“Where are you gonna look?” he asks as I pull the front door open.
I pause. I have no f**king clue. I was just going to drive around Durango until I got an idea.
Turning back to him, I ask, “Where would you look?”
He rubs his hand over his short, greying hair. “If I were Mia and I was in a town that wasn’t home and not familiar, and after what she just found out … if it were me, I’d want a bar and alcohol … but I don’t think she’s that kind of girl,” he adds as I shake my head no.
“She’s not.”
“Then I’d want somewhere quiet. Somewhere I could be alone.”
“Where’s quiet?”
“Here,” he says.
“Another hotel?”
“I’d say so.”
“Thanks, Dad.”
I run out to the Mustang and tear up the gravel, speeding out of there.
***
I’ve checked the parking lots of ten hotels so far looking for her car, and nothing.
I don’t know if I’m wasting my time here. She could have left town, but I have to keep looking.
I pull up at the stop sign at a junction. Feeling lost, not sure which way to turn, I rest my forehead against the steering wheel.
A second later, a horn blasts out from behind, frightening the shit out of me. My eyes hit the rear-view to see a car behind.
“All right! I’m moving!” I call out. I shift into gear and take a right.
It’s not until I’m half-way down the street, I realize I’m on my way out of town. Maybe she has left, and this is my sub-conscious telling me.
Feeling disheartened, and like a complete failure, I start to make a U-turn, taking one quick glance around to make sure all is clear, and that’s when I see her car. It’s parked outside a seedy looking motel.
My heart stops.
Then restarts with a thundering gallop.
Swallowing my nerves, I spin around and drive into the motel lot, parking by the office.
The guy behind the desk looks like a complete stoner. He doesn’t even look away from the TV when I walk in.
I hate that Mia felt she had nowhere to stay but here. She doesn’t belong in a place like this. She belongs with me.
“Hey man.” I rest my hands on the counter. “I was wondering if you to do me a favor. My girlfriend and I had a fight—” Girlfriend. That’s the first time I’ve called Mia my girlfriend. Funny when I’m not even sure what we are anymore. “—and it was a real big one. I really need to talk to her, but she’s not answering her cell.”
“Then I’m guessing she don’t wanna talk to you,” he says flatly without taking his eyes of the TV.
I curl my hands into fists.
Ignoring him, I say in a clipped tone. “Look, her car’s parked up front. I know she’s staying here. I just need you to tell me what room she’s staying in.”
Technically he can’t, I know this. But this isn’t the most reputable of establishments. So he’ll either tell me, or be a complete dick. From the look on his face, I’m figuring the latter.
His lips curl as he smirks. “You’re talking about the cute blonde with the tight ass, drives a car as hot as she is? Was here the other day as well – stayed for just the day.”
She stayed here the other day?
All my muscles lock, rigid tight.
“I’m guessing for a nooner,” dickface continues. “And going by the look on your face, it definitely wasn’t with you.” He laughs. “Yeah, man. You’re not getting shit from me.”
I reach over the counter and grab hold of his shirt, dragging him off his chair. “You will tell me what room she’s in, right fuckin’ now,” I hiss in his face, “or I’m gonna kick your ass, then I’m gonna bang on every fuckin’ door of your scummy motel, dragging out all your regular business – the ones who don’t want interrupting ’cause they earn by the hour – until I find her.”
He opens his mouth, but I stop him before he starts.
“And before you cry about calling the cops, my dad is the cops—” Okay, so that’s a lie. But I’m playing all I got here. “—so don’t waste your fuckin’ time ’cause they ain’t coming out for your low rent dive, or a piece of shit like you. Now tell me what fuckin’ room she’s in!”
He grabs his shirt, pulling it from my hand, freeing himself. “Fine!” he huffs, breathing heavily. “Whatever! Like I give a shit! She’s in room 106.”
“See, now that wasn’t so hard, was it?”
I slam the door, and head down the walkway toward her room.
One-oh-six. I rap on the door and wait.
Nothing.
I look through the crack in the curtains. The room’s dark except for the flickering TV, but no sign of Mia.
I knock again, louder, calling her name through the door.
Waiting, I listen for movement.
Still nothing.
“Mia!” I bang again. “I know you’re in there. Your car’s out front. I just need to know you’re okay.”
I press my ear to the door, listening for noise. Then I hear her … faintly.
“Mia!” I call again, my heart pounding.
“Jordan.”
Without a second thought, I rear back and slam my foot against the lock. It gives in one kick.
I tear into the room, and I see mess everywhere. Food wrappers, containers … just trash, everywhere.
I hear her groan. Bathroom.
She’s on the floor. My stomach bottoms out.
