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Five months ago, my mother died in a stabbing "accident".

Four months ago, my stepfather said we were losing the house.

Three months ago, he said we should move back to his home country Moskra and start fresh. In hindsight, I realize now that those words were too good to be true, but since I did preface all of this with the admission that I'm not the brightest bulb in the block…

That's how I ended up here: trapped in a foreign country without a single cent to my name, engaged against my will, and about to be taken away by a fiancé who makes Charles Manson look reasonable…if I don't think of something soon.

So please, brain!

The second Konrad's footsteps fade, I peel myself off the wall and go the opposite way, deeper into the side hallway.

I have my hand over my mouth to keep myself from crying out as I try the doors of every hotel room I pass while I walk down the hallway like a headless chicken.

Please work for me like you've never worked before!

But they’re all locked.

Please, please.

But it’s no use. Every knob I try turning might as well be made of stone, unyielding and unmoving between my fingers. It’s only a matter of time before they find me, and then…

And then…

No, no, no!

Don’t give up just yet!

Come on, brain, think!

I was five years old when I watched my first action movie. It was the first of Tom Cruise's Mission Impossible movies, and since then, action flicks became my greatest source of comfort. They were my secret pain reliever when I was emotionally bruised. My go-to for every curve ball life throws my way (which honestly happens so, so often, that if I were the superstitious type, I'd have long believed I was cursed).

Watching the underdog win and beat up the bad guys made me feel like I always have reason to hope, but…

Tom Cruise would've had a gadget for this. A keycard that opens every door in the building, or a rope, or at least a pair of knees that don't shake.

What do I have?

A hand over my mouth and a hallway full of doors that won't open.

In Liam Neeson's first Taken movie, he rescues his daughter against all odds, and they live happily ever after (until Part 2, but that's for another story). I want so badly to believe that can happen to me, too…but how can I hope for rescue when the only father figure in my life is the exact reason I need rescuing?

Somewhere behind me, a door bangs open.

My room.

And then Konrad's voice again, except it doesn't sound impatient anymore. It sounds like something is about to get broken.

No, oh no, no.

Footsteps, and not just his this time. They're coming back up the hallway, fast, and I'm running out of doors.

I grab the next handle. Locked. I don't even wait to rattle it twice before I'm lunging for the one after, but the voices are so close now, so, so close, and I can't⁠—

The door behind me opens.

A hand closes around my arm and yanks me backward, and I stumble straight into something hard and warm just as the door swings shut in front of me.

It doesn't slam. It doesn't even click.