Dangerous Things

I feel my phone vibrate in my pocket. Once. Twice. Three times. I sigh loudly as I shift my duffel bag on my shoulder. I check the television behind me, where the bus times are listed. 20 minutes until my next bus. I drop my bag on the ground of the bus terminal and reach into my pocket to pull out my phone. My father’s face is displayed on the screen, smiling. I take three deep breaths, straighten my spine, and slide to answer it.

“Kam? Where the hell are you? I knocked on your door for 30 minutes. The landlord tried to call the cops on me.”

My palms sweat and I wipe them on my jeans. “I’m…not there.” The line is silent. I pull the phone from my ear to see if he’s hung up. “Dad?”

“Kam.” I can almost feel the frustration in his tone. My stomach flips. “You have 200 people currently walking into a church, expecting to see you in 45 minutes.”

“Yeah, um,” I pause, shaking my head to align the marbles in my brain into somewhat of a straight line. “I’m not there.”

“I know that!” He screams, followed by an exasperated sigh. His voice becomes softer. “I know that, Kamila. Tell me where you are so I can tell Bradley, and we can come get you. This is just cold feet.”

Cold feet don’t send you halfway across the country, but I don’t tell him that. In the time Bradley and I have been together, my father has accepted him the way he never accepted me. Bradley represented everything my father failed to see in his daughter - a sharp-minded individual not unlike himself who could run a business. A son who could walk in his footsteps. A man who could be everything a woman could not.

As his only child, a girl that couldn’t carry his name or his legacy, Bradley had become everything to my father. And when Bradley proposed 6 months ago, in front of my family, no one expected me to refuse. They wanted me to be Kamila, the good girl who would do anything for her family. Be a good girl, Kamila. When someone tells you to do something, you need to do it, Kamila. “No” is not acceptable, Kamila. It’s “yes, sir.”

I was expected to be grateful. They let me attend college and even caved on graduate school. They let me get my masters in English Literature, even though my father deemed it a worthless degree. “A complete waste of money.” he said, his voice monotone and lacking any pride in my accomplishment. His approval was never important to me. I knew from a young age that there would never be anything I could do that would earn a pat on the head or a gold star.

I accepted Bradley’s proposal. I even feigned excitement over our engagement. I showed my ring to my friends, my family. “He did such a good job!” I gushed, smiling until my cheeks hurt. I planned a wedding while I plotted an escape. I swam through layers of tulle and satin to please my mother and father, secretly devising the when, where, and how. I couldn’t purchase a plane ticket on the credit card. I would be found out instantly when Bradley saw the bill. So I would buy one or two things every few days in the name of our nuptials, taking out more than needed so I could squirrel away the extra cash. No one asked because no one was worried that such a good girl would be lying about how much things cost.

Bradley was never a bad person. He treated me well enough, but as with all the men in my life up until that point, I was a means to an end. My father wanted Bradley to inherit his business, and Bradley wanted my father to give it to him. He was comfortable with this arrangement because it was what was expected of him. It sounds cliche to say we were both bred for this outcome, but I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t true. In retrospect, it’s all very poetical.

My father’s gruff voice pulls me out of my reverie. “You have exactly 45 min - no, 44 minutes to get dressed, get here and get married. I swear, Kamila, if you are not here in 44 minutes, I will track this phone and you will not be happy to see me when I find you.”

Well, time to ditch the phone I guess.

“Dad,” I say firmly, “I’m not coming back. I don’t want to do this. I don’t want to be passed from cage to cage until I die. I refuse.” I feel the wind shift slightly as a tall figure stands a few feet away from me. I remember my bag is on the floor and I can’t afford to lose anything else. I turn to look at the person next to me.

Tall. Dark. Handsome. The only three words my brain can muster as I hear my father continue to threaten me over the phone. He looks down at me and for a moment, our eyes meet. Soft, golden brown irises flick over my face. Below a crooked yet strong nose, a pair of full lips quirk into a small smile. I feel myself returning the smile without thinking - I can already tell this man is disarming.

His dark, honeyed eyes glance behind me and narrow suddenly. “Get down.” He whispers.

I break out of my daze and my eyebrows knit together. “Wha-”

I hear a loud bang that deafens me. Fire explodes at the tip of my ear.

“Get down!” The man shouts before pushing me to the ground face first and landing on top of me. It sounds like he’s screaming through water. My phone is thrown across the station and shatters as it hits the concrete wall. That’s one way to get rid of it, I guess.

I close my eyes as four more bangs travel through the station. My head feels heavy and dizziness washes over me. I reach up to where my ear burns and feel sticky wetness.

The weight is lifted off of me and my body is rolled over onto my stomach. My eyes are still shut tight. A few taps on my cheek makes my eyes fly open. I see the tall, dark, and handsome man’s mouth moving, but I can only hear mumbling. I attempt to read his lips, a last ditch effort to find out what the fuck is going on, when my vision tunnels. I feel panic in my stomach. Do not pass out. Do not pass out.

That’s the last thought that crosses my mind before everything goes dark. I pass out.