At least then, his suffering would be over. He would no longer feel his damn feet.
The truck shifted, slowing down. Prying his eyes open, he squinted at the passing pine trees lining the landscape. Turning his head, he figured the driver had taken the exit he needed. From the directions, he only had to go two miles. The closer he could get, the less time he had to spend on his feet.
As businesses started lining the road and the truck's speed stayed at a lower limit, he pulled up his knees and put the soles of his feet on the bed of the pickup, getting ready to move.
Catching sight of a street sign, he was close. Only two more blocks to go.
He knocked on the window. By the time the driver pulled to a stop, he was on the street where he needed to be. He pulled himself over the side of the bed and let his body slide down the metal until his feet hit the ground.
"Jesus Christ," he muttered on a hiss of pain.
Not sure he would remain standing once the truck wasn't there to hold on to, he grunted. Digging deep, he let go.
Lifting his gaze, he caught the driver's gaze in the side mirror and lifted his hand in thanks. The truck engine revved. Rick straightened and remained on the side of the road.
His feet pounded, matching his heart rate. In the past, he'd been beaten, close to death, and had always mustered enough strength to survive. Broken bones, lacerations, the skin ripped off his body hadn't killed him. He couldn't let his feet take him out of living.
He had one more thing he wanted to do before he died.
Yet as he stood at the side of the road, his swollen feet, raw and bleeding, he had a deep urge to let his body hit the ground and close his eyes.
He blinked, focusing on the buildings close by. The address Nate gave him was across the street.
Waiting until the break between cars passing in front of him grew longer, allowing him more time, he stepped off the sidewalk and jaywalked across the road. Each step his last.
The one-story building had no sign of people around. The front window to the right of the door was boarded up and painted the same dull yellow as the rest of the place.
He hoped Nate hadn't sent him on a wild goose chase.
Even though he'd spent two years in the same cell as Nate, he'd never allowed himself to trust anyone.
But he had no options.
He had nowhere to go upon release, and when Nate gave him the address, he'd taken the help. His only other option would've been to go to one of the halfway houses offered by the state. He'd rather be homeless than have his freedom stripped away again.
Sweat rolled down his temples. He approached the door, grabbing the frame. Sucking in air, he raised his fist and beat on the wood. If there was nobody about, he was going to lower himself to the ground and stay right here until someone showed.
Raising his hand again, he banged on the door. His vision went in and out. He pressed his forehead against the wood and closed his eyes. He needed water.
The building disappeared in front of him. The pressure against his head went away. Sensing himself falling, he let himself go.
He welcomed the blackness. The peace.
