That was five years ago, out on a sweltering desert highway.
My whole six-month thing with Vincent boiled down to one thing-purely physical, just sex.
Growing up, I was the biggest rule-follower you’d ever meet.
Dad taught middle school, Mom elementary. I was exactly what everyone wanted-compliant, quiet, easy to handle. The perfect kid, through and through.
But only I knew what was really goin’ on in my head.
I was terrified. I had no opinions of my own-just parroted what everyone else said. I lived in constant fear of fightin’, lettin’ people down, or screwin’ up.
It was suffocating. I was startin’ to hate myself, bad.
So when I hit twenty-eight, I went totally off the rails.
Quit my high-stress job. Permed my stick-straight hair into loose waves. Tossed my prescription glasses. Threw on a floral slip dress, rented an RV, and hit a long, empty stretch of desert highway-all by myself.
That’s where I found Vincent.
He was twenty-three then, and he’d wrecked his bike.
He was sittin’ alone on the shoulder, in the middle of absolutely nowhere. Unkempt, clearly depressed, radiatin’ this frustrated, defensive, totally helpless vibe.
I pulled over, tugged my sunglasses down with my index finger, flashed a big smile, and yelled out, “Hey, you wanna get in? I can give you a ride.”
He didn’t say a word.
Just stood up, limped down the road, pushin’ his bike-total silent “no.”
I sped off, but barely made it a mile before I spun the RV around and headed back.
He still ignored me.
I idled behind him, layin’ out the risks to wear him down. “Look, kid, I swear I’m not a creep. I’m just tryin’ to do a good deed here.”
“It’s gonna pour. You really don’t wanna be out here for that.”
“Plus, I heard this road’s haunted…”
He stopped dead in his tracks.
Turned around, stared right at me, and said with a totally straight face, “You talk too much.”
I just smiled bigger. “So you gonna get in or what?”
He got in.
I figured he was goin’ through some inner mess, but I didn’t pry.
Out there, anyone travelin’ alone had their own baggage.
Instead, I dragged him out into the howlin’ wind so we could throw our arms wide and scream at the top of our lungs. Pulled him down in the dirt to lie next to me under the stars, talkin’ about absolute nonsense.
Wasted a whole day helpin’ local villagers hunt for a missing sheep. Made him undercooked chicken stew in that cramped little RV.
Out in that wide-open space, no one’s expectations weighin’ on me? I became the total opposite of the old Katrina.
Free. Passionate. Brave.
I was this interesting, kinda wild young woman-always smilin’, loud and cheerful.
I played the part to help him heal, emotionally.
And I did it to heal myself, too.
Vincent’s eyes slowly lit up, his smile gettin’ sharper. When he looked at me, his gaze traded that usual cold distance for somethin’ intense-like he couldn’t look away.
It hit me then-under all that broodin’, he was just a rebellious, brave, crazy resilient kid.
My exact opposite.
On quiet nights, we’d cram ourselves into the RV’s tiny bed.
It happened totally natural-driven by basic, physical need.
Out there in the middle of nowhere, we were just scratchin’ a primal itch.
Forgot our ages, our pasts, who we were supposed to be.
Just hot skin and heavy breathin’.
We threw the rulebook out the window.
The deeper the desire got, the better it was.
We were totally consumed-chasin’ that high, goin’ at it nonstop.
He had this habit: trail his index and middle fingers across my skin, pause at certain spots, then drop his voice to this rough, hoarse whisper.
“Ari, can I come inside now?” “You want it?” “Can you take one more?” “Let’s try…”
We lived like that for six months-drivin’, pullin’ over whenever we felt like it.
One evening, sittin’ by the window as the sun set, calm and quiet, we split a sandwich.
“Ari, wait for me a year. Once I sort out my family stuff, I’ll come find you in your city, okay?”
He looked dead serious.
“No way,” I said, laughin’ it off.
“Why not?”
“I’m five years older than you. I don’t have time to wait around. Plus, relationships with this kind of age gap barely ever work. I don’t wanna end up some insecure, bitter older woman while you’re still young and hot.”
I was just deflectin’, talkin’ garbage like I usually did.
He froze, lookin’ genuinely shocked.
I felt a twinge of guilt and forced a smile.
“Okay, first tell me what you even like about me.”
He actually thought about it for a second before answerin’, totally sincere. “I like that you do whatever you want. You’re fearless. You’re real-no fake stuff.”
I looked down and took a bite of my sandwich.
A few days later, in some tiny border town, I left a note.
And I left without him.
The person he’d seen? That wasn’t the real me anyway.
We were just two travelers who crossed paths.
Caught up in the road trip bubble, had a short fling, then went our separate ways.
I went back to the city, put my glasses back on, chopped off my hair, and slipped right back into my boring corporate clothes.
Went back to being Katrina-the person everyone expected me to be.
