to set trail Oh dark fuck-ty instead of sleeping like any civilized person would?!"
Chloe chuckled. "Wood chipper? Where?" She shook her head before she continued. "We left early so as to enjoy several hours of relatively traffic free and drama free road. This way we are already half way to L.A. when leaving later might have had us stuck in Sacramento."
Max grunted, but had nothing more to say so she just mumbled to herself.
"Oh and by the way, next stop, you'll wash your face off the window please. Not that it's not cute and all, but I don't need anyone wondering what we've been up doing to get your face plastered on the glass like that." Chloe added with a smirk.
They stopped for lunch at a Truck Stop by Buttonwillow, west of Bakersfield, taking a moment to stretch their legs and eat hotdogs while Chloe tried to explain what would be the next portion of their route.
They drove down to Los Angeles, still on the I-5 South, listening to music from various rock stations they could tune to. All the while, Chloe glanced at her passenger wondering how the girl was feeling during her first real big haul.
At least she hasn't begun to ask 'are we there yet?' over and over again. I guess being on the road doesn't bother her.
Now and then, Max would ask her questions about the truck, the roads, and so on. Chloe was glad to respond, hoping to create yet another vocation and help the girl find a new life, and maybe stick around – after all the girl was cute, not that she let it drive her.
They were taking the ramp for the I-10 East, following the direction of Phoenix as they drove through the metropole, when the music coming from the radio stopped and the anchor began to speak.
"Please excuse us for the interruption, but the Californian Highway Patrol as well as the FBI and US Marshalls have requested us to issue the following announcement and warning statewide.
Earlier today, an inmate has escaped custody of the Californian DOC during his transfer from Desert High to Pelican Bay Prison. The escapee, a man by the name of Mark Jefferson was following a life sentence after his arrest about 5 years ago.
His arrest had been heavily mediatized as the man was impersonating a priest. Mark Jefferson had been found severely mutilated in his office at the 'School for the Lord's Misguided Sheep', an organization promoting torture and sexual abuse of young boys and girls in order to 'cure' them from their homosexuality. Needless to say, we all expect he will be found soon and put back behind bars.
The authorities are warning travelers and truckers that several road blocks have been put in place so as to check the vehicles and prevent his leaving the State. Additionally, if any driver were to see someone they suspect is Mark Jefferson, the authorities are advising you not to try to apprehend him alone, and to consider him armed and dangerous. Instead, they ask you to call 911 or the nearest Sheriff Office.
Anyway, my trucker friends, I'd tell you not to bother braking if that scum cross the road in front of you, but don't get your license pulled out for him, he's not worth the pain. We're now returning to our usual rock with Magnum – Tell me what you've got to say. Drive safe with CaliforniaRoad."
Chloe had followed the caster's words without paying that much attention. As the music resumed she simply commented, "Makes me wish they still had the death sentence for assholes like him," with a grunting voice.
As she turned to watch why her passenger had not responded, she saw the girl pale and stiff on her seat, one hand clenched on door's handle, the other digging nails in her jean's as she breathed quickly.
"Hey? You okay?" The question was asked softly and at the same time as she spoke those words, she looked at the small tablet like screen hanging from the overhead compartment. "We don't have much longer to drive today, feel like we can hold till then or do you want to stop for a bit?"
Max hissed more than she responded. "Yeah… It's nothing…"
She began to relax and Chloe nodded doubtfully. "Okay, then." She looked at the road. "We'll be reaching the truck stop for tonight's rest soon. Why don't you get a warm shower there, then we'll get a warm meal at the restaurant and call it a day."
"Sounds good." The passenger simply replied absently.
The crack of the whip reverberated in the room drawing a scream of pain muffled by the rubber ball held tightly in her mouth. She jerked at the bite burning her back, her arms and legs twisting and pulling at the ropes holding her in place. Tears streaked her freckled face as the man behind her ranted. "Are you finally ready to repent your sins, Maxine?" "Do not worry, we will bring you back from Satan's clutches!"
It had been her first day in Hell. Earlier that day, her parents had dropped her off in that pension in California, leaving her in the care of a man in black with the white hard collar of priesthood who had introduced himself as Father Jefferson, smiling warmly at her and her parents. She had stood there numbly, the blueish mark of the backhanded slap her father had given her the day before marking her cheek.
She had still been trying to catch up with what was happening to her, standing as her parent's car left the parking, following the priest to his office so he could 'tell her the rules and working of the school'.
It had gone downhill from there. Upon entering the man's office she noticed two other men in similar priest garb quickly moving to stand on each side of her as Father Jefferson had swiftly locked the door. As he turned toward her, the warm comforting smile was gone, replaced by a predatory smirk that sent shivers into her spine.
"Well, well. God brought us another sinner to redeem." He announced with a tone that made Max think of a snake stalking a mouse. As he mused, he began to reach down and unzip the fly of his pants. "Now, young one, your first penance will be to worship this sign of manhood." Before she could argue, a hand had pressed on her shoulder, pushing her down to the floor and she found herself facing the now bared scrotum of the Priest.
She had of course refused, feeling sick and disgusted. She had tried to rise to her feet and bolt, but the two goons, for that was what they were, kept a firm hold on her. And the more she resisted, the angrier the man got. He had slapped her a few times, but she still refused. So, they had manhandled her until she had been laying naked, bent over a cold wooden desk, ropes tightly bound around her wrists and ankle so she could not move. And the priest had started to whip her.
