The oppressive Texas heat clung to me like a second skin, even in the shade of the gas station awning. My backpack lay beside me, a pathetic testament to my hurried escape from a life of neglect. Two hours had crawled by since Drayton, Nubbins’ brother, had promised me shelter, and the lure of his 'barbeque' had been too strong to resist.

Now, with a half-eaten, oddly-flavored sandwich in my hand, I watched the distant shimmer of heat rising from the asphalt. My phone, a cracked relic of my father’s indifference, told me it was 1:00 PM. Two hours until Drayton was off work, two hours until I stepped into the unknown.

The initial euphoria of freedom had long since curdled into a cold dread. Where was I, really? And what exactly had I eaten? The thought, fleetingly, made my stomach clench, but the flavor, however strange, was undeniably satisfying. I pulled out my notebook, seeking a distraction, and began to sketch the desolate landscape around me, the passing cars, anything to keep the encroaching anxiety at bay. Time seemed to stretch, thin and fragile, between me and whatever awaited me with the Sawyer family.