Page 2 of My Three Enemies
“He’d never lay a hand on me,” she’d sob when I asked her about the marks on her arms.
I listened to her lies and tried to reshape my reality around them, but after a while I couldn't. My father was a monster, not only to me, but to her. I didn't understand why she lied for him and I begged her to stop. I begged her to take me away from him, for the two of us to run away and start over together.
Then one day, I woke up to a letter on my bedside table with a small heart-shaped locket sitting on top of it. Inside was a picture of my mother on one half, and a photo of me as a baby on the other. Without reading the letter, I knew what was in it. My mom was gone.
I didn't know if that meant she died or if she finally worked up the nerve to run away. But I couldn't bring myself to read her letter. At least not for a few years. When I finally did, she explained that she couldn't stay with my father anymore. She apologized for leaving me, but the wound still stung. How could somebody who loved their child leave them with a monster?
With my frozen fingers, I reach for the chain around my neck and pull out the locket my mother gave me. I struggle to open the clasps, unable to feel my own fingers, but when I do I stare at her picture.
“Where’d you go, mom? How did you manage to get away from him? And why didn’t you take me with you?”
A part of me wonders if I might be able to find her. I don’t know what happened to her or where she went, but if she managed to get away from him, then I can too. When I get to safety, I'll find her. I'll do whatever it takes to provide for myself, and I'll use that money to find my mother.
Sitting upright, I lean my head back on the wall and close my eyes, falling asleep in seconds. Despite the cold rattling through my bones, I sleep through the night and don't wake up until rays of morning sunshine beam into my eyes. My entire body aches from the strenuous run the night before as well as the less than ideal night's sleep.
A chill runs through me and my teeth chatter. My blonde hair is matted and clumped from the wind, sweat, and rain. I'm very thankful I don't have a mirror to look at myself knowing how much of a mess I must be.
“I might as well have been hit by a train,” I groan.
The first few steps out of the cave are painful, and I look around at the forest to try and figure out where my journey will take me now. I don’t care—as long as it’s as far away from the road and my father’s men as possible.
The urgency I felt running yesterday is gone. If I managed to survive the night, I felt I was far enough in the woods that neither my father or his guards would be able to find me. As long as I keep moving forward, I’m making progress.
My stomach growls as I walk, and I keep my eyes peeled for anything that I might be able to safely eat. Unfortunately, over the hours I walk I don’t find anything. By the time the afternoon sun sinks in the sky, I’m about ready to double over from the hunger pains.
Maybe I was a little too impulsive, escaping with no plan...
For a brief moment, I think about turning around. I think about walking back with my tail between my legs and enduring whatever punishment my father sees fit for me. But then I think of all the other times he's locked me in my gilded cage,forcing me to attend events and mingle with his corrupt business associates, ready to pass me off to them.
I think about my mother and everything she went through, and I keep moving forward while tears sting the back of my eyes. Staring forward into the woods, I catch sight of a clearing of some sorts. My tired legs pick up speed, my heart starts to beat faster. I blink my tears away and squint my eyes until I can finally spot something in the distance.
In the distance, partially obscured by low-hanging branches, I can clearly make out the top of a roof. My heart races at the idea of finally coming across some kind of civilization. For the first time all day, I run, my spirit finally lifted.
The cabin is larger than I thought it would be, with a very rustic appeal outside. It’s been loved and well taken care of over the years. No lights are on inside and by the look of it, I don't even know if it has the comforts of modern electricity. Either way, I knock on the door and squeeze my eyes tightly shut as I pray someone will answer.
Listening as carefully as I can to the other side, I hear nothing. I knock again. Nothing.
Normally, I would be opposed to breaking and entering, but desperate times call for desperate measures. To my surprise, the door isn’t locked. I push it open to a dark room. I have no idea if someone lives here or if they'll be back. But I also don’t want to turn back and spent another night out in the cold again.
I have no choice, so I step inside, hoping I won’t regret this later.
2
I fumblearound in the dark, feeling the wall by the door hoping to find a light switch.
“Come on—wait a second,” I say with slight excitement in my chest. My fingers graze over the cold plastic of a switch and I'm relieved as I flip it on, surrounded by soft, warm lighting. “Let there be light...”
Finally able to see the cabin, and it is much more charming than I would have thought. I'm standing in a small entryway with a few knobs nailed into the wall by the door for coats, but it's completely empty. The entryway opens to the living room, which is filled with comfortable looking couches and chairs, with a handmade wooden coffee table in front of them. I'm almost surprised to see a TV with what looks to be a small collection of DVDs stacked in the console below it. Along the wall are the mounted heads of deer and other creatures that I imagine the owner of the cabin hunted themselves.
“Hello?” I call out, standing motionless by the door. I don't want to take another step forward if someone might come barging down the hall with a gun in-hand.
When I don't hear anyone, I slowly make my way over to the kitchen, crossing through an open wooden door at the other end of the living room. I stand in the doorway for a brief moment before running over to the sink and tilting my head by the faucet to drink as much water as I possibly can. You’d be surprised by how dehydrated you are after spending two whole days on the run.
I straighten up from the sink and lean against it, breathing heavily as I wipe water off of my chin. My hands and feet are burning as they practically thaw out in the warmth of the cabin. I feel like I could cry, and then I am. For the first time in ages, there's hope for me. I mightactuallyget away from my father.
After taking a moment to wipe away the tears spilling out of my eyes, I turn my attention to the cabinets. I nearly gasp when I see how well stocked they are. The fridge is full as well, and I reach inside for a package of sliced turkey to start assembling myself a sandwich.
I've always admired people who know how to cook. I was never allowed to prepare my own food—it was yet another way my father could control me. Only allowing me to eat when he deemed it appropriate. Looking at everything in this fridge now, I can only imagine the different recipes the person living in the cabin could make.
