Free Hiding in Plain Sight by J.A. Hornbuckle

lean on anyone else but myself and being afraid he'd left, smacked of dependence.
    With nothing else to do, I crawled into my side of the bed and flipped off the lights and laid there a long time trying to work things through in the chaos of my mind.
    The opening of the door woke me from a deep sleep as did a crash of the chair at the little table in front of the window.  Without a thought, I'd rolled out of bed and onto the floor, adrenaline coursing through me.  I stealthily reached into my backpack which was never far from my side.  I did a one-handed grope, trying to feel for the heavy metal of the gun as my mind whirled. 
    Was it Bayco or someone worse? 
    Oh shit, had I loaded the gun?
    I heard the squeak of the bed before the thud of something heavy was followed by a second one hitting the carpet on the side where he slept.  I heard a rustling noise before the mattress creaked again with a long, drawn out, 'aah' of a sigh.
    My heart began to slow as I realized the 'he' was Bayco and that he had come back.  I raised myself on shaking knees and levered myself back up onto the bed and laid back down on my pillow.
    "Why were you on the floor, draga?" I heard him ask, but his voice sounded different, slower and deeper.  Almost, but not quite a slur.
    "I didn't know who was coming in."  Damn, even my voice was shaky.  The tremors inside were gonna take a long time to calm.
    "I see," he said and I felt his body turn towards me.  His hand reached up and patted my shoulder clumsily.  "I did not mean to scare you," he continued and I got a good whiff of his breath.  Bourbon breath, a smell I was very familiar with, having smelled it every day of my life growing up with my alcoholic father.
    I didn't respond other than to turn over to face the wall.  To tell the truth, the thought of Bayco being drunk scared me.  Well, anyone being drunk scared me since people could do all sorts of crazy shit and blame it on the drink.  Luckily, it wasn't long before I heard his breathing change.
    We didn't talk much the next morning.  Not that he was the chattiest of men anyways, but he seemed even quieter.  He did, though, make a point of admiring my hair.  "But you do not look that much different," he admitted. 
    Yeah, well.
    "Maybe I should cut it after all," I replied and saw him nod before he turned away.  Something was still wrong, but I couldn't tell if it was left over from last night or something new.  The man played his cards pretty close to his chest until he had something to say.  Then, when he spoke, he just said whatever it was he wanted to say, straight up.
    I'd never met anyone like him.
     

Chapter Eight
     
    "We will go to the Harley store first thing tomorrow," Bayco announced when we were finally at the motel just on the far edge of North Platte.  It was a nicer motel than the others but then, North Platte was an actual city whereas all the other places had been little Podunk towns, like the one I'd grown up in. 
    I'd always avoided the cities when I was on the run.  They were too big with too much going on for me to keep aware of everything around me.  I felt exposed, too vulnerable, in the midst of it all.
    "Okay," I replied.  I was nose-deep in my backpack, getting ready to do some laundry in the machines just a couple of doors down from the motel once the sun went down.  I hated to admit it, but Bayco had been right about the four day’s amount of clothes.  It had been just the right amount to see us this far on the journey without having to stop for anything other than potty breaks, food, and gas or to sleep.  But everything was filthy from traveling on the motorcycle.
    "You will need to buy clothes and boots," he continued, and I raised my head to watch him as he wrote at the round table by the window.  "While you are in the store, you will need to observe the other women to see what they wear, how they wear it, as well as their cosmetics."
    "You want me to study them?" I asked and got