Chapter 1
Elena
The sound of Brian’s truck turning onto the street made my stomach drop.
Even before the headlights swept across the living room window, I was already moving.
Not fast. Never fast. Brian noticed fast.
I folded the last shirt carefully and pushed it into the small duffel bag sitting on the floor beside the bed. The zipper teeth clicked together softly as I closed it, the sound barely louder than my breathing.
That was everything.
Everything I could take.
My jewelry-what little I had left after selling pieces over the years-was tucked inside a small velvet pouch. My mother’s thin gold necklace. A pair of pearl earrings she had given me on my twenty-first birthday. I hesitated before placing them in the bag earlier, the memories attached to them heavy and bittersweet.
My certificates were wrapped in a plastic folder and slid carefully between my clothes.
Proof that once-once-I had been someone.
Before Brian.
Before my family turned their backs on me.
Before the girl who had graduated with honors turned into someone who flinched every time a door slammed.
The truck engine cut off outside.
My pulse hammered against my ribs.
I moved quickly then, sliding under the blankets and turning onto my side. I slowed my breathing, closed my eyes, and forced my body into stillness.
The front door slammed open.
Brian stumbled inside.
Even from the bedroom I could smell the alcohol.
A bottle knocked against the kitchen counter. Something fell to the floor. He muttered a string of curses under his breath.
I kept my eyes shut.
Still.
Silent.
Invisible.
His footsteps were uneven as he moved through the apartment.
The floor creaked.
A chair scraped.
A cabinet door slammed.
My fingers tightened around the blanket.
Please just go to sleep.
Please just leave me alone tonight.
The bedroom door burst open.
My entire body went rigid beneath the covers.
Brian stood there for a moment, swaying slightly. I could feel his presence even with my eyes closed-the thick smell of whiskey, the heat of his anger.
I heard him exhale sharply through his nose.
Then his heavy boots crossed the room.
The mattress dipped as he dropped onto the bed.
The impact rattled the headboard against the wall.
I stayed perfectly still.
Seconds passed.
Then minutes.
Brian shifted once, grumbling something unintelligible.
And then the sound came.
A deep, uneven snore.
My eyes opened slowly.
I stared into the darkness.
Don’t rush.
Don’t rush.
I counted each breath he took. Waited for the rhythm to deepen. Waited until the tension in my chest loosened just enough to move.
Carefully, slowly, I slid out from under the blankets.
Brian didn’t stir.
My bare feet touched the floor. The wood felt cold beneath my skin.
I reached for the duffel bag.
My heart beat so loudly I was certain it would wake him.
Step by step, I moved toward the bedroom door.
Brian snored again, louder this time.
The sound almost made me cry with relief.
I slipped into the hallway.
Then the living room.
The apartment looked different in the dark. Smaller. Meaner somehow.
The broken picture frame on the wall.
The dent in the kitchen cabinet from the night Brian had thrown a chair.
The stain on the carpet from a spilled bottle.
I forced myself not to look around too long.
Looking meant remembering.
Remembering meant hesitating.
And hesitation could get me killed.
My hand wrapped around the doorknob.
Slowly.
Slowly.
I turned it.
The latch clicked softly.
I froze.
Brian’s snoring continued down the hallway.
I opened the door and slipped outside.
The cool night air hit my face like freedom.
For a second I just stood there.
I had imagined this moment so many times.
Running.
Leaving.
But now that it was happening, my legs felt like they belonged to someone else.
Move.
I forced my feet forward.
Down the steps.
Across the cracked parking lot.
Every shadow felt like it might be Brian coming after me.
Every passing car made my heart jump.
I didn’t stop running until the apartment building was three blocks behind me.
And even then I didn’t slow.
The bus stop light flickered weakly above the empty street.
A bus was pulling up as I reached the curb.
I climbed inside, breathless.
The driver glanced at me in the rearview mirror.
“Where to?”
I clutched the strap of my bag.
My mind was blank.
Anywhere.
Anywhere but there.
“Somewhere far,” I said quietly.
The driver studied my face for a moment.
Maybe he saw the fear.
Maybe he saw the bruise on my cheek I had tried to hide with makeup.
Or maybe he simply didn’t ask questions.
He nodded once.
“Bus station,” he said.
I sank into a seat near the back.
The bus pulled away from the curb.
The city lights blurred past the window.
With every mile, the knot in my chest loosened slightly.
Brian was behind me.
For the first time in three years…
I was leaving.
The bus station was nearly empty when we arrived.
The driver stopped beside the curb and opened the door.
“This is as far as I go,” he said.
I thanked him quietly and stepped onto the pavement.
The station smelled like stale coffee and cold concrete.
Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead.
I sat on one of the hard plastic chairs and pulled out my phone.
The screen lit up in the darkness.
My fingers trembled as I opened a rental listing site.
Apartments.
Rooms.
Anything.
The options that appeared were small.
Cheap.
And mostly in neighborhoods I had never heard of.
One listing caught my eye.
A tiny studio.
Low rent.
Available immediately.
The address sat in a part of the city people usually avoided.
Dangerous neighborhood, the description admitted bluntly.
But the price was something I could afford.
And right now…
Danger felt better than going back.
I saved the address.
Then leaned back in the chair, pulling my bag closer.
Outside, the sky was beginning to lighten.
Morning was still hours away.
But I would wait.
Because once the sun rose…
I would go see that apartment.
And start over.
