Beautiful Deceit - Albany Walker Page 0,1

brain banging around violently, surfacing when I least expect it.

In the end, all it took was me knocking on Rita’s beautiful ivory door, and I was welcomed into her life to rebuild my own. I didn't tell Rita everything, not at first, just enough for her to know how serious the situation was; she understood by looking at me that night. She knew I needed an escape.

I don't know how she managed it, but within two weeks I had a new identity. My old name disappeared. I became Samantha West, a junior year transfer student at a small private school in downtown New York. Hiding in plain sight, Rita called it. I didn't care what she called it as long as that monster couldn't find me.

He called Rita about three weeks after I left. I was shocked it took that long. Who else did I have to turn to? There certainly wasn’t anyone in his town. He asked if she'd heard from me. She played it off well. Even with me standing nearby, she began acting frantic, offering to come down and look for me. He said he was sure I'd turn up, and that I'd only been out for a few days. She's probably just at a friend’s house, was his excuse. Rita called everyday for a week asking about me, to make sure he didn’t suspect that I was with her. It must have worked, because on the seventh day, he said I'd finally returned and not to worry anymore. She needs to be punished for her behavior. So I won't be lettin her talk to ya just now. I shook hearing those words, I knew if he ever had the chance to punish me again, I'd be dead or wish I was.

I shiver thinking about how much worse it could have been and how bad it almost was.

Rita called occasionally for about a year, continuing the charade. He always told her I was busy or out with friends and that I couldn't come to the phone. After a while she let disappointment seep into her tone, saying she understood and knew that I grew up and didn’t need to hear from a distant friend of my mother’s. She told him she would stop bothering him and me, but told him to call if he needed anything, and with that she cut herself from his life.

I shake my head, clearing my thoughts. I let my bare feet drop to the cool, wood floor, the sensation grounding me to the here and now.

I stretch my arms above my head and arch my back, removing the kinks left over from sleeping. I pad soundlessly over to the kitchen and turn on my one-cup brewer. I have an hour before I need to leave for work, so I move to the only room in my studio with a door, grab a few linens and start the shower.

I enter the oversized stall surrounded in frosted glass and place a washcloth on the wide bench seat. It’s made of the same white tiles that cover the walls. I strip, tossing my clothes into the separate laundry space on the other side of the bathroom. The triple shower heads pound down on my back and head, helping me to wake up. I wash and get out faster than I'd really like, but I need coffee if I'm going to survive the day, and I can’t let it go cold.

I dry my hair quickly and apply a coat of mascara to my lashes through the still fogged mirror. I return to the kitchen in my panties for my first cup of coffee. When I add creamer, I notice I'm almost out, so I start mentally compiling a list of what I'll need over the next few days.

I slide my legs into my favorite skinny jeans and look through my collection of bras. It truly is a collection. I have so many and each one is stunning. I don’t know why I have collected so many, no one but me sees them. I just can't seem to stop buying more. Today, I’ve picked a french cut ivory satin with black lace upper cups. I feel a pep in my step from just putting it on. I tug a white, off-the-shoulder sweater over it. It is dense enough that you can't see the black lace through the weave. I grab a pair of low-heeled, brown boots from my closet and give them a quick dusting.

I look up