Runaway - Chapter 2

Mary stood at the curb long after the bus had vanished into the mist. The street was empty again, quiet except for the steady drizzle tapping against the pavement. Her breath trembled out in uneven bursts. She swiped at her face, unsure whether she was wiping away rain or tears.

Anthony approached slowly, footsteps soft, hands visible at his sides.

“Hey…” he said gently. “The next one’s not till morning.”

She swallowed hard, “I can’t stay out here.”

Her voice cracked. She hated how that sounded—small, helpless, the same way she’d felt every day inside the house she escaped. That place had been her prison. She’d gotten away. She wasn’t going to let a stranger make decisions for her again.

It’s only temporary, she reminded herself. Just until I get to California.

She gripped her backpack tighter.

“You don’t have to,” Anthony said. “The station lobby stays open all night. Cameras, bright lights. You’ll be safe there.” He nodded down the block. “I’m heading there anyway. Missed my bus too.”

Mary hesitated, glancing at the dark street as though someone she feared might step out of it. After a beat she nodded—one small, rigid motion. They walked back without speaking.

The station lobby was nearly empty. Fluorescent lights hummed overhead, reflecting off metal benches. The air smelled like mop water and stale vending machine snacks. A security camera blinked in the corner.

Mary chose a bench along the far wall. Anthony took the one opposite her, lowering himself onto the seat with careful, deliberate slowness. His hood dripped a steady trail onto the floor. His bruised knuckles rested openly on his knees.

She pulled her jacket tighter. She was freezing—trembling not just from the cold but from adrenaline that refused to fade.

A few minutes passed. Anthony glanced over once—not to stare, just to check. She noticed. He looked away, fingers drumming lightly against his knees.

“You, uh…” he said softly, nodding toward her shivering hands, “you look cold.”

Mary didn’t answer. She curled in slightly, eyes fixed on the far wall. Acknowledging him felt dangerous—like it might break whatever fragile control she still had.

Anthony waited. Hands loose. Posture open. No pressure.

The silence stretched. His breath fogged faintly in the cold air.

He cleared his throat.
“There’s a convenience store across the street,” he said gently. “They’ve got hot stuff—tea, soup, hot chocolate. I could get you something. If you want.”

She stayed still.

Accepting gifts only makes you vulnerable. She’d learned that too many times—kindness that came with hooks buried in it. Promises that later became leverage. But she was so cold. A bone-deep chill. And the only thing in her backpack was a bottle of water that felt like ice. She weighed her options silently, jaw tense.

Anthony took her silence for refusal. He nodded once and turned his head in the opposite direction she was looking, as though he hadn’t said anything at all.

Suddenly her voice slipped out—soft, barely more than breath.

“…hot chocolate.”

He turned his head back to her, meeting her eyes.

“Okay,” he said quietly. “I’ll get you one.”

He got up slowly and walked toward the glass doors. The moment he opened one, a cold gust swept through the lobby and brushed against her skin. She found herself watching him jog across the road, rain latching onto his hoodie instantly, weighing it down against his shoulders. His footsteps splashed across the wet pavement, fast and steady. A neon OPEN 24 HOURS sign flickered above the convenience store, washing the parking lot in a dull red glow.

Mary shifted on the bench. She didn’t know why she was watching. Maybe because he was the first person tonight who hadn’t grabbed her, cornered her, or tried to drag her back home. Maybe because trusting nobody was safer.

Hot chocolate? Stupid. What if he puts something in it?

Through the wide windows she saw him enter the store. Bright fluorescent light spilled out as the door swung open, revealing cluttered aisles, a coffee machine, and a bored clerk scrolling on his phone. She carefully watched Anthony move to the hot drink station. Watched steam rise around his hands as he filled the cup, shook off the extra drops, secured the lid.

Her attention sharpened when he reached the counter.

The clerk said something she couldn’t hear. Anthony reached into his hoodie pocket and pulled out a thick wad of cash—rubber-banded together, messy, unmistakably large.

Mary’s breath hitched.

Not a wallet. Not a few crumpled bills. A roll of money that didn’t belong in the hands of someone her age waiting for a bus.

He peeled off a single bill—casual, practiced. The clerk raised an eyebrow but said nothing and handed him change.

Mary sank slightly in her seat.

If they really were the same age, him carrying that kind of money was… wrong. Unsettling. Something about the ease with which he handled it made her stomach twist.

But then she watched him step back into the rain, clutching the hot chocolate in both hands like it was precious, like he didn’t want to spill a drop.

He crossed the street again, soaked hood dripping, careful with the cup.

Mary straightened, wiping her palms on her jeans.

Whoever he was… he’d just run through freezing rain to bring her something warm.

But that money—

That part didn’t feel safe.