Read That Girl for Free Online Page B

fine for now. We will go get it checked when I’m done here,” I say, knowing it’s a full lie.
    The hospital will want identification and all sorts of information I don’t have to give.
    “Are you sure?” Jeremiah asks. “I don’t like this at all.”
    “I’m sure,” I reply.
    Sledge walks back into the room with his hair tied back and stale cigarette smoke lingering around him. The smell reminds me way too much of home and makes me want to run like hell.
    “Get your ass over here,” he says, pulling a rolling stool up to a well-organized workstation.
    I listen. Sitting down in the chair I carefully watch him prep all the tools and then shave the top of my foot. I watch as he cleans my skin with several different cold liquids. Can’t say I’ve ever had my foot shaved before. Next, a transparent paper with the tattoo design is pressed down on the prepared area. It leaves behind the design, and I smile at its simple beauty and meaning.
    “No going back after this. Are you ready?” Sledge asks.
    I nod, and then feel Jeremiah take my hand.
    “Squeeze if you need to.”
    Sledge picks up the tattoo gun. “Here we go.”
    The buzzing sound fills the room, the ink soaks into me, and I feel each tiny bit of my old flesh rip and tear, as my very first piece of beautiful artwork begins to fill my foot. It takes about ten minutes before my body adjusts to the pain and I can relax a little.
    Bending down, Jeremiah whispers in my ear, “You’re going to run. I can tell. Take care of yourself.” I don’t tell him he’s wrong.
    Jeremiah holds my hand the rest of the time and lets me go my own way after paying for the tattoo.
    Goodbye, Michelle.
     

 
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
    Chapter 5
     
     
    1,035 Miles Gone
     
    Lost in downtown Denver, Colorado. Nothing new. About three months ago, I finally decided on ending up in Colorado and looked up a larger city where I could hide out. Denver seemed to be the best answer, but after weeks of losing all sense of direction, I’ve given up. I’m calling it quits on the city. Maybe I’m destined to be a small town girl.
    “Jacey, when you’re finished filling the sugars, I need you to take the trash out, please.”
    I hate taking the trash out not because of the smell or nasty liquids oozing from the bag, but the sharp pain it causes in my wrist. Looking back, I should’ve gone to the hospital and somehow avoided showing my ID, because it never healed correctly, and any lifting brings me to my knees.
    I ended up purchasing a brace at the grocery store and wrapping it up as tight as I possibly could. Thank goodness it’s my left hand, making all my duties at my jobs doable. The only proof of the embarrassing fall is an odd lump on the inside of my wrist, and I actually love looking at it and remembering my birthday.
    I left that sleepy little town six months after my birthday. I can honestly say it was the best birthday of my life. I felt extremely guilty when preparing to leave, so I walked down to the bakery to thank Alice one more time. I’d never used that route again after leaving Jeremiah at the tattoo shop. It was too painful because my heart was pleading for a best friend, but my brain won the war. I never walked it until the night before I had to catch the Greyhound.
    My heart sank when I noticed the sign that read, “CLOSED.” Upon closer inspection, I noticed the dead flowers in the hanging baskets, the dark store, and debris littering the sidewalk. Stepping closer, I peered in with both hands by the sides of my eyes, and everything was gone. On the door, two newspaper articles were taped from the inside. One read, “Hometown Solider Killed in Line of Duty” with a picture of Jeremiah’s face. The other article right next to it was Alice’s obituary. The last few lines read, “Alice, known as Gram to all, died of a broken heart after hearing of her grandson’s death. She passed three weeks following the news. The two are surely in heaven, cussing