Page 23 of Rise
It’s the kind of thing that happens in crime fiction and suspense movies, not in my real life. Because the truth is that in my life, the life of a long-timecrime family, people don’t get away. They don’t live to tell tales of escape or survival, because it never happens.
Ever.
Unless...
Those men that kept me as their prisoner don’t strike me as the type to bungle things up. Was this really a mistake? If something like this had ever happened under Father’s watch, he would say that those men were either stupid or they meant tolet me go. I start to run through what I can remember, every trivial detail from before I realized my prison door was left open.
But it’s too much.
Before I shove the key Jeanie gave me into the room door, I force the dismal thoughts from my mind with a physical head shake. It doesn’t matter if that man made a mistake or intended to free me.
Count your blessings, Natalia.
I’m free.
I need to stay that way. This is why my new job-slash-living arrangement is the path of least resistance.
Shrugging it all off, I turn the key and cringe while the door opens, its hinges creaking loudly as more of the slightly faded blue carpet becomes visible. Instead of entering, I stand in the doorway and silently promise not to let that nightmare take hold ofme once I cross the threshold. For now, this room is my new refuge. What happened is literally behind me.
And the longer I think about it, the more certain I am that I’ll be safe here.
The men who held me captive won’t expect me to lay low this close to their farmhouse prison. They’ll be looking for me on the roads, or on buses leaving town, or possibly in vehicles if they believeI might’ve hitchhiked. I’m hiding in a place they’d least expect.
Swallowing the dry lump in my throat, I step inside to my newfound hideout, my hand grasping onto the duffle bag strap to hold it in place on the same spot on my shoulder while I turn around to lock the door. I twist the pewter deadbolt too, as well as the brass chain door lock. Can’t be too careful. Heading across the warmroom to the bed in almost complete darkness, I run my hand over the quilted bedcovers as I head to the lamp on the nearest nightstand. Going by just feel, I trace my fingers along the top of the nightstand, ignoring what must be a TV remote control beside the base of the lamp as I search for the switch. My eyes snap shut as the harsh white fluorescent light flickers on, forcing me to take a momentto adjust, but before long, I ease my eyelids open and take a good look around.
Not bad at all.
The queen size bed is in the center of the small main room along one wall that’s covered in what might’ve been a cheery yellow floral wallpaper pattern years ago when it was first installed. It’s somewhat faded and outdated now, but clean. The other three walls were probably painted creamyears after. A white mini fridge stands in one corner, and a round wooden table with two mismatched metal dining chairs are tucked into the other corner next to the only window to the outside. A flat-screen TV about the size of my desktop computer monitor hangs on the wall between the two. It’ll do. I pull open the first of two doors on the opposite wall. The dated three-piece bathroom insideshows its age but the floors, porcelain sink, toilet, and standing shower are spotless. I can’t complain, especially because the shelf above the toilet has fluffy, fresh towels and a few bars of soap. Everything I need to take a long hot shower tonight.
I’m not disappointed when I don’t expect to find a spacious closet behind the second door. The storage area is about the same width asthe door itself. It’s narrow but has just enough space to hang a few items of clothing. It has a shelf above my head with a white pillow and a clean tan-looking flannel blanket.
Before my ordeal, I’d automatically think this place was a dump. Compared to where I was for the past few weeks, however, this room is a dream.
The first authentic smile I’ve had since God knows when liftsmy cheeks and I drop the duffel bag on the floor of the closet, heading over to the window to pull the thick, heavy curtains closed before sitting at the side of the bed. It sinks under my weight a little, the old mattress coils giving a slight squeak as I bend forward and reach down to my feet to slip off my shoes.
The idea of standing under a stream of clean, hot water is so appealingthat one by one, I peel off my borrowed and bought clothes on my way to the bathroom. I can’t wait a second longer for a shower.
A real shower.
Running water, with some warmth to it. Flowing downmybody.
Thank God.
The water pressure is perfect, and the temperature is to die for.
I’m beyond grateful to feel the spray of water hitting my face. Its cascade downmy back and chest is both invigorating and relaxing. Rolling my shoulders backward, I ease the ball of tension I didn’t realize was there for ages. I even take unbounded pleasure in grabbing the bar of soap from the shelf above the toilet. It’s a small bar but it’s mine to use as I see fit. I remove the wrapper and slowly lather up my skin with suds from neck to toe, wincing slightly when the soappasses over the little scabs and scars at the insides of my elbows. Those marks weren’t there before I was taken. Those fucking bastards must’ve shot me up with so many drugs every damn day for weeks. But just as the thought hits me, I blow out a breath.
Not in here.
Not in my refuge.
Pushing down the thought, I look down at the water and suds moving down my skin. I’ve goneso long without washing myself that the suds are a murky brownish gray from all the layers of dust and grime on me. There should be caked blood between my legs too, but I’m not surprised when I don’t find any sign of a period. My body is like that. Twice this year alone, I’ve had missed periods from the stress of exams. And being held hostage for so long was a thousand times more anxiety-riddenand draining. I let out a small laugh at the thought of exam stress. What a waste of energy. At the very least, this experience has given me a different perspective. If I ever go back to having a normal life, I won’t spend a single moment bitching and whining over things that I now know are not life and death situations.
After what feels like a long time standing under the showerhead, Iturn off the faucet.
Fuck, that was so damn good.
I’m physically and mentally wasted, my muscles all shutting down, including the one in my skull. It takes some energy to towel dry my hair and wrap my torso in a towel before heading back to the main room and slumping into the bed. I lie back along the side of the bed, barely able to turn to one side and stretch my legs out. A heavywave of tiredness washes over me. I don’t even think to look for sleepwear in the duffle bag.
No.
I suddenly find my thoughts wandering to Antonio.
An image of him beside me in his bed begins to take over my thoughts. That night he stretched out behind me, his strong arms wrapped around me protectively, tucking my small frame into his large form, keeping me safe, telling mewe’ll figure things out.
I start to wonder what he must be doing at this very minute.
Probably looking for me, my mind answers back before I doze off.
