4. Ani
Ani
I don’t sleep much.
Considering what I woke up to the last time I fell asleep, this comes as no surprise. Instead, I lie still, eyes fixed on the ceiling, counting each slow breath as I try not to move too much in the unfamiliar bed.
At least the sheets and the blanket are soft and clean. The mattress is comfortable too. I just wish I could fall asleep.
It’s been a night of firsts, that’s for sure. My first night truly alone. My first night of real freedom. My first night nearly dying in a fire at a shitty roadside motel.
I keep waiting for the panic to pass. But it doesn’t. It becomes a little quieter, but it’s still there. I wonder if it will ever go away or if I’ll be stuck looking over my shoulder for the rest of my life.
By the time the sky starts to soften with morning light, my legs feel too tense to stay still a second longer. I sit up slowly, listening for movement down the hall. Nothing.
I step out of bed and pull the blanket around my shoulders before opening the door. The hallway is empty.
The smell of smoke from last night’s fire still lingers in my hair. I probably should have showered before bed, but I hadn’t really been thinking straight.
I cross the living room and slip outside, careful not to let the screen door slam behind me.
The porch boards are cool under my feet. The sky is soft, just beginning to glow at the edges. Pale light spills over the trees, stretching down across the slope in slow, golden bands. There’s a thin mist hanging over the field below
It’s beautiful here.
The mountain air is cold and clean. It smells of pine, damp earth, and firewood. There’s no traffic. No loud noises.
Just quiet.
For the first time in a long while, I feel something close to peace. The world isn’t asking anything of me right now. I don’t think I’ve ever felt that before.
But the peaceful feeling doesn’t last long.
I think of my mother. She’s always been an early riser. I imagine she’ll be up even earlier today, making sure every detail is perfect. Rearranging perfectly arranged flowers. Delegating tasks like it’s her full-time job. She’s always been good at managing the performance.
But there’s one problem she won’t be able to fix.
There’s no wedding without a bride.
They’ll find out soon. If they haven’t already.
And when they do, they’ll come looking.
I don’t have my phone. No wallet. No cash. I don’t know these men. I don’t know this place.
Whatever independence I thought I grabbed in the dark has already turned to ash.
My stomach knots. I don’t know what I thought would happen once I left. I didn’t plan past getting away—and I didn’t really even plan that. That decision alone felt big enough.
Now it feels reckless. And stupid.
What was I thinking? Driving into the mountains with just a duffel full of clothes and a wallet full of cash I’ve slowly squirreled away…
I press my hands against my eyes.
Just breathe.
I try to count. I try to slow my heart rate. Five things I can see. Four things I can feel. Three things I can hear. Two things I can smell. One thing I can taste.
This helps my anxiety some but not enough. So, I try to pretend this porch is mine and this view is mine and the blanket wrapped around my shoulders means something more than temporary kindness.
But I can’t hold onto any of it. My throat closes, and I have to bite the inside of my cheek just to stay calm. I’m not crying. Yet. But I can feel the tears coming.
I pull my knees to my chest, tucking my chin between them. The blanket slips down my back, pooling around my hips, but I don’t move to fix it. The cold doesn’t really bother me, not compared to everything else pressing down.
The sun has cleared the ridge now. It burns through the mist creating a lovely haze.
They’re probably trying to call me. My mother. My father. Davit.
They’ll assume I’ve been taken before they ever imagine I left on my own accord. Who would believe obedient little Anoush would run? I never raised my voice. I always said yes and smiled through it. I accepted my place and my duty…at least on the surface.
The weight of that thought sits hard against my chest. Not because they’ll be worried, but because they’ll be furious. I’ve disrupted the story. Broken the script.
We don’t do that.
My breathing starts to slip off rhythm. My fingertips go numb where they grip my knees. I press my forehead to them and count, forcing the air back into my lungs one number at a time.
Breathe in.
Breathe out.
Then again. And again.
I don’t hear the door open behind me, but I feel a shift in the air. A quiet presence. Someone is standing behind me, waiting but not asking for anything.
I lift my head just enough to glance over. It’s the one with the steady voice. The one who pulled me out.
His light brown hair falls just past his ears, clearly overdue for a trim, with streaks of gray threading through the sides. He’s got a short beard too, neat but not fussy. He’s older, late thirties or early forties I’d guess, but he’s handsome. Really handsome, actually.
He stands with his hands tucked into the pockets of his jeans, gaze fixed on the trees in the distance. His expression doesn’t change when I look at him. He doesn’t ask if I’m okay or if I want to talk. He doesn’t say anything at all.
He sits down on the steps leaving plenty of space between us. We both just look into the distance, not talking.
Eventually, my breathing evens out. The sharp edge of panic dulls. It doesn’t disappear, but it pulls back far enough for me to think again.
“I’m sorry,” I say, my voice barely audible.
He shakes his head. “You don’t have to be.”
“I…don’t know your name.”
“It’s Jonah.”
“Thank you, Jonah.”
He shifts his weight and nods toward the door. “We’ve got tea. It’s nothing special, but it’s hot.”
I nod, unsure if he wants me to follow. He doesn’t wait, just gets up and slips back through the door, not even checking to see if I follow him. Unlike my mother who expected me to be right at her heels like a good little pet, I don’t think Jonah cares if I follow along or stay put.
So, I stay put.
The cold settles deeper into my legs. I adjust the blanket, rubbing my arms to keep the blood moving, but I don’t go inside yet. I want another minute. One more breath of this air before heading in to what awaits me.
A sound behind me breaks the stillness. Quick footsteps, light and full of energy, padding across the floor just inside the cabin. A small figure barrels out the door. She’s clutching a small stuffed fox in her hands. She stutters to a stop when she sees me.
I recognize the expression on her face. Suspicion. Curiosity. A little alarm.
I sit up straighter, not sure what to do. She looks young, maybe four or five. Her dark hair is braided down her back, pink socks on her tiny little feet. I’m guessing she has shorts on, but I can’t see them beneath the oversized t-shirt she’s wearing. It has some faded graphic on the front.
We look at each other for a moment.
The door swings open again. This time it’s the sweet one. His voice carries before he even steps outside. “Mae, hey—what did I say about—” He stops when he sees me, eyes widening slightly.
He steps onto the porch, running a hand through his hair. The girl—Mae—pivots quickly and bolts back inside.
“Well. Guess you met Mae.”
I nod. “Briefly.”
“She’s going through some stuff, so she’s not great with strangers,” he says, coming to lean against the porch railing. “Takes her a minute. Or several. Then she starts asking about your favorite dinosaur and whether or not you like chocolate chips in your pancakes.”
I nod again, unsure what to say. My hands twist the edge of the blanket in my lap.
“You all right?” he asks hesitantly.
I pause. The usual answer floats to the front of my mind—yes, I’m fine—but the words don’t come. I stare out at the trees. The fog is mostly gone now, replaced by full sunlight.
He doesn’t fill the silence. He just waits.
“Today was supposed to be my wedding day,” I finally say.