A Woman, Freed

How do you get blood out of your shoes?

That was the first thought that popped into her head after she realized what she'd done. She'd saved up bits of her tip money for weeks to buy them so he wouldn't realize any was missing. Then she told him that a coworker had given them to her because they didn't fit right. She could tell he was suspicious of the story-he always was-but he was too high to devote too much thought to it.

Now, what he thought no longer mattered. Nothing mattered anymore, except getting out of there before they found her-and she knew they would if she hung around too long. That didn't leave her much time to change clothes and put on her flip flops, the ones that were so worn out that she could feel pebbles through them on the sidewalk.

She threw some things in a bag-her prepaid phone (he always left her with just enough minutes in case of an emergency, or in the event that he needed her to get him some beer on her way home from work), her wallet with the $42 she earned from her last shift, a few changes of clothes-the necessities. Not that she had much more than that. She also fastened the gold locket that her mom gave her when she turned 16 around her neck, then took stock of their dingy, battered apartment.

It was dingy and battered before tonight, but now it was an outright mess. Oh well-they'd just leave it all for someone else to clean up anyway. They didn't care about him, or her-just the money and his little black notebook, which contained the names and numbers of the clients he was responsible for.

Crap, the notebook. Where was it? It wasn't often that he just left it lying around, but it was a little too big to fit inside his pockets. She rifled through the desk in the living room, the one where she'd sat paying bills that they admittedly couldn't afford without his nefarious activities. Their electric bill was still sealed inside the envelope, but it would go unpaid this month-and for every one thereafter.

She opened and closed the desk drawers, scanning through random papers and cards from holidays past, from people who were no longer in her life or wouldn't claim to be. She found a picture of her and her sister from when they were little-she was 10, and her sister was 8. In the photo, they were sitting on the porch steps of their childhood home eating ice cream cones that were already half-melted in the hot summer sun. She tucked the photo in the side pocket of her bag so it wouldn't get bent.

In the bottom drawer, she also found a picture of her with him. It wasn't long after they met, before things went bad. Before he started cutting her off from her friends and family, before he began asking for her paychecks and tips at the end of the week. Before she ended up with bruises on a regular basis that she had to explain away when she was around the few people left in her life that cared about her, if only on a human level. She didn't have a single soul she could count on anymore. She left that one where she found it and closed the drawer, glancing at her watch.

It had only seemed like a few minutes since she'd stood there staring at the blood on her new shoes, but it had been almost an hour. She had to hurry-she couldn't risk them finding her here. Then she'd meet the same fate he had, undoubtedly through far less merciful means.

She grabbed the bag of cash out of his closet-$20,000, he'd told her the night before-and finally spotted the small black book peeking out from under a discarded pair of jeans. She threw it in with the cash and zipped it shut. Next, she had to find the car keys.

This, at least, was a wholly unsurprising endeavor-he'd made a game of hiding them from her around the same time he started controlling her money. Once she'd found them in the toilet tank, but he hadn't put them there again because it had ruined the remote battery. The replacement had come out of her allowance.

She checked the butter compartment of the refrigerator, the utensil drawer, and the cabinet underneath the sink. Finally, she found them-next to the napkin holder on the kitchen table. He was falling down on his game-but then again, he'd been too out of it to even bother taking his shoes off when he came in earlier.

She pocketed the keys and did one final sweep of the apartment. A sudden pang of sadness and regret hit her-even though he terrified, manipulated, and tried to destroy her on a regular basis, there were rare moments when she could see hints of who he used to be under the now-rough exterior. She couldn't think about that now, though-she had to get out of there.

She loaded up the heavy bag of cash and the lighter one with the remnents of her life into the trunk of the car and slammed it shut-if you didn't put some force behind it, it wouldn't work. A fitting metaphor for her current existence.

She slid into the tattered driver's seat and started the car. As the engine came to life, she realized the gas tank was nearly on empty. Shit. She'd have to stop at the corner store on her way out. She knew there wasn't another one for miles, and that the car's clunky V-8 wouldn't make it that far.

When she arrived at the gas station, she hopped out of the car and glanced around. The parking lot was well-lit and she knew the clerk that was on shift at this hour, but the unease she'd lived with for the last few years of her life followed her like a ghost.

