WAIT NO MORE: CHAPTER ONE ⬇️

No Looking Back

The Greyhound bus smelled like old coffee, fast food, and everybody’s tired dreams.

I had the window seat in the back, curled up in my hoodie like it was a shield. My duffel bag sat on my lap like a second body, and I had my headphones in—but I wasn’t playing anything. I just didn’t feel like being bothered. If you mind your business, people usually return the favor.

Outside the window, the trees started getting thicker. The roads turned from highways to curves, and I could tell we were getting close. Franklin, North Carolina. LBJ Job Corps. My fresh start… or something like it.

I leaned my head against the glass and watched the world blur. Somewhere behind me was everything I used to know. And honestly? I didn’t miss none of it.

Back home, everything was just messy.

Messy people.

Messy situations.

Messy pain nobody wanted to deal with.

I told the truth about what happened to me. About him. And instead of protecting me, my family looked at me like I was the one who did something wrong. My mama, especially. She didn’t say it, but the way she stopped looking me in the eye said it all. She cried, but not for me—for the shame, for how it would look. Not once did she say, “I believe you.”

That broke something in me.

Something that’s still healing.

So when my daddy came around, offering a place to stay, I packed up and left without even blinking. It wasn’t perfect, but it felt better than being in a house full of people who acted like I was invisible. He tried, I’ll give him that. But six weeks later, he got deployed, handed me a Job Corps brochure, and said, “This’ll be good for you.”

Maybe it would. Maybe not.

Either way, I was on my way there with no real plan—just me, my thoughts, and the weight of everything I’d been through.

⸻

“Franklin—LBJ Job Corps stop!” the driver called out.

I sat up quickly, wiping my hands on my jeans. My palms were sweaty. My heart was beating like it was trying to jump out of my chest. This was it.

The air outside was crisp and clean, and cold enough to make my teeth chatter a little. It smelled like pine trees and snow—not city snow, but the real kind. The kind that crunches under your boots instead of turning black from car smoke.

I stepped off the bus and looked around. LBJ sat low in the middle of the mountains, tucked away like it didn’t want to be found. There were a few buildings spaced out across the field, with faded signs and old paint. It was quiet, almost peaceful—but not the type of peace I trusted. I’ve learned that quiet don’t always mean safe.

“You Zaria Fields?” a woman asked, stepping forward with a clipboard. She wore navy sweats, sneakers, and a no-nonsense face.

“Yes, ma’am,” I replied.

“You’ll be in Dorm 3B, girls’ side. Follow the yellow line on the pavement. Orientation starts at 8 a.m. sharp. Don’t be late.”

She started to walk off, then turned slightly. “Welcome to LBJ.”

I nodded politely and pulled my duffel up on my shoulder. That “welcome” didn’t exactly feel warm, but I wasn’t expecting hugs and sunshine. Just direction—and maybe a bed that didn’t squeak too much.

⸻

The walk to the dorms was longer than it looked. The yellow line on the pavement weaved through a courtyard where a few students stood around talking, some laughing, others giving off that “too cool to care” energy. A couple of boys watched me pass, and I kept my eyes forward.

I didn’t come here for boys. I didn’t come here for drama.

I came here because I had no other option.

The buildings were old but sturdy, like they’d seen a lot of people come and go. I liked that. I liked things that lasted.

I reached Dorm 3B and pulled the door open. Warm air hit my face, along with the smell of shea butter, gel, and something fried. Girls were everywhere—some talking loud, others doing hair, and a couple already in pajamas watching a bootleg DVD on someone’s laptop.

I stood there for a second, unsure where to go.

“You new?” one girl asked, not even looking up from the twist-out she was working on.

I nodded.

“Top bunk, back corner’s empty,” another girl said, chewing gum. “We don’t do assigned beds, but that one’s been open.”

“Thanks,” I said softly, adjusting my bag and heading to the back.

The bunk wasn’t fancy—just a twin mattress, thin pillow, and folded sheets. But it was mine. At least for now.

I climbed up, kicked my shoes off, and laid on my back, staring at the ceiling tiles. Some of them were cracked. One had a little water stain that looked like a heart. Kinda poetic, in a weird way.

I didn’t unpack. I didn’t talk.

I just breathed.

⸻

My mind wandered, like it always does when I finally slow down.

I remembered how I used to write poems and short stories in my notebook. I wanted to go to college one day—Spelman, maybe. I dreamed of walking across campus in a cute outfit, books in hand, sun on my skin, and nobody judging me for the stuff I’d been through.

But lately, dreaming felt like setting myself up for disappointment.

I whispered to myself, “You’re still here. That counts.”

Because sometimes, just being here does count.

Especially when you’ve had to fight so hard just to stay standing.

I closed my eyes for a second. The dorm was loud, but it was the kind of noise I could tune out. Girls laughing, music playing, someone blow-drying their hair. It reminded me of what normal used to sound like. I hadn’t felt normal in a long time.

⸻

Later that night, when everything settled and the lights dimmed, I stayed awake. Just thinking.

I thought about how much I missed my younger self—the girl who used to smile for no reason, who thought her body was a safe space, who believed family would always have her back.

I missed her innocence. Her softness.

But maybe that girl was gone. Or maybe… just maybe, she was hiding inside me, waiting to feel safe again.

This place? LBJ? I didn’t know if it would give me that. But for the first time in a long time, I wasn’t running from something. I was running to something.

Even if I didn’t know what it was yet.

I wrapped my arms around my pillow, pulled my locs over my shoulder like a blanket, and whispered—

“Let this be the beginning of something better.”

Because honestly?

I was tired of surviving.

I wanted to live.

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