Chapter 19 #3
I sat up slowly, reading it twice, three times even, to make sure that I wasn’t tripping.
The apartment I had subleased years ago was now available again.
This had to be a sign from God to leave.
This was an open door. A chance. I turned my head to look at Orion.
His mouth was slightly open, with his body dead to the world.
He looked so peaceful, so harmless in his sleep.
But I knew better. I felt the bruises blooming on my arms and felt the sting still on my face.
I bit my lip hard, fighting the tears, fighting the weakness.
I could take Oriana, pack up, disappear, and go back to the apartment.
My apartment. He’d never see it coming. No more screaming, no more slaps, no more tiptoeing around his moods, and no more feeling unappreciated and undervalued.
I’ll have a space for just me and my baby girl to be safe.
My thumb hovered over the keyboard as I typed back.
Okay. Thank you. Can you meet me tomorrow?
I hit send before I could second-guess myself.
My hands were trembling, but for the first time in months, I felt a flicker of something I thought I had lost. Hope.
I lay back down slowly, careful not to wake him.
He stirred, turned over, and draped an arm across my waist like nothing had happened.
My skin crawled under his touch, but I stayed still.
I lay with eyes open wide in the dark. I hoped he didn’t feel my heart hammering under his arm.
He had no idea that tomorrow would be the start of me being done, for real this time.
The second Orion left the house, the energy shifted.
He kissed Oriana on the forehead, grabbed his keys, and mumbled something about taking inventory at the club.
I plastered on a smile, nodded, and waited until I heard the door click shut behind him.
Then, I moved. My heart was racing as I went straight to Oriana’s closet, pulling down bags and stuffing them with what I needed most: diapers, bottles, wipes, and her clothes.
My hands shook, but I didn’t stop. Every sound felt like it echoed, like he’d come busting back through the door at any second.
I kept glancing at the crib, at my baby girl kicking and cooing softly, completely unaware that her whole life was about to change.
“Shhh, mama,” I whispered while folding her favorite blanket and sliding it into the bag. “We're almost outta here.”
After packing up her closet, I grabbed her and then went to my room.
I grabbed my important stuff: my birth certificate, Oriana’s paperwork, my ID, and a few changes of clothes for myself.
I didn’t take much. I didn’t want him to notice right away.
I just needed enough to get by. Every zip of a suitcase, every creak of the floorboards felt dangerous, but I pushed through it, adrenaline keeping me sharp.
When the bags were packed, I lifted Oriana from her bassinet.
Immediately, her little head nuzzled into my neck.
Tears burned in my eyes, but I blinked them back.
This wasn’t the time to cry. I had to be in survivor mode.
I strapped her into her seat and left her in the living room while I did multiple trips to my Jeep with our bags.
When the last bag was securely in the trunk, I closed it and then rushed back into the house for her.
Another sign from God that it was time for me to go was that the camera had died last night, so it had been charging. I was leaving, and he had no heads up.
I slipped out of the house quietly, locking the door behind me like it was just another errand.
Stacy was waiting downstairs with the key, just like she promised.
She pressed it into my hand, her face curious, maybe even concerned, but I didn’t explain.
The bruise on my face was so damn easy to see, I just thanked her and kept moving.
Twenty minutes later, I was standing in front of my old apartment.
When I got Oriana down for a nap, I figured that I would go downstairs for our bag.
Not having a damn elevator was so damn tiring after lugging Oriana and her diaper bag upstairs.
When I made it to the sixth floor, I just stared at the apartment number.
6C. I had so many memories in this house.
The door opened with a creak that sounded like freedom.
I set Oriana down in the middle of the living room on her blanket and dropped onto the couch.
Looking around, I noticed that the carpet was dingy and worn-looking.
I was thankful that when I subleased to Stacy and her daughter, I left my furniture here as part of the agreement.
My couch had scratches all over, I assumed from the cat Stacy said her daughter had.
The place reeked of cat, but it was mine again.
I looked around at the walls, at the scratches on the couch, and even at the balding carpet, and I felt a sense of relief. This space was mine again.