after that, forget she ever existed. Unlike you, I don’t feel the need to trade in my toys every few years. I like to keep them until I break them.”
Clyde sighs, stepping away from the bed, his heavy footsteps moving toward the door.
“Yes, G, I am well aware of the deal we made. Now let’s finish our drinks. I’m being rude to my guests,” he finishes, closing the door behind him.
I strain to listen over the sound of my wildly beating heart that threatens to crack my ribs.
I guess I know why he never crossed that line when he so happily crossed all the others. I wouldn’t have been worth as much if he had broken me in.
The storm is raging now, both outside my window and in the darkest part of my mind. A scream builds within, rivaling any a banshee might make, but I swallow it down and bite my lip until I taste blood. The little girl inside me urges me to run, to push open the window and disappear into the night. But then what will happen to the little girl who comes after me?
Climbing from the bed, I grip my hands into fists. Nobody was there for me. They ignored my cries and turned their backs on me. I won’t ever be the person who stands by and lets something like that happen, not if I can stop it.
I rip the dress from my body, tearing the fabric in the process, and dump it in a pile on the bedroom floor. Rummaging through my dresser, I grab the first nightshirt I touch, pulling it over my head before grabbing my backpack from the back of my desk chair. I empty the contents on my desk. A cherry Chapstick makes its bid for freedom by rolling off the edge and landing on the carpet soundlessly. Walking on silent footsteps to the door, I pull it open gently, checking that the coast is clear, then step over the creaky floorboard and tiptoe down the dark hallway to Clyde’s office at the end.
Pushing the handle down, I find the door unlocked like I knew I would. Clyde thinks he’s untouchable. I’m going to show him how wrong he is.
I don’t waste time as I move across the thick carpet beneath my feet, feeling oddly proud of myself for all the times I spied on Clyde. I must have always known deep down this day would come.
Lifting the picture of a forest landscape off the wall, I place it near my feet and focus on the safe hidden behind it.
0817, Mom’s birthday.
I type it in, tensing when it beeps once, then I swing the door open.
The first thing I take is the money, ten stacks of cash tightly bundled together with rubber bands and shove them into the backpack. Next, I take the ledger filled with names and numbers. I don’t know what any of it means, but something tells me this thing might be valuable. Finally, I take the item I came here for, the gun. It’s heavier than I thought it would be, looking large and intimidating in my small hand, and yet, a wave of comfort washes over me. It doesn’t matter how small I am, how weak I am; this thing evens the battlefield. I shove it into the backpack and close the safe, placing the picture back over it.
Leaving the room the same way I found it, I close the door behind me as voices saying their goodbyes drift up the stairs.
I head back to my room and remove the gun, shoving it under my pillow before grabbing items I’ll need. I only pack the essentials I can carry—underwear, socks, toothbrush, a handful of toiletries, and three changes of clothes. There is no space in the backpack for anything else.
Opening the desk drawer, I lift out the tattered copy of Chicken Little and run my fingertips over the cover reverently. How I wished for a different life. Shoving it back in the drawer, I slam it closed.
The temperature had dropped, the howling wind blowing in the window, making the white gauzy curtain flutter as if it’s dancing to music only it can hear. I pull the curtain closed before climbing under the comforter, the inky blackness of the night wrapping itself around me like a welcome friend.
And I wait.
It doesn’t take long, the lure of spending his last night with me too strong for him to ignore any longer.