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"Love and compassion are necessities,

not luxuries.

Without them,

humanity cannot survive."

-Dalai Lama

THREE YEARS LATER

I ran until I lost the feeling in my bare feet, until I could no longer feel the small branches prick and dig into my tender skin. I ran until the evening sun disappeared behind the thick underbrush. Until I was left to wander the cold and dark woods alone. With a blend of emotions still ripping through my mind and my heart beating out of my chest, my throat burned as adrenaline drained from my body. I frantically searched for any source of light or sound in the distance. Who knew following the sound of a train's roar would be my saving grace? Pushing passed the browning vegetation I hop the ditch to the pothole filled service road making my hike to the brightly lit gas station across the interstate.

The bell over the door rings as I enter, and surprisingly no one notices. And for that I'm thankful, my face is hot and flushed, sticky from the dried tears, my hair decorated with knots and bits of debris, and the bottom of my jeans are fringed and dusty with a thick dirt ring.

Leaving a trail of dirt on the freshly mopped floors I finally find the store clerk; my voice comes out low and hoarse from my thirst.

"Ex- Excuse me, can I have a key to the restroom please."

Sliding the key over the worn countertop, her head near lifts from her magazine, "Sure Hun, it's outside to ya left." She utters between her chews of spearmint gum.

Closing the door, I lock from the inside, feeling as if for the first time I can breathe. My back falls to the door and my body slides until resting on the floor. With my face in my hands my eyes begin to fill with tears and a heart wrenching sob escapes my lips.

"No no no. Stop it, don't you cry again, pull it together, come on Abagail! There isn't anything or anyone here for you anymore."

A few minutes go by before I pull myself of the floor to the mirror. After I wash up as best I could, splashing cold water on my face I wipe away my tears before running my fingers through my waves pulling out the knots and tucking my long brown hair behind my ears. Plopping back onto the bathroom floor to wash my aching feet with a thin stack of paper towels drenched in "fresh breeze" scented hand soap, each pass stinging my soles as I wiped over each cut.

Locking the door to the restroom before returning the key. I hear a voice from behind, my body stills as my spine and shoulders grow stiff.

"I could tell somethin' was up....ya in some sorta trouble kid? Ya sure have been it there a while."

"I was uh, just fixing my hair is all."

"It's alright kid, I'm here to help."

But I don't respond, only reaching out my arm to return the key.

"It's sad, I see so many of ya kids, walkin' in here broken and lookin' for a way out, I reckon that's why I'm 55 and still working the night shift at this ole place."

"I-"

But before I can say a word, she holds up a hand, taking a long drag from her the stub end of her cigarette, before tossing in the disposable bin.

"Ah, no need to explain yourself to me Hun, I ain't here to judge you no. God only put me here to help, so just listen. We get a lotta plant workers that park here and carpool, they come here in their company pick-ups, come inside for my hot plates or biscuits, and roll out onto the interstate. Now it's a start, but that's your way out ya see?"

"I appreciate it ma'am but, I can't just ask for a ride from a bunch of men, what if they get the wrong idea?"

The older woman, belts out a laugh." Oh no Hun, I ain't said a thing about askin', just hop in the bed when they come in for breakfast! Now follow me in, I've got to get started on my cooking for the early birds."

As I sit in the back corner of the kitchen watching Lidia stir the grits, I found a bit of comfort in knowing she cared. She gave me a pair of discounted flip-flops that had been sitting in a box since they packed up most of the summer merchandise with exception to the display of sunglasses near the register. She even poured me a cup of coffee and gave me her leftovers from the employee fridge as we waited on the first truck to pull up.

"Oh! Before ya go Hun" Lidia shouts tapping her spoon on the side of her pot before placing it on the counter.

"I got something else for ya!" , disappearing out the side door to her car parked out back.

"Here, now it ain't much but it's sure is something to help you on ya feet."

