My Guardian Angels

Chapter Four

Red light from the clock beside me seeps onto the ceiling, mixing with the pale white light coming from the open window.  I sigh, my eyes flickering back and forth, just as another emergency siren rings out from the streets below.  I push myself up, wrapping the blanket around my body and heading over to the balcony door.  I click the lock and push the door wide open. 

Walking over to the railing, the blanket dragging on the ground behind me, I let the night air assault my face.  I hang over the rail and try to breathe properly, not being able to slow my whirling mind. I spot some people walking around on the sidewalk down below, like little ants heading back to their hill.  

I can’t help but let a small amount of panic settle into my system at the thought of being caught and being sent back to my father.  Not only that though, I can’t help but wonder if my mother will reject me, like she did when my parents split up.  I can remember her face when she had told the judge that she only wanted her son.  

But I can also remember the pain filled expression on her face when my father roughly grabbed my arm after the custody case was over, dragging me to the airport and heading off to BC.  It almost looked like she cared.  Almost.

I shudder, from the cold and the memories,  and push off the railing, heading back into the room, and closing the door behind me.  I can feel a single tear escape my eye, slowly making its way down my face.  Sliding down the wall and closing my eyes, I sigh, letting the red light of the alarm clock seep through my eyelids.  After a moment, I crack my right eye open,  as if not to startle the clock into existence.

The clock watches back with a steady gaze and I sigh deeply.  It is still only four in the morning.  I might a well wait for the continental breakfast and head out after.  Absent-mindedly, I start beating a quiet rhythm into my knee, bobbing my head to the near-silent song.

The waiting bores me quickly and, like a crazy women,  I give the clock the middle finger, pushing myself up off the floor and walking out of the room to grab my bag where I left it in the kitchen.  When I pick up the sturdy handle, an idea pops into my mind.  I drop my bag and onto the floor and dig through the nearest drawer.  With a smile I pull out a small curved knife. 

If it was a wild goose chase I wanted in the beginning, I guess I better start somewhere.  With the knife gripped tightly in my left hand I head to the bathroom, a small smile on my face.  

Leaning over until my face is next to the corner of the bathtub, I skillfully drag my knife across it’s smooth surface.  Soon I start to lose feeling in my feet, because of the awkward position,  and I quicken my pace.  

After a couple minutes, I lean back and massage out my left foot, unsure of why I just put myself through that.  But when I look back a my little message, I feel a renewing sense of pride.  

Come and find me - Aly

Only my father will know what it means, and when he does, he is going to be pissed.  I used to say that to him when I was younger and he came home late.  I always knew he would be drunk, and I never got away from him without a good rap alongside my head if I waited by the door or in my room.  So when he was late, I would leave a post-it there with the same message.

I stand up and dust myself off, rolling down my sleeves to cover up my scar-covered arms, and head to the kitchen for my bag once again.  I sweep it off the floor and head out the door.  Before it closes, I get one last glimpse at the clock.  5:44, Right before the breakfast opens, perfect.  

I let the door slam shut behind me when I step out into the dimmed hallway.  An eerie silence engulfs me and I shudder an overwhelming sense of nervousness overcoming me .  I creep along the hallway towards the elevator, pretending to be the detective in an old crime scene.  

A few minutes later I giggle and step out of the elevator, wondering why I’m this weird.  There is no one down in the breakfast room, but there are still piles of warm food sitting in a long row upon the table.  I grab a plate a head down the line, piling it up, in front of my drooling face.  The chef comes out with another dish, looking at my plate with a dirty look and I sit down with a not so guilty face.  

It only take me a couple minutes to make a reasonable dent into my plate, the warm food tasting better than anything I’ve had in a while.  I make a mental note to stock up, knowing that this is probably going to be my last decent meal for a bit.  

I over-exaggerate my smile when I pass by the chef with my empty plate, his judging eyes dark with sleep.  He grunts at me as I push open the heavy door and give him a wave, a can in my bag pressing into my back.  

My humour melts away as I slink through the lobby, all of the earlier risers and the fancy people who just arrived giving me the dirty eye, as if I am some sort of meat at the market.  I pull my jacket closer to my body when I step outside, turning towards the pretty sunrise.  

“I will make it to PEI, If it’s the last this I do,”  I whisper to myself as I start my walk through the city, aiming for a large bunch of trees in the distance.