Each blow was accompanied by an urge to repent, to forsake her sinful hatred of men, to learn her real place. Her back was on fire, skin raw, split and bleeding. She was crying, wanting to ask the universe what she had done wrong.
The whipping stopped. How many blow had she taken? She had been too taken by the shock and pain to count. Her whole body ached, muscles sore from the jerking and struggling caused by the lashes, jaw and teeth lancing as she bit into the rubber ball gagging her. She yelped as the man grabbed her hair and pulled her head back roughly.
"You unrepentant sinful bitch! I WILL teach you your place." He spat. "From now on, if you want to eat, you will have to worship the manhood of the man bringing you food! You will be bared at all times until you submit to the men willingly."
He dropped her head on the desk and she could hear cloth shuffling behind her, then she felt a hand rubbing and groping her sore butt as one grips a stress ball. "For now, let us show you the man's blessing as god intended!"
She felt something brush her petals and she shrieked around the gag as the older man shoved himself into her without care.
Her vision blurred, tears filled her eyes, she felt like she would vomit as the man pounded into her without mercy. Her hands clenched, trying to free herself from the rope. She struggled, her throat sore from her screaming.
It was long. So long. In her vision, light and dark alternated again and again as if marking the passage of time. She felt herself aging. Was it days? Weeks? Months?
The pain in her body spread. She lost weight, felt weak from her half-starved state and filthy from the continuous abuses. The man behind her kept at it, raping her, alternating between abusing her vagina and her rear, slapping her, groping her, pulling her hair back while cursing and insulting her.
And the rope around her right wrist suddenly gave, her hand finally finding itself free. She frantically tried to push herself off the desk, to get away, to find something to defend herself with. Until she closed her thin and weak fingers around a letter opener. With desperation, she slashed back hastily, twisting her body as a battle-cry rung through her suddenly ungagged lips. She felt, more than she heard, the painful grunt of her abuser as he stumbled back, his hardness slipping out of her.
She feared his response as she heard his curses, frantically working to saw the ropes holding her restrained limbs. All the time she expected him to suddenly grab her, to hit her and stop her from escaping. But as she finally freed herself, he was kneeling on the floor, holding his hands on his cheek, whimpering as he tried to stench the blood flowing from his ripped cheek.
Max saw red. All the abuses she felt, all the pain, all her fear, her shame, turned into hatred and anger. Her left hand grabbed the old fashion Bakelite phone sitting on a corner of the desk and slammed it at his head knocking him out. Then, with a guttural wail of pain and hatred, she let loose the beast in her, stabbing at him with the letter opener.
The wail startled her awake, causing her to suddenly sit up on her couch and slam her head against the bottom of the top bed.
They had stopped for the night at a Pilot truck stop near Cabazon, just outside L.A. Their evening had been quiet, nearly wordless as her passenger seemed closed onto herself despite the shower, the food and Chloe's attempt at humor. As they ate a well-deserved –in her humble opinion – steak with French fries and salad, they heard from the small corner TV that the escapee had been found murdered only a few hours after his disappearance. 'Good riddance' she had mumbled among a concert of agreement from other patrons. But Max had barely reacted, picking at her food silently.
They had gone to bed, going to sleep in the truck like the previous night. But it had not been easy. The pink-haired girl had been agitated, tossing into the top bunk whimpering. Chloe thought the girl was being uncomfortable because of her ribs, and maybe not as exhausted as she claimed seeing as she slept most of the way.
Until, the wail woke her up. It took her a moment to reorient herself – and stop the spin slamming her head onto the hard bottom shell of the top bunk had caused – and by the time she slipped out from her couch, she could hear someone hitting or punching at the mattress over her.
"Max?" She asked half awake. "What's wrong?"
But she got no response; only grunts accompanying more banging on the mattress.
She stood and reached for the cabin night light and froze at the scene.
Maxine was kneeling on her bunk, tears in her eyes and a scowl of pure hatred on her face, while she slammed her switchblade knife held in her joined fists down on her bed like a jackhammer. Chloe was not sure if the girl was awake, asleep, or just hallucinating; but the underlying pain she could read on the smaller girl's face got her moving.
She reached up, wrapping her arms around Max, trying to stop her from stabbing the innocent mattress more than it already had been and calm the pink fury down as she called. "Max! Hey Max! It's okay! You are safe! Max! It's me Chloe!"
At first, she had to struggle to control the little fury fighting like a wolverine, trying to free her self. But slowly, tension seemed to ease in the pinkette's body, her arms slowly fell down along her sides, finally letting the knife drop to the floor, as she leaned back against Chloe.
"Chloe?" The voice was faint, timid, hesitant, and Chloe kept the girl in her embrace, reaching with one hand to brush a hand on the pinkette's forehead.
"Yes… It's me, Chloe… You remember? The girl who saved you from your pimp, the one driving you around the States in her truck." She responded with a shushing and soothing voice.
The body in her arms began to shudder and tremble as soft sobs shook the smaller girl. And then, Max began to bawl loudly, pouring out all the anguish she had stored these past years while Chloe hugged her tightly against her.