Don't try to Escape

Chapter 1 - part II

II

8 am.

I turn off the alarm clock of my cell phone, and I hear noises coming from the kitchen. I open my eyes quickly, and my heart is in my mouth.

God.

What was that?

I blink my eyes, and I'm still paralyzed in my bed, and then a memory comes out. Sam. Suddenly I remember what it was, and I feel like a fool for that. Maybe I will take some time to get used to someone at home. It's been a while since I don't live with anyone. Three years to be precise, so my mind sometimes blanks out. I get up from bed staggering, and I follow the delicious smell of something frying down the hall.

"What's the matter with your hair?" Sam questions, while I show up in the kitchen with my tousled hair.

He is before the stove, wearing just track pants perfectly suit on the hips. His new muscles become more visible, and my eyes — which are not used to them anymore — are wide open.

Is anybody feeling hot around here?

I walk towards the counter and sit down.

"Shut up and bring my food now," I slap the counter, and I fake annoyance.

He puts a naughty smile on his face and brings me a plate with omelet and toasts. Hmm. Sam seems to be in high spirits, he may have woken up earlier due to the different time zone. Madrid is four hours ahead. He takes a jar of juice from the fridge and sits beside me.

"What are your plans for today?"

"Work," I fill my glass with juice. "I have some research to do."

"But today is Saturday," he complains with his mouth full.

I shrug my shoulders to show that I have no choice. I need to set up my schedule for the next week.

I focus on my plate, while I savor the delicious omelet in silence. I had forgotten how Sam was a great cook. I'm going to make him my private chef while I'm at home. We don't know for how long it is going to take the renovation in the apartment. It can take months.

The silence is broken by a cell phone ring that comes from the room. I leave the glass with juice I was drinking and run towards the hall.

"Hey! Watch out!" Sam warns me, while I jump off the seat.

I get into the room, and I take the device that was on the dresser. It shows on the screen "Alan Alden."

Oh, it's Profº Alden, which is surprising for me.

"Hello."

"Hi, Sarah" a lovely voice showing enthusiasm.

"Hi, professor ", I answer with a hesitant smile.

"How's my favorite student?"

I'm fine," I smile." How are things going?"

"It's all good. Today I saw the work you did for Daniel's ", he says, and I know he is smiling. "Great campaign."

"Thank you," I sit on the bed happy with his approval. "I had a great professor."

"Stop. I won't buy it." he jokes. "You've got a natural talent, I don't know how I lost you. Are you working on any projects?"

"They almost accepted a campaign yesterday."

"That's great! Congratulations!" The news truly makes him happy. "Actually, I'm a bit sad. I referred your work to a great friend."

"I'm flattered, professor." His support has been essential since I dropped college. "Unfortunately, I'm not sure if I will have the time for another campaign right now. Don't you have someone else to do that job? A student maybe?"

"You're still my student, Sarah, and that would be a great chance. He's looking for someone like you."

My heart is broken because I'm not meeting his expectations. I can't disappoint him, not again. I take a decision, even knowing that maybe I can't handle it, but I don't care! A job is always a job.

"I'm a bit ahead in the process of this campaign, I just need the final approval of the clients, "I take a deep breath and start to imagine all the things to be done waiting for me. "Maybe we can talk to your friend and get started step by step."

"That's what I'm talking about. Can I arrange a meeting between you?"

"Yes, sure."

"Alright, then." I send him all the details and my schedule by e-mail.

"Alright, professor. Thank you."

I hang up and lay down in bed with my arms open. Dropping college wasn't well accepted by Dr. Alden, but he had never stopped supporting me, especially when I started looking for some small jobs. Sometimes he gets some clients for me.

Sam closes the door and gets into the room.

"I think I'm going to the beach. Do you still want to work?"

He changed his clothes, and now he's wearing khaki cargo shorts and a white shirt.

"More than ever before," I say lifting my head off the bed.

"So hurry up. We've got a celebration tonight, and no more excuses you're coming with me." He points at me and leaves the room.

Yes, sir. I frown at him. I hate when someone tells me what to do, and he knows that. He is probably smiling while he leaves the apartment.

I laid down in bed for a couple of minutes, looking at the "snake" painted on the olive-green wall. It's the first thing I see when I wake up, and the last when I go to sleep. It's what helps me, and at the same time, it scares me. It's what never let me forget.

I set the smartphone on the dock station, and the room is filled by the voice of Roberta Campos. I sit down at the mahogany desk made by my grandfather and switch the notebook. I remember that the door may be opened. I go to the living room. As I suspected. Sam let the door unlocked. I lock both locks, I look around and go back to the bedroom.

I wonder if someday I will stop worrying.