Charlie
THE SOUND OF MY BARE feet against the cheap linoleum floor amplifies the pounding in my head. Each step I take, riskier than the last. Thumping in my chest grows heavier, faster. I swallow the large lump in my throat and take one more look down the hallway that leads to the bedroom. The street light shining in from the window highlights my feet as I pause briefly in the living room to listen for his snoring in the otherwise still house. Of course he’s sleeping well. That asshole never has a problem sleeping at night. My sweaty palm slowly turns the cool metal handle on the front door. With the last ounce of strength in me, I step outside, grabbing the keys and the bag I stashed under the porch. The keys fumble in my shaking hands until I finally get the right one into the ignition. My eyes dart all around watching for any movement in the night as I idle the car out of the neighborhood. Turning onto the main road, my foot slams onto the accelerator. I know he’ll be coming. I know he’s going to be right behind me. But this is it. My last fight. I’d rather die than let him catch me this time.
The darkness in the rearview mirror alleviates only a small portion of the fear that sits like a weight in my stomach. It won’t be long before he realizes I’m gone. The fury that will take place in that house will be like a volcano violently spewing lava. He warned me if I ran again, it would be much worse than before. As I get closer to the only stop sign in this shitty town on the outskirts of Portland, I look both ways for approaching headlights. Seeing only the opacity of the night, I blow right through that motherfucker. The faster I get away from here, the better my chances. Lines of dirty water smear across the windshield as the wipers slide back and forth. I already have a hard time seeing in the dark, and the rain and old wipers are making it even more challenging. This damn constant mist is the misery of everyone who lives west of the Cascades during the winter. These parts of Oregon get a hundred and sixty days of dreary, miserable, relentless water from the sky. My luck would have it that on this particular night, the rain is heavier than it has been lately. To top that off, I’m going on this path blind. Thanks to modern technology and the fact that nothing you do on the Internet or phone is untraceable, I couldn’t use that to make a plan. The map at the grocery store was impossible to memorize, so I wrote down a few directions to get me at least headed the right way. South. But unfortunately, Austen snuck up on me unexpectedly, and it was either get caught with it or throw it away with the napkin he handed me. So, the only plan I left with is . . . run. It’s hard to imagine where I could have been at this point in my life. The doom and despair I feel match the cold, wet darkness that surrounds me. But Austen’s charm pulled me in. He held on tight. Then he squeezed the fucking life right out.
My senior year of high school, I met what I thought was the man of my dreams. Maybe it was his platinum blond hair and ice-blue eyes. Maybe it was because he was confident and had a sense of style that the other boys seemed to be lacking. All the girls wanted him, but he only wanted me. I felt like the luckiest girl in the world. I can still see him leaning into me, his right arm over my shoulder and holding his weight against the blue lockers. I was captivated by the way he made me feel like the only girl in the world. I was a walking emoji with hearts for eyes. Completely hypnotized, he drew me closer. It began with Austen picking me up every morning in the bright, cherry-red BMW his parents bought him. Before long, he insisted on picking me up, dropping me off, and taking me out every night. Some would say we were connected at the hip. Hell, we even graduated from the same college.
Austen took a position working for a law firm while he continued to take classes to become a lawyer. Once I got my degree, I worked from our float home as a graphic designer. Everything was perfect; the only thing missing was a ring on my finger. I had no idea that proposal would never come. Even more so that I would never want it to. It wasn’t long after we moved into the float home that I made friends with a girl who lived within walking distance. Austen became so jealous that he forbade me from bringing her into the house. He said he didn’t feel comfortable having a stranger in his space. When I offered to go to her house, Austen told me it was out of the question. That was the first sign I should have taken seriously. I should have left then and never looked back. At the time, leaving wasn’t even on my mind. I loved him and thought he was just going through a stressful phase because of work and school. But then the fighting began. Disagreements turned into big arguments. The arguments turned into yelling matches, which didn’t go over too well with the neighbors. The float home community we lived in was a nice, quiet area. Our yelling was hard to ignore. After the police were called on us for the third time, I told Austen I was leaving. The anger that crossed over his face was a sight I’ll never forget. The very first time his hand forcefully hit the side of my cheek sent me into complete disbelief. Never would I have thought the man who I had spent five years loving would hit me. As the sting turned numb, I remember looking him right in the eyes, desperate to see remorse. There was nothing. He didn’t have a hard time sleeping that night either.
The blinding headlights coming from the other direction snap me out of the memory, and I remove my hand from my cheek and place it back onto the steering wheel. My lips vibrate together as the breath I didn’t realize I had been holding in blows out as a semi flies past me. Flipping through the radio stations looking for any sort of distraction, I stop on a song that sounds like how I feel. The strength I gain from a three-minute song has been enough to power me through some of the worst days of my life. My fingers tap to the slow, heartbreaking beat as I lose myself into the unknown world. I have no idea where I’m going or what I’m going to do once I get there. I just know that it’s got to be a hell of a lot better than where I’ve been.