She waved at him to start the pump and quickly pried open the rusty fuel door so she could place the nozzle in. While the tank filled, she went inside. What do you need when you're running for your life? The thought might be semi-amusing if she wasn't so scared. She grabbed a few bottles of water and some snacks that would keep her hunger at bay until she found a safe place to stop.

When she got to the counter, he asked her where she was headed. Until that moment, she hadn't even considered that she'd need to think about these details, but here she was. She also realized that after they discovered the money and notebook were gone, they'd stop at nothing to find her-and this was likely the first place they'd look.

"Oh, we're just going to drive to the lake tomorrow. I thought I'd get everything ready tonight so we wouldn't have to worry about it in the morning," she said. "Well, do you need some ice? Your man might want to take a 30-pack along if you're going to be gone for the day!" he said with his usual friendly smile. She had always appreciated his small kindnesses, but now she was wishing he didn't know the sparse details of her life quite so well.

"We don't have a cooler, so I guess we'll have to buy one tomorrow on our way out," she replied. "Okay, then, well y'all have a good time. And don't forget to get that inspection sticker taken care of-I hear they're starting to crack down on that pretty hard on the highway."

Well, crap. She hadn't thought about that until just now either. He knew the local cops wouldn't stop him, least of all for an expired inspection sticker, but that it would prevent her from going out of town. He was high more often than not, but cunning in his methods of controlling and manipulating her.

She thanked the clerk and headed back out to the car. The pump had long since stopped, and she did a quick survey around the car and in the back seat before she replaced the nozzle. She'd seen too many horror movies to skip those precautions.

When she got back into the car, she sat for a minute trying to decide where to go. She couldn't go home to her parents, at least not yet. Despite their strained relationship, she didn't want to put them in any danger. Her sister was also out of the question, since she lived halfway across the country and had two small kids whom she'd been forced to love from a distance.

The only other person that came to mind was her best friend from high school, who lived about three hours away and now worked as a lawyer. She hadn't seen her since shortly after graduation and had lost touch with her in the intervening years, but she knew she could count on her help all the same. She put the car in drive and started off down the highway, hoping the darkness would provide cover for long enough to get away without being noticed-by law enforcement or his buddies.

As she drove, she thought back over the last few years, wondering where she'd gotten so terribly off course. She never had big dreams-her family was too poor and practical for that-but she had the same general aspirations as any girl from any small town in Texas-get married, have a family, live semi-happily ever after. She certainly never imagined she'd be fleeing in the middle of the night with her boyfriend's dirty money after shooting him.

It was, of course, self-defense. In his angry haze of drunkenness and delirium, she knew if she hadn't taken his gun from him-an action that was fortuitous in itself, the result of his inebriation and some miracle from above-that he might have very well killed her instead. That night didn't start out much different from all of the others, a string of misery and pain that began again with each sunrise.

On this night, though, he had accused her of trying to leave him-and it was clear he believed it. She was just trying to get him to let her go to the store because they were out of eggs (and if they were out of eggs, that meant he'd be riled up all over again in the morning), but once again he'd hidden the keys along with her wallet. He finally threw the latter at her right before he pulled the gun out of his nightstand. As she picked the wallet up off the floor and realized what was happening, he charged at her.

He never could resist a chance to put his hands on her, and this time was no exception. In that instant, though, she moved ever-so-slightly to the side as he flailed past her and landed on the floor. The gun escaped from his grasp, and because his actions were so slowed, she was able to grab it before he could even think about reaching for it.

As she turned his own gun back on him, he put his hands up and begged her forgiveness. He'd "never do it again." (She'd heard that one a few hundred too many times.) He would give her the keys and let her go. (Yeah, she wasn't buying that one. He'd never "let" her go anywhere.)

While she stood there debating her next move, he lunged toward her, trying in one last desperate attempt to take her down with him. Before she could even think, there was a small click from the silencer that was almost imperceptible in her adrenaline-fueled state. Then he fell to the floor with a grunt.

How do you get blood out of your shoes?

A tremendous sense of relief washed over her now. He was gone. He couldn't hurt her anymore, and she'd finally made it out.