And without a second to think, Lidia has me in her arms. Her petite figure still somehow able to swaddle me in a hug, the slight breeze in the air whisks through the back door carrying the cigarette smoke that still lingered on her skin mixed with the smell of sandalwood and vanilla scented perfume as I rested my head on her shoulder.

"Ahhh this part gets me every time." She pulls back handing me the plastic bag and an old worn hoodie she retrieved from her trunk.

"Now go on, before I start to cry and go out through here." Pointing to the door she propped open seconds ago when she went to her car.

"Lidia?" I pause, before walking out the door, "thanks for everything."

As the truck begins to take off, I settle in and rest my head against the hoodie Lidia was kind enough to give me. My mind goes back to my dad. I can't believe he is gone. If he wouldn't have gotten tied up with the Pectin's and borrowing their money. None of this would have happened.

Shortly after my mama left us, my dad started to borrow money to make ends meet. For the most part folks where understanding and willing to help but after a while they grew angry and irritated of his returning need and started to avoid him. So, he decided to start borrowing from his Boss, Jason Pectin. It's started just to help out with the rent and to replace the one car we owned that mama took, but without her income he was drowning in debt and Jason, being a man of a quick temper didn't take kindly to late payments.

The night Mr. Pectin came and put his hands on my Father, was forever burned into my memory. He was smiling, as if he got off on causing pain to others. Until he saw me peering through the window, I remember my eyes going wide and my heart pounding against the walls of my chest.

"Whyyyy, I didn't know you had a daughter Scott!" He said with a long southern drawl. He accent screaming, spoon-fed, sophisticated, and prick.

"Jason, Please, leave her out of this." my dad said with a pleading voice, as blood dripped from the corner of his mouth.

With a low voice and a grin, "Oh Scott, I won't hurt her."

He assured my father, as he pulled a cigar from his chest pocket, striking the flint wheel on his monogramed lighter. How suiting

"Come out on the porch..." Jason said, turning to look at my father for a name. Reading his body language, I came out before he had a chance to beat my name out of my father's mouth.

"Smart girl!" he said with a slight smile, reaching out his hand, introducing himself to me with a firm handshake, keeping my hand in his grip. What a creep. "Names Jason Pectin, I'm good friends with your father. He is one of the best cattle hands I've got around, when he isn't in my office asking for money of course."

He began to chuckle and paused for a second to look around laying his eyes on my father with a mischievous grin before continuing.

"It's funny, Scott never mentioned having children, or such a beautiful daughter at that! How old are you?"

His eyes lingered on my chest for a friction of a second too long before skimming my body over. Showcasing his pearly whites, before taking a long drag from his cigar. I shift my body out of reflex from the discomfort of his wandering eyes, but keep my hand outreached in his in hopes of keeping his anger at bay. "Nice to meet you, my name is Abagail. I'm 19." I say breaking eye contact, pushing my hair back behind my ear with my free hand.

Smoke whirls around between our bodies, filling in the small screened in porch before lifting and disbursing with the ceiling fan.

"19? My boy Wyatt is 19!" he turns with a shout.

"Wyatt come up here!"

On command, the tall boy pushed through the other men, walking out of the dark and on to the porch. Something seemed so familiar about this guy. It was Wyatt from Highschool. The quiet boy covered in bruises that kept to himself, we all thought he moved away or dropped out. Taking the ladder of the two, I assumed to work on the farm, but it was possible that maybe too many questions were being asked about his appearance?

Wyatt stopped on the top step, standing next to Mr. Pectin, matching the angry expression on his father's face. Only not seeming to inherit his father's sinister, entitled grin. When our eyes meet, I swear for a second, his eyes soften just long enough to signal distress or remorse, before quickly turning harsh once again.

A caring note to all my Caspers out there (I see your readings, thank you), Please don't ever be afraid to comment! I'd love to hear from you!❤ Butt if you are that is also more than okay, just remember to vote per part.❤