Escape

Chapter One

The sound of shattered glass rang throughout the apartment. He hadn't been home for hours. I called him, over and over again, and all I heard was ringing followed by voicemail after voicemail until eventually, I wasn't even granted the courtesy of ringing. Straight to voicemail. He said he was leaving to get food from the restaurant up the street, and it's been over four hours. I'm not even sure why I'm calling. Must be habit. Because if I'm being honest, I wish he'd stay gone. But just as I begin to pray that he won't come back, I hear the door swing open. And I am already missing the sound of his voicemail. While it gave me no insight to where he was, or if he was safe, at least it was the voice of a kinder man. The man I often pretended he still was. But tonight, he was not that man. Tonight, he's the angry brutal person whose voice came booming through the thick air. Air so thick I could barely breath, barely think. My adrenaline spiked and my ears started to ring. My heart rate began to elevate, and my palms began to sweat. All I could do was sit in the bed, in the darkness, waiting for the storm to roll in, waiting for him.

I feel like I was woken up with a jolt of electricity; like two paddles were slammed to my chest in an attempt to revive me. I was doused in a cold sweat. The kind where your fingers are ice cold and goosebumps cover your body, but your core feels like an inferno. My palms are soaking, my hair is matted to my forehead, and my heart racing. The nightmares. Again. They have come and gone since I arrived here. Except unlike normal nightmares, like teeth falling out or reading an English assignment naked in front of your peers, I can't convince myself that this 'wasn't real'. Because it was real. And I lived it on repeat every day for 5 years. Held captive by his kind words and empty apologies.

I grab my phone and wince at the bright artificial light that illuminates my room, 3:35 am. I need sleep. I think about the job interview I have in the morning and I need to be well rested. I lay back down, stare at the ceiling and try to focus on the humming of the fan, a much-needed white noise that I can only hope will lull me back to sleep. I toss and turn, unable to find comfort. After what feels like hours, I realize my hopes of peace will go unanswered. I check my phone again, 5:15 am. Finally giving up on any chance of sleep, I get out of bed and head to the bathroom.

I splash my face with cold water, too cold. It takes forever for the water to get warm in this little apartment. I brush my teeth and pull my unruly hair into a bun and throw on my nearest sports bra and leggings. The sun is just starting to peek through the windows. The room glows a beautiful golden color. I grab my headphones, pop them in and tuck my phone into the pocket on my leggings.

I step out on the small porch that leads me down two stairs and my feet hit the pavement. I've never been much of a runner. I never actually understood why "runners" enjoyed running. The burn in your chest, gasping for air; it never appealed to me. That was until I had something to run from. The nightmares, the screaming, the tears... they all seem to get quieter with each slam to the pavement. To be honest, I'm not the best runner. I walk a lot in between and probably look like I'm an inch from death, but I would do anything to keep the peace it provides.

My watch chimes, ONE MILE as I come up to my favorite coffee shop. I haven't been here long, but this coffee shop has already become a little oasis for me. I'm here almost every day, and order the same thing every time. After giving myself a chance to catch my breath I walk up to the counter.

"Carmel latte with almond milk please. Oh, and a blueberry scone." I don't even know why I bother saying my order as the sandy-haired barista laughs.

"So, the usual? Are you ever gonna mix it up?" He says in a thick English accent. "For here too?" He says with a friendly laugh he turns as he starts my order.