Page 1 of My Three Enemies
1
Thin,bristly branches bare after all the autumn leaves have fallen, whip across my face. I wince from the pain, trying my best to ignore it and stifle the yelps threatening to burst out of me. I can feel the welts forming and warm blood trickling down my cheek. My chest rises and falls fast as I inhale sharply, pushing my limbs well beyond their limits. Twigs snap and dry leaves crumble beneath me much louder than I would like.
I don’t have time to be stealthy and quiet. Speed is my only friend today.
When I toss a glance over my shoulder it doesn’t seem like anyone is following me. At least, not that I can see. This isn't my first attempt to escape, but I hope it's the last.
Normally, when I plan something like this, Ireallyplan it. My father might be an absolute asshole, but he’s a creature of habit. Whenever I'm allowed out of my room, my eyes are everywhere. I study the schedules of the guards monitoring me, my father’s calendar, and map everyone’s movements in the house. Some people may look at me and think I'm just the pampered, dumbdaughter of a rich businessman, but they don't know the truth. I'll gladly be underestimated if it means I can get away.
Today is different, though. Today, freedom was handed to me on a silver platter. Well, maybe more from the blood warming my cheeks and the burning in my lungs. Still, it’s the easiest attempt I've ever made.
I was supposed to be attending a business dinner with my father and one of his “associates.” Ever since I came of age two years ago, he's been trying to set me up with different men. He took every opportunity to show me off, like some twisted bridal auction. As much as I wanted to leave my room, I would have much rather stayed trapped in my gilded cage than be ogled from across a table by some fifty-year-old arms dealer my father wanted to do business with.
My dad would never admit this, but I knew he was just waiting for the right offer, and then I’d be handed off to some gross old man and locked away in his cage too.
Call me a romantic, but I’ve always believed I should get to marry who I want to. Crazy, right? With how archaic my life is, you’d think this is the 1700s or something. But it’s the 21st century, and I’m not even allowed to have a cell phone.
On the way to meet my father at the restaurant, the SUV I was riding in popped a tire. Now I swear, I had no hand in it. Fate just so happened to be on my side. We pulled over and the guards riding with me dragged me out of the car and set me down on the side of the road to change it.
With all of their concentration elsewhere, I snuck off. At first I was slow and quiet, careful not to make a single noise to draw their attention from the car. When I couldn't see them anymore,I took off. I ran faster than I ever had, pushing my body far beyond the limits of someone usually confined to a single bedroom and severely lacking in the cardio department.
I just keep waiting for the other shoe to drop.There has to be some kind of a catch, right?
Now I’m here, running without looking back even though every muscle in my body begs me to stop. I have to keep going. I can't stop. Not after my last attempt, anyway.
It's been nearly a year since my father caught me and brought me back to my room, trapping me there for an entire week in the dark. I didn’t have a soul to talk to, windows barred and the power turned off without a morsel of food to eat. They say time heals all wounds, but as I close my eyes at night and feel the darkness surrounding me just like it did that week, I know that'sbullshit.
People think I have everything. When I’m allowed in public I’m well dressed and groomed. My long, sleek blonde hair is always shining and bouncing, and I get to wear all kinds of trendy clothes perfectly tailored to my slim figure. But nobody knows what’s really going on.
Sure, I grew up with a wealthy family. My dad is a very successful businessman, one that's even looked up to by entrepreneurs all over the world. Of course, if they knew what he’s really up to they would promptly remove any inspirational quotes of his from their vision boards and unsubscribe from his newsletters.
While my father might have found success on his own, it was with the help of someverybad people that he grew to what he is now. Just about any crime you can think of, my father probablyhas a hand in it. The real kicker is that I don't even think he needs to be involved for the money—he just likes the lifestyle.
“Just a little further,” I whisper to myself, hoping I can encourage my body to keep pushing. I have no idea where I am or where I'm going, but I figure at some point I'll come acrosssomething. Maybe even a cabin with someone willing to help me inside.
I continue running as the sun fades in the sky, painting the barren treetops with blue and purple before welcoming the moon high above. Even as rain begins splattering across the leaves, pelting my face with the icy water, I keep moving.
It isn't until I spot a cave in the distance that I finally stop. It feels like my muscles are ready to shut down when stagger to a halt, but I force my shaky limbs to push forward. Now, I have an unfortunate lack of outdoors knowledge—one of the side effects of being trapped in a room without access to the outside world, I’m afraid—so I’m not sure if staying in a random cave could be dangerous. But considering the fate that awaits me if I'm caught again, I'll gladly take my chances.
I stand at the mouth of the cave, carefully looking around to see if there's any indication of wildlife living in there. I don't see any bones or obvious droppings, so I think I might be in the clear for at least one night. All I need is a little bit of rest, then I can head back out in the morning and figure out what to do.
Inside, I collapse on the cold but dry ground and press my back into the jagged rock behind me. I pant, my lungs still burning with exhaustion from running all this time.
“Why couldn’t I have escaped with a nice jacket?” I groan, after I catch my breath. Rubbing my hands over my shoulders, I try andkeep warm. At least the beige sweater and black slacks I wore for the dinner cover me fully.
Leaning my head back against the caves cold wall, I let my sore limbs relax for the first time. I’m going to be hurting tomorrow, that’s for sure. My muscles ache already. But I gladly take the pain over facing my father’s wrath. I know exactly what kind of man my father is and what he is capable of.
I still remember the first time I wandered out of bed as a kid when some of his “ business associates” had come to the house to talk to him. I stood on the stairs and watched my father talk to an old man surrounded by his tall, burly guards. One of them saw me and pointed a gun at my head before realizing who it was: a seven-year-old girl wanting nothing more than a glass of milk.
That was the first time I was punished.
My father dragged me into my room and slammed the door shut, blocking it from the outside so I couldn't leave. I was in that room sobbing all night long, petrified of what I'd seen and the shouting I heard in the living room after. It wasn't until morning when my mom opened the door that I finally stopped crying.
“Sometimes Daddy doesn't think right,” my mom explained, kneeling down beside me to scoop me into her arms. “I’m sure he just wanted to protect you, is all. Your daddy loves you and he’d never hurt you.”
My mom was a lot of things. She was beautiful, kind, and warm. But it wasn't long after that I realized she was a liar too.
“He didn’t mean to lock the door,” she’d say, making excuses for him.
