22
Lia
It takes a surprisingly long time for me to get out from under Logan’s unconscious body. Maybe because it’s not easy moving with a knife up your pussy. But at last I manage to free myself, both of the body and of the weapon.
I have a pang of guilt as I creep into Aurora’s room, hurriedly dress and grab a few belongings, then reach down into the crib for her. I’m starting to wonder if I’m making the biggest mistake of my life.
Logan had me convinced he was going to kill me, and yet, it turned out he was just toying with me. Maybe that means he’s not serious about bringing me back to Carmelo either.
But in that case, we wouldn’t have spent the past few days driving to Idaho, would we?
It seems far more likely he just doesn’t take the threat seriously.
Maybe I shouldn’t be running. Maybe I should be trying to convince him.
But he’s so unpredictable. So cruel. How can I possibly count on him?
Especially now that I’ve drugged him. Any softness he might still have had will be gone for good when he wakes up and remembers what I did to him.
The only thing to do is run. That’s the only way I can hope to save us.
A sense of déjà-vu overwhelms me as I prepare to creep out into the cold night.
Aurora feels heavy in my arms, her breath tickling my nape, reassuring me that she’s still fast asleep.
I can just make out Everest’s light snores from the room next door, whereas Logan is still slumped over on the couch, dead to the world.
I walk slowly over to him and slide out the car keys from his front pocket. His wallet is in there too, and I pull that out as well. I open it and see two crisp twenty-dollar bills and four hundred-dollar ones.
Fuck, he’s loaded.
I hesitate far longer than I should, Aurora breathing deeply against my hip, because I know I should really take the money.
I’m going to need it, but something feels off about stealing from Logan.
A new low that I can’t make myself fall to, no matter how much every cell in my body is alert with the need for self-preservation.
At last, remembering the money he once spent to save me from that thug, I take the two twenty-dollar bills. I hope he’ll remember that day too, and understand I’m only trying to save myself, since he won’t.
That thought sends a burn to my eyes, and I quickly force it away, then tiptoe out.
Logan really is passed out. I don’t need to be so careful, and yet, even in the depths of his slumber, something about him still terrifies me.
I have no idea how long the sleeping pill Everest gave me will last, but hopefully I’ll have a few hours before either of them wakes up and realizes I’m gone.
I’ll also have a car, and they’ll be stuck trying to hunt me down on foot. I can only imagine how furious Logan will be, but I’ll be so far away from him at that point, it won’t matter.
I hope.
I have no doubt Carmelo will kill me if he finds me, whereas my thoughts are a lot more muddled when it comes to Logan, yet it’s the latter who makes me nervous as I walk toward the car and silently strap Aurora into her seat.
She half-wakes up, yawns loudly and lifts her arms up to me.
I hug her and she soon closes her eyes again, her breathing growing steady and deep once more.
I finish buckling her in, then slide into the driver’s seat, my chest tight.
It’s not just fear of Logan that makes me jittery as I pull out onto the main road. I keep thinking of how he’ll react when he wakes up. I hate myself for the way it feels like I’m betraying him right now. I hate myself even more for calling it a betrayal.
He kidnapped me. That’s what this is. A kidnapping, and he’s forcefully bringing me back to my abusive husband. He can’t possibly blame me for running, can he? I’m a prisoner, and prisoners try to escape! He doesn’t own me.
But it sure feels like he does as I drive down the road.
Well, I guess my crazy plan worked. Now what?
I’m free, free for the first time in my life, but I’ve never felt more helpless. I don’t even know how to fend for myself, let alone for my little girl. What am I supposed to do now? Where do I go?
As far away as possible sounds like a good first step. But what’s the next one?
Dozens of ideas crowd through my mind, each of them discarded as soon as they form. Especially the one that keeps dancing back in, pushing past all the other, less crazy options.
Go back to Logan. Go back to Logan!
If only I hadn’t spent all those years hurting him. If only I had dealt with my own pain, instead of taking it out on the one boy who cared.
If only I’d realized I cared about him too, before it was too late.
As those thoughts flit through my mind, I suddenly latch onto the one option that does feel sane.
Go home to Ireland.
I know mamaí doesn’t want me anymore. But she’s still my mom. Would she really turn me away if I came to her, begging her for help?
Images of the sweet-faced woman with large blue eyes and even larger glasses flicker before me. I remember her soft, off-key voice as she sang old Irish tunes while hanging the laundry out to dry.
