Escape

The sunlight was fighting to stream through the plastic blinds, as she rolled over, stretching her arms over her head on the flimsy pillow. Outside, the city was wide awake; horns were blaring, people were shouting, and she could hear the occasional siren wailing by. Though the sheets she lay on were threadbare and faded, the old mattress thin and dirty, she still smiled to herself. There was something luxurious about lazing in bed. Though for most people, something as simple as a nap might be a regular activity, for her, it was daring, rebellious -- especially considering the state of her dingy flat.

She pushed herself up in bed, looking around at the mess before her. A small wooden table, which wobbled every time you touched it, stood between the bed and the window, with its peeling paint and cracked glass. She swung her feet out of bed and onto the rough wooden floor, sighing as she ran her hands through her tangled hair, and looked towards the front door. There weren't many rooms in the apartment -- just this small bedroom, a tiny kitchenette, and a bathroom just beyond it -- and yet it still never seemed to be clean enough. The sink in the kitchenette was stained, from what she didn't want to know, and no matter how hard she scrubbed, the black ring in the toilet never quite went away. The walls, which must have originally been a bland taupe color, had been darkened with the misery of the countless dirt-poor tenants who had lived there before. She could feel her own sadness being leached into the faded flowers on the wallpaper, ensuring that part of her would remain to haunt whoever came after her.

At the beginning, he made her feel special. Loved. He appreciated her in ways no one had before, and he made her feel like she wasn't alone anymore. Her entire life had been spent alone, with foster parents who looked right through her, and kids who snickered as she walked past them in the hallways at school. She went from one dead-end job to another, drifting aimlessly on the sea of mediocrity, until he found her. He thought she was beautiful, when no one ever had before. He told her she was safe with him, secure. He'd at least kept his word on that front; their small apartment was nothing special, but it was a roof over her head when she'd spent too many days sleeping in her car.

More shouting on the street carried on the wind up to her window, but this time, her head snapped up, and she found herself instantly alert. It was his voice; he was home. She felt her heart begin to pound, and she sprang out of bed, toppling the pathetic wooden table to the ground, the little black notebook resting on top of it flying across the room. Pressing herself against the wall, she tried to peek out of the window to make sure it was his voice she had heard. There was his car, down on the street, and his head bobbing just out of sight. He was on his way up.

Her eyes swept frantically around the apartment, chest heaving. Dishes were piled in the sink. Clothes were left in heaps on the floor. None of it was hers, but she knew how he would react if he came home and the apartment was not sparkling clean -- well, as clean as it could be, anyway. The bruises on her arms had just began to fade, and she still heard the occasional ringing in her ears from the time he thought she was flirting with one of his friends, someone whose face she couldn't even remember at this point. She wasn't eager for his violent hands to imprint anymore tattoos onto her skin, and began racing around, picking up shirts, dirty socks, and trash, anything she could find. Though their walk-up apartment was on the top floor, meaning she had a little bit of time, she still worried it wouldn't be enough. But in her mad dash, her eyes fell on the notebook.

There it was, lying there innocently on the floor, and before she could even think, her arms went limp. His dirty shirts and condom wrappers fell around her feet, but she didn't move, her eyes fixed on the black book in front of her. She didn't know why she had been chosen, but it had been furtively passed to her by one of the regulars at her bar. Inside, there had been a hastily-scrawled note, promising her $20,000 if she called a certain number; she found out later that the lonely man had died of cancer, and with no family to leave his estate to, he'd decided to be generous. He had decided to make her one of his beneficiaries, for reasons she didn't entirely understand, and she had been too scared until now to collect. She also had known not to breathe a word about it to anyone, because if he knew about the money, it would already be gone.

Slowly, she knelt down, reaching for the book with shaking hands. There it was, the number offering her freedom -- or was it? What would she be risking if she called? Her life with him wasn't perfect, but at least she could eat, and had somewhere to sleep at night. But then... wasn't she already scared every day? Looking around, surrounded by anger and chaos and fear, she realized that she wanted better. She deserved better. And she would need to move fast.

Darting across the room, she bolted the door, and pushed the small table from their kitchenette in front of it for good measure, the floor groaning in protest. It wasn't a heavy table, but it could at least buy her a few extra minutes. She hurried over to the dresser and began throwing her clothes into a duffel bag, moving a little faster when she heard the key turn in the lock. When the door wouldn't open, he began shouting, screaming at her to open the door, but she tried to block him out, to steady her hands as she packed. He managed to get the door open a crack, and she grabbed the last $20 on top of the dresser, stuffing it in her pocket before she slid the window open. With the notebook in one hand and her cell phone in the other, her only belonging thrown into a small duffel bag slung against her back, she bent over to crawl underneath the window and onto the rickety fire escape, climbing her way down to get away from the fire of his fury. His angry yells became deafened as she slid the window closed behind her, and made her way down to the street below.

She walked a few blocks away before pressing herself against a wall in an alley, flipping her way through the notebook to the number written in it. $20,000 wouldn't make her rich. It wouldn't buy her a new house, designer clothes, or a fancy car. It wasn't the answer to all of her problems, but it was a chance. It was an opportunity for her to get a new start. It only took a few rings before someone answered.

"It's Raven," she said. "I'm coming."

She quickly hung up, and with a look back and forth down the street, dropped the cheap cell phone he'd given her and stomped on it over and over again, until it had been completely destroyed. A newfound lightness had settled into her chest, the weight of years of fear and anxiety and pain lifting away, and she raised her arm at the curb to hail a cab. Climbing inside, she settled back in the leather seat, smiling as they pulled away from the heartache behind her, and drove forward, to freedom.