Memories reeled through my mind as I stuffed whatever I owned into my trusty, abused rucksack. I roughly threw in a peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwich, which I had packed late last night after planning my escape.
Escape. Huh. Never thought it'd come to this! But really, I couldn't take it anymore! All the beatings, verbal abuse, everything! Night after night, I prayed and hoped and wished with every fibre of my being that someone would find me and bring me out of this hell-hole.
But no. Nobody came to rescue me.
Looks like I had to take matters into my own hands.
I just hoped that I wouldn't get caught by my family, which would just bring me right back to square one! That's why I'd chosen to run away during this odd hour when I knew mum was at work, Mallory and Thomas were at school and dad was at the bar, drinking his fill.
I strapped the rucksack on tightly and sucked in a huge breath. This was it. A whole new beginning. I turned around and opened the door confidently, coming face-to-face with...
“D-d-dad. What-what are you doing here?” I stammered.
He bared his crooked, yellow teeth, “I’m back from the bar early.”
I immediately took a step back. What should I do now? “Well, that’s good,” I said, not sounding like that was good at all. I forced a reluctant smile.
He grunted, advancing towards me. “Where are you going?”
I fiddled nervously with my dangling bag strap. “Nowhere,” I answered a second too quickly.
He kept coming closer to me. What should I do? What should I do? I quickly scanned the small room, looking for another means of escape, trying not to seem too obvious. Then, the answer hit me like a wrecking ball. The window!
I turned back to face my bald and scary father. Keeping my eyes fixed on his every move, I carefully retreated, one slow step at a time. He matched every movement of mine with his own, as if we were dancing a far-from-lithe salsa routine.
I knew that if I didn’t try to run now, I never would be able to escape. Never taking my eyes off of my father, I slowly counted to five; I found myself trying to put off everything as long as I could.
Four. I took a deep breath. I was already propped up on the windowsill at the far corner of the attic. I sneaked a peek at the bottom and quailed at the height.
Five. Oh well, here goes nothing; it was my last thought before I launched myself out of the dreaded room and down onto the Heatherfields’ garden.
The impact knocked the breath out of my lungs; I huffed. Pulling in huge gulps of air, I laid down on the green, clean-cut grass that I had once mowed. I didn’t have long to recover though.
As soon as I heard pounding on the staircase—which I assumed was the weight of my father’s bulging tummy—I quickly jumped to my feet and started running. I was so close to getting away right now that I couldn’t bear to get caught!
“Stop right there!” He shouted, panting behind me. It was a good thing that my school had decided to include a compulsory physical course in its already jam-packed curriculum.
Minutes passed by—though to me, they seemed like hours—and finally, I saw the gateway to my only available sanctuary.
Charging forward with newfound strength, I quickly opened the unlocked, metal gate and closed it tight behind me. I looked left and right down the street, and, my good luck prevailing, managed to hurriedly flag a cab.
“Balcones Heights, Hillcrest Drive,” I instructed the driver as he shifted out of neutral and headed for downtown. Even though I was free, I wasn’t taking any chances.
I twisted around in my seat to watch my father slam into the wire mesh in a desperate attempt to stop me from escaping. It took a while for the realisation to hit me. The relief was so exquisite that I laughed out loud. I got out of their clutches! I made it!
--Never Been Loved
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