I remember the way her hand felt around my own when she brought me to kindergarten every morning, and the way it felt when she brought me back home.
I remember the dresses she used to wear, and the sound of the hemline swishing against her knees.
I remember the dark bruises under her eyes, the way we hid together while papa’s loud boots stomped around the place, and she whispered in my ear, “Isn’t this a fun game?”
I remember a whole lot of things, but I suddenly realize I can’t remember her face.
I see her eyes and the bruises that surround them.
I see her glasses, too. But try as I might, I can’t seem to recall her other features: her nose, her hair, all of it is blotted from my memory.
I try to picture her smiles, but I draw a blank.
Have I just forgotten them, or did she never smile?
Her whole face, apart from those big blue eyes, is empty.
Guilt overwhelms me as I realize I’ve forgotten what my mother looks like.
I guess papa was right. I guess she really doesn’t want anything to do with me. What kind of a daughter forgets her own mother’s face?
Pain twists in my chest like a knife. I’m suffocating, like I can’t breathe, and I take in spurts of air, feeling just as trapped as I did in first grade when Logan leaned across the aisle and introduced himself.
In his eyes I saw a look of pure freedom. Somewhere deep in my heart was the conviction that he would one day leave Oakley behind. And the equally strong conviction that I never would.
He was free, and I was trapped.
It was jealousy that had me leaning back to him and whispering, “I don’t care.”
Jealousy, and an inexplicable sense of loss.
The same loss that had me staring out the airplane window that summer, counting the miles that stretched between me and mamaí.
An absurd sense of loss, because Logan was no one to me. Just some boy I’d never laid eyes on until that moment.
So why did knowing he’d leave hurt me just as much as knowing she’d left?
I shake the painful memories from my mind.
Going to Ireland sounds like a good next step, but I don’t have a penny to my name.
Strange to realize that when I’ve been living in relative luxury all my life.
Well, the kind of luxury that a shitty place like Oakley affords.
A thin varnish of gold to make the bars of the cage sparkle.
I don’t even have a bank account. How do people open bank accounts anyway?
Not that I should. They’d find it in a second. What I need to do is go into hiding. Off the grid. No bank account, no passport, nothing.
It’s a good thing nothing is exactly what I have.
_
It’s early morning by the time I realize my tank of gas is running dangerously low. Aurora has started to stir in the back seat, and I realize that if it’s not gas, it’s hunger that’s going to force us to stop soon.
Anyway, I’ve gone far enough. I must have been driving nonstop for four hours at least, taking every exit that I could, turning onto each new road I crossed. Just so I could make my path as muddled as possible.
Good luck hunting me, bastards.
I pull up to the closest gas station I can find. It’s been a while since I’ve left the highway, and this gas station is in a dump of a town that could give Oakley a run for its money.
I’m about to stop next to the pump when I suddenly realize that I only have forty dollars.
Fuck. I really should have taken the rest of Logan’s money.
Guilt is the furthest thing from my mind right now, as I’m forced to choose between gas and food.
Food wins out when Aurora wakes up with a whine.
“Hungry, mama! Want milk, mama!”
Gritting my teeth, I drive past the gas station, next to a diner that seems to be the only other commerce in town.
I unbuckle Aurora, lift her out of her seat, and set her down on the ground. She stretches her little hand up to me, and I squeeze it. I cross the street slowly, waiting for her to toddle after me.
Running with a little girl is a lot more complicated. But thank god she’s with me. I don’t know what I’d do if I was on my own.
As we draw near the diner, I notice the sign on the window: Help wanted.
This is starting to feel like my lucky day. Maybe I can work here for a few weeks and save up enough to get plane tickets for Ireland.
Smoothing down my hair to try to look half-presentable, I walk inside and smile sweetly at the woman sitting behind the counter, whose eyes are glued to something on her knees.
“Hello,” I greet her, my eyes drifting down to her nametag. “Hello… Debbie. I’d like a glass of milk, please. And, uhm… water.”
I pull Aurora up onto a bar stool and sit down next to her. The woman doesn’t answer us, just pours out some milk into a glass, and water into another one. She sets them both down in front of us, then turns her attention back to what I can now see is a very worn book.
“Danielle… Steel,” I read on the cover. “Is that a romance?”
She ignores me, her eyes darting quickly on the page.