Enough miles have passed that none of the roads or street signs look familiar. It brings both peace and fear. The trees become thicker and the hills more frequent. Suddenly, out of the corner of my right eye, headlights appear in the rearview. I know there are other people in this world, some of which travel at night, but the paranoia is overwhelming, and I’m not sticking around to find out if Austen has woken up and tracked me down already. My foot crashes down onto the gas and I pick up speed. The road begins to twist and turn, and the piece of shit car Austen lets me use is surprisingly handling well. With my foot firmly planted on the right pedal, the light dissipates behind me.
BIG PINE. A green sign appears with an arrow pointing down a dark road to the left. With no place sounding better and desperate to change my path, I turn the wheel. The road is narrow and cuts through the heavily wooded incline. Shallow potholes litter the pavement and it becomes obvious that this is not a main road. With white knuckles, I steer around the big holes, trying not to lose my speed. Maybe I should turn around. This road isn’t getting any better the further I go. Just as I’m about to do a U-turn, the faint glare in the rearview reappears and my anxiety spikes. Again, my foot throttles down on the gas, only this time the car doesn’t go straight. Between the wet pavement and the condition of the road, the tires lose traction. Any hope of regaining control fizzles away as I cross the road and enter the trees. Refusing to watch my attempt at freedom go down in flames, my arms cover my face. It’s hard to ignore the tilt of my body as the car travels slightly downhill. The cracking of sticks and bangs from the undercarriage comes to an abrupt and painful stop as something explodes. My arms are shoved into my face and my head hits the window beside me.
Not willing to open my eyes yet, I listen. Everything is still. The silence is only broken by the hissing engine and my frightened breaths. But for years, I’ve had to gather myself even in the depths of despair. I know how to get my shit together, even when I’m scared out of my mind. So before opening my eyes, I take a few calming deep breaths. I can move my legs and arms, and I’m breathing, so I’m okay. With no other choice but to confront whatever obstacle I have just created for myself, I open my eyes just as the fabric from the airbag falls slightly down. All that’s visible out of the shattered windshield is the trunk of a tree wedged into the front of the car. Shit. My head pulsates, but thanks to Austen, I’ve become accustomed to that feeling. A small line of crimson flows down my nose from my forehead, so I use the sleeve of my zip-up sweatshirt to wipe the blood away. I push on the driver side door, but it won’t open. Then something catches my eye. A very dim light strobing through the trees from the road that is now uphill from where my car sits stuck. Oh, no. Ignoring the pain in my arm and head, I climb to the passenger side, grab the flashlight out of the glove box, and shove open the door.
The crunching of the forest floor beneath my feet makes me cringe, but there’s no time to slow down. I’m desperate to get as far away from this car as possible, so I run. Whether it is Austen or someone who would call the police, neither will turn out good for me. Austen has connections in and around Portland. If he’s woken up and knows I’m gone, he’ll have every one of his friends—whether they work for the law or against it—looking for me. They aren’t looking to make sure I’m okay either. I’ll never forget the smirk on the police officer’s face when he brought me back to Austen the last time I left. For a brief moment, I thought I saw empathy in the cop’s eyes, but that disappeared when Austen handed him a wad of cash. Neither his morals nor the uniform he put on every day were enough to stop him from handing me over to the devil. I’m shaken from the memory as I almost lose my footing to a stick on the ground.
Running isn’t my forte. Hell, I hate briskly walking. I severely lack the endurance it takes to run a long distance on a flat surface, much less through the thick, uneven forest. The trees are unforgiving, and I have to dodge left and right every few feet to avoid running into anything. Lightheadedness taunts me, making the trees tilt, but I keep going. After running quite the distance from the car, I finally stop to catch my breath and shake the weakness away. Dread enters into my bloodstream as the sound of feet on the ground assaults my ears. Standing still, I try to pinpoint which direction they are coming from. Suddenly, they stop and there’s nothing but the sound of the forest at night.
Could it be my own echo? Am I imagining things?
Cautiously, I keep trekking on. It’s a struggle to see anything in the dark. Even the moonlight would have helped light my way, but of course, the clouds conceal it tonight. My very small flashlight only lights directly in front of my feet, so at least I can watch where I step, but I’m trying to use it sparingly. Although the forest has become quiet again, I can’t shake the feeling of eyes on me, watching my every move. It’s probably just animals. Even the thought of bears doesn’t frighten me as much as what could be coming for me. They could eat me alive and still I would prefer that death to Austen. The feeling grows stronger and my body freezes, trying desperately to see if my paranoia proves true. Then, it becomes frightfully obvious as steps become louder. Tears fill my eyes as they frantically spin, only seeing shadows of tall trees all around. The sight alone is dizzying, but I have to get away. I shut off my flashlight and, blindly, I run. The footsteps in the dead plant material on the forest floor come closer no matter which way I turn. Frenzied, I dodge between the trees as everything around me becomes a blur. A large trunk appears right in front of me and I bolt my way around it. The air pushes from my lungs. Terror takes over as I run right into a large, hard body. A bright light flashes into my face, and all I see is the barrel of a gun aimed right between my eyes.