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 reallyispassed 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 medown 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 oneboy 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 thatdoesfeel 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?
