I’m in hell. My skin is burning from my body, but I force myself to put one foot in front of the other. This hell is preferable to the one I escaped. If I die, it’ll be a blessing. No more pain. No more suffering. In death, I can balance the scales. I can pay for the mistakes that have led me to this moment.
I walk. One foot in front of the other, the pavement so hot I feel it burning the bottoms of my feet even though my shoes, but I don’t care. I’ve endured far more pain. My mouth is dry. I can’t remember the last time I had water, but I’m free.
The man had gotten sloppy. He’d left his knife on his belt and I had gotten it. I had gotten it and then I’d stabbed him, once, twice, then a third time. I knew if the others found me they’d kill me, but I welcomed death.
Somehow they didn’t know and I’d taken his bike, riding in the first direction I turned. I didn’t care where I went, so long as I was gone. I’d never actually operated a bike before, but I knew enough from riding on the back of one that I could manage. I didn’t have to think. I only did.
I rode until it came to shuddering stop, and I’d left it. It was no longer of use and I wasn’t far enough away. I wasn’t sure I could ever get far enough away.
Cars pass. Some horns blow, but none stop, and I walk. I’ll walk until I can walk no more, then I’ll crawl, then I’ll die, and then I’ll be at peace.
I hear the motorcycles approach. I’ve heard others rumble by. None stop, but these do. At first I think it’s the men who took me. I know they’ll kill me. I only hope it’ll be quick. I keep moving, one foot in front of the other. They can kill me as easily walking as not.
The men approach. I’ve not seen these men before. The first one speaks to me, but I ignore him. I’d tried talking. I’d tried to reason with my captors, then begged for their mercy, only to hear them laugh. Finally, I had begged for them to kill me, and again they’d only laughed. I had begged and pleaded until I ran out of words. And they had laughed.
I stop walking when they make me. Fighting only makes the pain worse. Compliance, that’s what they wanted, so I complied. Most of the men who’ve come for me seem kind, all but one, but I know it’s only a trick. Even the kind ones had their way with me, my cries for mercy falling upon deaf ears.
I allow the man to look at me. His touch is firm but gentle, and he promises not to hurt me, but it’s a lie. They all promised that at first. He wants me to go with him. He says he’ll help me. I want to trust him, but I can’t. I have to keep moving. I have to get as far away as I can.
A man grabs me, his hands around my waist. They’re going to take me back, back to that prison of pain and fear. I would rather die than go back. I fight. I want them to kill me. I bite the big man’s hand, trying to tear his flesh from his bones with my teeth.
I turn to face them, wishing for death, but the kind man orders them back, and they obey. He orders me away, tells me to keep walking, allowing me to leave, then turns his back to me, ignoring me as I place one foot in front of another.
I hear the motorcycles start. I turn to watch, to see if they are going to leave me. The kind man is watching me and I can see he’s leaving. He wants nothing from me.
I turn and walk toward them men, the sound of their motorcycles calling to me. I realize: while I would rather die than return to the hell that was my life, I don’t actually want to die. I start to walk back, my mind screaming, but my body is moving of its own accord. The kind man watches me, his face twisting behind his sunglasses, not in anger, lust, or cruelty, but in humor. His eyes track me as I move back to him and step onto his motorcycle, my body knowing what to do.
He looks behind him and I can see his lips break into a smile before his attention shifts and we pull smartly onto the interstate.
The air rushes over me, blessedly cool as we thunder down the interstate. He’s taking me away from my prison. He said he wouldn’t hurt me and he is keeping his word. I don’t know where we are going, and I don’t care.
We pull off the interstate into a gas station. When he switches off the bike, I dismount, but he doesn’t follow me. He pushes something into my hand and promises again to help me. He is helping me. The words he says, about getting back to the bike, don’t make sense. When he starts his bike, I mount up, ready to go where he’s going, waiting for him to take me away.
He shuts the bike off again. I don’t understand what he wants, so I get off again. I don’t want to anger him. He again promises to help me, but when I try to get back on his motorcycle, he stops me. I try again, and again he prevents me. He’s leaving me! He is leaving me here as he rides away. I try to tell him I want to go, to beg him to take me with him, but I am out of words. I hold his hand, praying he won’t leave me.
Another man takes me by the arm and tries to take me away. He’s going to take me back and I hold to the kind man, desperately afraid. If he leaves me here, I know the others will find me and take me back. I struggle, not wanting to be left behind. He tries to remove my hands, but I hold onto whatever I can reach.
The man holding my arms throws me away. I’m going to be alone again and I can feel the flicker of hope extinguish. He turns his back to me and I watch as he mounts his bike and brings it to life. I prepare to walk again, but I can’t move. I’m frozen to this spot, held by the kind man’s eyes.
He orders me to get on, but I’m afraid it’s a trick. The moment I take a step he’ll leave as he laughs at me. He holds his hand out to me and orders me again, but it’s not an order. He allows me to make my own choice. I can go or stay as I choose.
I choose to go. I step up onto the motorcycle. As soon as I’m settled, we pull out of the gas station. Once again we are traveling, every turn of the motorcycle’s tires taking me farther and farther away.
We ride for a time, my hair blowing in the wind, and I remember when, before the time of pain, I rode like this. I remember the feeling of freedom and of being happy. The man I was riding behind was kind to me, like this man. I don’t even try to stop the tears as they slowly well out of my eyes, the hot desert air drying them instantly.