His Broken Girl

Escape.

(Present day, a month after the Funeral)

Could I possibly pull this off?

Was the question that had been bothering me the entire month while I secretly planned my escape. Even though Robert had assured me it had been planned to perfection, and there was absolutely no assurance that anything could go as planned there was that doubt in the back of my mind.

The invoice for the plane ticket was burning a hole in my pocket.

I leaned on my bathroom counter studying my reflection, giving myself a pep talk. My blonde hair fell in natural waves around my face, and reached around mid back. I had minimal of makeup on, the only makeup that they allowed me to have, my mascara made my hazel eyes pop which somehow always seemed to make feel better. I smiled to myself, though it was a very broken unconvincing smile. I dressed normally, in a loose grey band shirt with the sleeves rolled up and skinny jeans with my favorite black converses. I splashed some water on my face, to try to keep cool.

In the pit of my stomach, I had a nervous feeling that somehow he knew that I had been planning this. The small suitcase that was hidden under my bed felt like it has a large sign pointing to it, saying "hey! Here I am, Abigail is leaving!" Of course there was also the confident part of me, that knew that I could do this. That this is what I've always wanted, so I could pull this off.

The world was finally spinning in the right direction for me.

I walked back into my room, studying it. This could be the last time I ever see it again.

"Abigail!" Steve's raspy voice booms through the house. My heart jumped, and I leaped under my covers, pulling it up to chin to cover the fact that I was dressed. This was it.

What if he knew? I pushed that thought out of my head as soon as it popped up and put on my best sick face.

I had splashed water on my face just a few seconds ago, so it worked to my advantage.

My bedroom door flew open, hitting the back of the wall pretty hard. I'm pretty sure it made a dent. It was a wonder the door didn't fall off its hinges, I tried to hide my alarm and faked a sick cough.

"What's wrong with you?" Steve says angry.

Yeah not a concerned 'what's wrong with you' a pissed off 'whats wrong with you'. I just let out another cough and a low moan.

"You're disgusting." He spat. His words had no affect on me, I've heard it plenty of times before. "I need more beer if I'm going to have to hear your sick ass all night."

With that he left my bedroom, his heavy boots echoed throughout the whole house. I kept on coughing until I heard him out the door. Phase one completed, get him out of the house. I waited until I hear his old truck start, sounding like if it was going to fail only to start a few seconds after.

I threw the covers off of my body, and sprung into action. Pulling out the suitcase out of the bottom of my bed, my shoulders ached with protest but I ignored it. My time is running and I didn't have time to stop and rest my aching muscles. The most he could possibly take in the supermarket is 15 minutes, so that's all I had. I grabbed my carry on book bag that held important documentation and such. The next thing to do was get emergency money.

I ran out of my room with my suitcase in tow, and book bag hitched on one shoulder. Making sure to lock my door by the inside so he would have a long while trying to open it before he finds out i'm gone.

Steve may think I'm stupid, or that I just don't like cookies. For some reason he keeps all this money in the kitchen, in a cookie jar shaped like bear. I muttered how stupid he was, as I opened the lid and saw the stack of cash.