Dearly Departing

the couch, snoring. He showed me his new credit card, and then he tried to kill me. Dawn waited until the nausea passed. She rolled onto her hands and knees a few minutes later and climbed to her feet using the wall as a steadier. Her fingers slipped into a rounded dent in the plaster. That’s where my head hit. I kicked him in the balls, and he threw me back.
She staggered to the kitchen and splashed water on her face for the second time that evening. She wasn’t concerned about Tyler waking up. Once he’d gotten to the stage of snoring, there was nothing short of a bomb going off that could rouse him. Dawn was safe. She went to the bathroom and found her bottle of Advil. A drunk’s best friend. She popped three capsules in her mouth and swallowed them dry.
She stared at herself in the mirror. I look like shit. I’m going to steal his credit card and go to the bar. I’m going to get so drunk I’ll forget this night ever happened.
Were there even any bars open this late? What time was it? Dawn remembered the rest. The anger towards Tyler. Her grandmother lying in a hospital bed a thousand miles away. Her father coming home from the Dominican Republic.
The airport. I have to meet Dad at the airport.
She brushed her teeth hurriedly and ran a comb through her hair. It was a sweaty tangle at the back of her skull, but at least there wasn’t any blood. Tyler hadn’t thrown her that hard.
My prince.
Dawn went into the bedroom and fished her car keys out of a dirty pair of blue jeans. The ones she was wearing weren’t much cleaner, but she didn’t care anymore. She put her runners on and grabbed her white coat on the way out. Dawn closed the door quietly and snuck down the three flights of stairs to the back parking lot.
It was beginning to get cold. The car protested, but eventually started. The clock read 3:44 AM. Her father’s plane wasn’t due in for another ten hours. What am I supposed to do until then? Where am I going to go?
She considered heading back upstairs for more of her things—a second change of clothes, her winter boots. Maybe she could sneak in another hour of sleep. Tyler wasn’t going to wake up any time soon.
No. I’m never going back there. I’m sick of being alone and scared.
Leaving in the dead of night with under a quarter tank of gas, no job, no savings, and no foreseeable future, suddenly seemed like the most sensible plan she’d ever made in her life. She drove across the city, the bleak yet hopeful thoughts stewing inside her aching head. The Advil had kicked in, but the effects of having her skull bashed into a wall stilled throbbed deep down inside. She ran a red light without realizing until a block later. Thankfully there was little traffic. If she had been caught on one of those automatic cameras, she could pay the ticket later—once she’d picked her dad up and borrowed some money. I should’ve taken the credit card... filled the car up at least.
She arrived at the airport with just under an eighth of a tank of fuel remaining. How had she burned so much in less than twenty minutes? The car wasn’t even six months old—new cars like her Chevy Cruze were supposed to get better mileage than that. It’s why she had leased the damn thing in the first place—to save as much money as possible while working the crappy minimum wage jobs.
Dawn parked in the outside lot over two-hundred yards from the terminal. Her dad would tease her for that. He would complain that he was now fifty—too old to be dragging luggage all over the place.
Damn it. I forgot to wish him a happy birthday.
She turned the car off after letting it idle for thirty minutes. It was hot inside and she knew she had to conserve fuel. Hopefully her father wouldn’t notice how empty before she got them to a gas station. Dawn listened to the radio for another hour. She resisted the urge to start the car back up once it started cooling off inside. The temperature outside read -4. Cold, but it wouldn’t get much colder before sunrise. She had a warm coat, and she was out of the wind. Dawn wouldn’t freeze to death.
Shortly before six in the morning she started rooting around in the glove box. The headache was getting worse. I should’ve taken his credit card and the Advil. She found a half-pack of cigarettes and lit one up. She hadn’t smoked in over two weeks—another stupid habit she was trying to give up. The nicotine buzz went to work within seconds, dulling the pain in her brain. Dawn peered through the blue smoke at the open glove box and saw something sticking out from under her western Canada roadmap.
She pulled the little plastic bottle of rye out and eyed what was left inside. It hadn’t even been cracked. How did you get in there? Dawn’s heart was hammering. Her head was pounding. The cigarette wasn’t helping that much. I’m cold. The alcohol will keep me warm.
She could’ve thought of another dozen excuses why but didn’t bother.
Dawn removed the lid and started to drink.

 
 
 
 
Chapter 4
One of the only pleasant things Ray took away from the Riu Bambu—after the swimming— was seeing the condition Charlie Fitz had put himself in on their morning of departure. The Russian girl on his lap had elbowed him in the nose when his hands had traveled too far south. The girl’s brother showed up a few moments later and blackened both of his eyes. Needless to say, Charlie didn’t end up with a better than five-hundred average. Calvin had to