The whir of the fan usually went unnoticed, but at the moment it was surprisingly loud. Two of his fingers were pressed relatively hard against the small cut on his lips, a faint reminder of the fact that some things just weren’t meant for him.

He didn’t know what he’d been expecting. The woman hadn’t actually cared for him, and he had known that from the start. A sick attraction to his horrifying lifestyle was the entire basis of their “relationship.” Obviously, he hadn’t expected it to work out – he was good at many things, but marriage wasn’t one of them.

At first, she had embraced the danger, wanted to travel with him, wanted to see the danger firsthand. Then, she had wanted to persuade him to settle down some, out of fear for her own life. Then, she had wanted to “fix” him, like he was some kind of broken, wounded animal. She had wanted him to be vulnerable for her, but she had fallen for his mystery.

Impossible, wretched creature that she was.

He sighed as he stood up, looking around the rather barren room. The queen sized bed with its mismatched sheets and quilt, the ugly wallpaper, the flaking nightstands, the stained shag carpet. He didn’t live a luxurious lifestyle. He didn’t live a particularly happy lifestyle. He didn’t live the kind of lifestyle that any normal person would choose of their own accord.

What he lived was an exciting, dangerous life. He hated that he had chosen to live the way he did, but he loved the way he lived. He loved the constant apprehension, the inability to know if today would be your last day. He loved the smell of money, he loved the taste of adrenaline. He loved the game. He loved the chase.

It didn’t matter that that woman had decided to bail on him. He was better off without her, in fact. She’d done an excellent job of getting in his way for the entire four months they’d been together. He’d never met a person who was quite that bad at lying.

He’d already forgotten her name. It’d only been a few hours.

He grabbed his small suitcase and left the hotel room, leaving the keys on the counter. His car was parked right by the door, and there wasn’t anyone suspicious in sight. The night was crisp and clear, a fine example of an autumn evening.

It was time for a change of scenery. Four hours east would put him in Georgia. He could hunt down some little town and scam his way through the entire populace. He hadn’t been to Georgia for a while, and he could swing up to Atlanta while he was in the state. Atlanta always became a grand adventure. Not as much fun as New York City, but still pretty fun.

The gentle hum of the fans in his car faded into the background, escaping his notice altogether. The cut on his lip throbbed as he prodded it with his tongue, a faint reminder that some things just weren’t worth the trouble.


3 Responses to Enigma

  1. Dawn says:

    One of the often-seen side effects of abuse is that the victim becomes an adrenaline junkie, so used to being constantly in fight-or-flight that they don’t feel right without it. Did you know that? Did you do that on purpose or was it just a happy accident?


    • kreneerivers says:

      I did not know that. I think you told me once ages ago because it sounds familiar. But I wasn’t thinking of it when I wrote it. I’m glad you like it. 🙂 (lol should’ve just said I knew that)


  2. Pingback: Information Booth | My Rendition of You

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