Page 83 of Wanted

It’s six in the morning local time when we finally land in Louisville, the sun has risen and I’m grateful that I was able to escape. My neck hurts, but nothing compares to the dull pain in my chest. Although I’ve slept on the flight—a miracle, really—I feel exhausted. I can’t wait to be home, let my hair down and have a good bath.

Down my cheeks are the traces of mascara that the makeup artist carefully applied yesterday, even though I’ve tried to clean myself with the napkins that the stewardess discreetly put in my hands.

I raise my hand to call for a taxi. I know this will be expensive, but there is no way to contact anyone to come and pick me up. And the truth is, the last thing I want right now is to face questions from Alison or my mother. First, I have to solve the puzzle that my life has become, and I need to do that by myself.

Without interference or interruptions.

The taxi driver warns me that it’s going to be more than a hundred dollars to take me home. To calm his nerves I hand him a couple of crumpled Jacksons and we are on our way.

With each mile that we continue advancing, the current calms down, like an avalanche waiting to break loose, in silence, but it is still there, waiting for the moment when a small stimulus will destroy everything. I look absentmindedly at the trees, the same road I’ve traveled hundreds of times, everything seems the same. But inside a lot has changed.

My world has changed, completely and forever. And not only did I not notice, but I left the doors to my heart wide open before the storm arrived.

The town is peaceful when I get there, so different from the hectic movement of Los Angeles, here everything feels slow and calm. Here I feel like I can breathe again. It’s Sunday, so until it’s time for church, Carrollton will be asleep.

I enter the house using the key that I always have hidden under the flowerpot in the corner of the small porch. I almost screamed with relief to find it, only Alison knows that it’s there and I’m lucky that she didn’t move it.

Upon entering the living room, my eyes immediately go to our wedding photo next to the television in the wooden frame that we bought after the ceremony. How many lies can I find in a single image? I go to where it is and throw it against the wall with the little force I have, the glass shatters immediately.

Perfect, now my heart and memories are on par.

The pain is so much that I can feel it all over my body, disabling myself, breaking my bones, tearing my skin.

In the end, I decide that I’m not going to gain anything by staying here wallowing in my misery, I have to do something to defend myself. I’m not going to spend my days rotting in a cell for something I didn’t do. I take a notepad and pen from the drawer, I need to write down some things. And I need something to help me loosen the ball of nerves, to alleviate the pain of the razors that are slicing me up inside.

Wine. That’s it. Somewhere it’s already five in the afternoon, right?

I open a bottle of red and without bothering to find a glass, I take a long drink. It kicks me in the stomach. I embrace the discomfort, and at least it distracts me from the other pain.

I sit down on the sofa and put my feet up on the coffee table. Angrily I wipe my tears as I begin to write down what has happened in the past few months. Things I’m sure can be easily checked. In another column, those I have questions about, and in the last column, the ones that are a total lie.

I look at the ring on my left finger that I thought meant a promise, now I know it was just a lie. I take it off and leave it there, carelessly. It doesn’t matter what happens to it. I have lost more valuable things.

Now I’m wanted by many, but one thing is for sure, none of them want me, the way I long for.

The paper is wet with my tears, the ink has run in some places, I’ve had to cross it out several times and start again. This is like a map of my life, in case the police come looking for me, I will know exactly how to defend myself.

Here in Carrollton, everyone knows me, they know who I am, what I’ve done all my life. No one knew about Lionel until that man appeared a few months ago. He was so smart, making sure everyone I knew was aware we were together and in love. Our relationship was quite public, as well as the touches I considered romantic at the time.

Stupid girl, stupid, stupid girl.

It was so easy for him to come here, and find a silly little small-town girl and make her part of his plan.

Afterward, what was his plan? When I was a millionaire widow, was he going to finish me off too?

And what was all that about wanting to get me pregnant?

Was he going to kill our child too?

My head is spinning, as is my stomach. I run to the bathroom and barely manage to get there.

I stay there on the floor, with my head resting on the wall behind me, with no strength to move.

Damn, I should have brought the wine with me. I could use another drink. Through the small window I see as the sun begins to rise and cast its rays—time continues its course.

The world doesn’t stop, everything continues, moving forward. I’m not sure if I’m dreaming or if it’s actually happening. Boots I’ve seen many times before enter my line of sight and I hear his voice.

He found me. My heart speeds up, or stops, I’m not even sure about that anymore. Fear invades me, and my breath gets caught in my throat. I should’ve thought about it more before I came back. Maybe the ticket to Miami would have been a better way out. A true escape.

---