My eyes take in everything in less than a second. Dried blood on her forehead matted into her hair. What looks like chocolate, smeared on her face.
Then the smell hits and that’s when I see the vomit in the sink … and the smashed mirror above it.
I drop to my knees beside her. “Mia. It’s me, I’m here. Jesus, baby, what happened?” I take hold of her hand. Her knuckles are torn up, dried with blood – the mirror.
Fuck. What have you done to yourself, baby? Tears sting my eyes.
“Jordan…” she groans, her eyes flicker open, looking out of focus.
“I’m here.” I press my hand to her cheek. “I’m gonna get you some help.”
“No…” she mumbles. “… be fine. Just give … min-ute…” Her eyes close.
“Mia, baby. Stay with me. Stay awake.” I gently pat her cheek.
“Tired…”
“Mia.” I pat her a little harder, but she’s out, and then I’m dialing 9-1-1, telling them I need an ambulance immediately.
***
“How’s she doing?”
I stand as Dad approaches. I’m in the waiting room where I’ve been for the past half-hour since we arrived and they left me here, rushing Mia straight off.
“They’re not telling me anything because apparently, I’m not family.” I throw my arms in the air, darting an angry look at the receptionist.
Dad puts his hands on my shoulders, bringing my attention to him. “Technically, we are family.” He gives me a firm look before turning and walking over to the reception desk.
The last thing I want to do is refer to Mia as my step-sister, but if it’ll get me any news on her, I’ll tell them whatever the f**k they need to hear.
I pace around as I watch my dad talk to the receptionist.
He gives a few nods. Says a few things. Another nod. Then he’s walking back toward me.
“What did she say?”
“Just that Mia is currently undergoing tests, and they’re extremely busy tonight so we could be waiting hours before we hear anything.”
“Jesus.” I press my fingers to the bridge of my nose, closing my eyes, trying to settle my rattling emotions. “I just need to see her. Know she’s okay.”
“She’s gonna be fine, son.” His hand squeezes my shoulder. “Looks like we’re gonna be here a while, so I’ll go get us some coffee.”
I nod, and lean back against the wall, my eyes still closed.
***
A few hours later…
“Mr. Matthews?”
My head jerks up. A woman, mid-thirties, hair tied in a bun and wearing a white coat, stands before me.
“I’m Dr. Packard. You’re Mia Monroe’s family? You came in with her?”
I get to my feet. “Yes. I’m her … her…”
“I’m her step-father,” Dad cuts in, standing beside me. “How is she doing?”
Dr. Packard turns her attention to Dad. I give him a grateful look.
“Mia suffered a small contusion to the head from her fall, nothing too serious, but what was of concern to me after initially examining Mia was that she was showing signs of severe dehydration, and her blood pressure was dangerously low—”
“Severe dehydration?” I say, confused. “What would cause her to be severely dehydrated?” I’m no doctor, but I know severe dehydration isn’t something you just get.
She gives me an uncomfortable glance. Then turns to Dad. “Mr. Matthews…”
“Jim, please.”
“Jim, has Mia ever had any issues in the past? Any problems with food … of any kind?”
“What do you mean – problems with food?” I ask.
Her eyes dart to me again. “You are Mia’s…?”
“Step-brother.” I nearly choke on the words because it couldn’t be farther from the truth. “Jordan. I’m Jordan.”
She clears her throat, turning to me. “Jordan, after examining your step-sister, a few things I discovered brought up a concern.”
“What concern?” My heart leaps out of my chest and starts to sprint down the hall.
“I’m not at liberty to discuss in length, not before speaking to Mia.”
“You asked us for a reason? What is that? You think Mia has a problem with food, so let’s talk about it—” I’m being a dick, I know, but something about this is bothering the f**k out of me. “—what kind of problem? Allergies? A food intolerance? An eating disord—” The words are out of my mouth before I even realize what I’m saying.
And then I realize.
And my eyes close under the wrecking ball of that realization. The way I found her in that motel room stilling my mind into a freeze frame of events. The excessive amount of empty food wrappers. The way there was chocolate smeared on her face as if she’d been gorging on it.
And she’d been throwing up.
She’d been throwing up.
Excessive eating. Throwing up.
Think Jordan. Think…
Bulimia.
Fuck, no.
I open my eyes. “You think Mia is bulimic.”
Dr. Packard pushes her hands in her pockets, releasing a slow breath. “There are many signs pointing to that possibility, yes, but like I said, I can’t be sure of anything until I’ve spoken to Mia.”
And my heart leaves the building.
“So talk to her – now.” I gesture down the hall. “I’ll come with you.”
She shakes her head. “That’s not possible at the moment as Mia is sedated, and I—”