The Truck Driver

Newark, NJ

The road stretched on into the night as Tank's eyelids grew heavier with every mile. His hands gripped the wheel with a steady force, but his mind was wandering. He glanced in the rearview mirror, catching a glimpse of Kayla, curled up in the back, her body turned toward the wall. She was asleep, her chest rising and falling in a peaceful rhythm.

Tank's eyes flicked back to the road. He wasn't used to having someone in his truck. Sure, he had shared the road with countless strangers over the years, but this felt different. Kayla wasn't just some hitchhiker; she was running from something real, something dangerous.

He yawned, his neck aching from the long hours of driving. The fatigue was catching up to him, but he wasn't about to pull over in some random spot. He needed rest, needed it badly if they were going to make it to Maine on time.

He pulled off the highway at a truck stop just outside of New York City, close to the Connecticut border. It was quieter here, tucked away from the bustle of the city, but the glow of neon lights still flickered in the distance.

Tank parked his rig, ensuring the space was secure before he locked the doors, rolled up the windows, and closed the curtains. He wasn't taking any chances tonight.

After a quick check of his surroundings, Tank pulled off his boots, his legs aching as he stood to change into something more comfortable. He stripped off his jeans, tossing them into the small corner of the truck before pulling on a pair of sweats. He didn't want to make any noise or disturb Kayla, so he moved with the kind of quiet ease that came with years of solo travel.

As he pulled his shirt over his head, he glanced back at Kayla again. She was still sleeping soundly, her body curled into a tight ball like she was trying to shield herself from something. It made Tank's chest tighten, but he shook the thought away.

He slid under the comforter on the small bed, keeping a respectable distance between them. He wasn't about to overstep any boundaries, especially when he didn't know where her head was at. Kayla had been through enough already.

As Tank settled into the bed, he noticed her stir, her body shifting slightly as if she could sense his presence. She didn't wake up, though. Just a little shift, a subtle movement of her shoulders against the pillow.

Tank exhaled slowly, his mind racing as he stared up at the ceiling. He wasn't sure what was going on with Kayla, but he knew he was going to help her. No matter what it took.

He thought about her stepfather, the anger that had built up in her voice when she told him what had been happening. He couldn't imagine being in her shoes; no woman, no person, should ever have to feel like that. And yet here she was, in the back of his truck, fleeing from everything she knew, and looking to him for protection.

He shifted again, trying to get comfortable. The mattress was small, the bed even smaller, and the thin comforter barely kept out the chill of the night. Tank's mind wandered again, thoughts of Kayla's past and her situation pressing in on him. She had been through hell, and now, she had to rely on a stranger for safety.

Despite the weight of his thoughts, his body started to relax. The hum of the engine and the gentle rocking of the truck worked their magic, lulling him into a state of half-sleep. He kept his eyes closed, but his ears remained alert, listening for anything out of the ordinary.

For a long while, the silence between them stretched on.

Then, just as he was drifting deeper into sleep, he heard Kayla's soft voice.

"Tank?" she whispered, barely audible.

He tensed slightly, not sure if she was dreaming or if she had woken up. His name on her lips caught him off guard, but he didn't let it show.