I yank myself up, pull my head out of my ass and aggressively wash down while refusing to break down anymore. It’s the past. It’s not where I need to be mentally.
I wash my face until it feels raw, wiping away tears I don’t want to cry anymore, and shampoo my hair with vigor as though cleansing my head of thoughts and feelings. I finish up fast, tug a towel on when I step out, and? focus all my efforts on drying quickly, rubbing my hair as dry as I can get it, before combining it into a sleek ponytail and pulling on fresh underwear and clothes. I slide on jeans, a tank, and sweater, pull on some socks, and sneakers, and take a last look around the room for anything I want to add to my backpack.
I tidy my room, make the bed, and then lay down on top of it and try to force myself to take a nap to kill some time, staring blankly at the ceiling and refusing to let my mind wander back to him, us, or this crappy situation.
There’s a noise outside my door that makes me flinch, and I pause, stare at it, praying to god he hasn’t decided to come here and start this shit all over again. It’s what he does… and I hold my breath, listen intently, my own heart beating loudly in my own ears as panic sets in.
I can’t see him… I can’t let him sway me, or touch me, or get close. My heart will betray me if I do.
It’s followed by the squeak of one of the cleaning carts and I exhale in relief when it rolls right on by my room and fades into the distance. My body weak with relief, and I sprawl out star shaped on my bed, exhaling so heavily I let out a whoosh noise and then moan at my own stupid despair.
Stop freaking out, Alora. You’re going to get yourself in such a mess and not be able to follow through. Relax, breathe, count.
I put everything into doing just that, remember the techniques I used to use when I stayed in the home and couldn’t relax or sleep on nights when everything got to me too much. I picture a meadow, a sweet-scented field full of pretty flowers, and one by one as I walk through them, I count the heads, picking them out, touching them as I go. I visualize the colors, the feel of their softy silky petals on my fingers, and the way the subtle scent blows around on the breeze. Coming to me in mixed smells as they all dance and sway in ripples. It helps me drift into a calmer state of mind. The noise of nature drowning out everything else in my mind’s eye. If I can just focus my energy for a little while longer, then I can get through this. Once I’m out of here and on my way, it’ll be easier.
It seems to work, I drift into a semi hazy state of rest and before I know it, an hour or more has passed and it’s getting dull outside.
I come to, aware I’ve lost time and must have slept, blinking at the sudden light change of the space around me and check the clock on my wall. I’m shocked that it’s been more than a couple of hours since I came up here already. I guess I spent a long time in the shower to begin with and I hop up woozily, pacing to bring the nerves back in line that are firing up and wakening my senses.
It’s early yet, but I don’t think I have it in me to wait any longer, and I stalk to my window to look out over the back of the pack house. It’s deserted back here, still too light for the guards to take up position and maybe it’s a sign I shouldn’t wait until the dusk hour. Maybe too many will be out there, and I might not be able to make up excuses if I get stopped trying to make my way out. Everyone should be running around, doing chores right now, so I might actually have a better chance if I do it now.
A quick plan comes to mind, and I turn, picking up my damp towels from the laundry and wrap them haphazardly around my backpack, adding my sweats so they look like a bundle of dirty clothes. I had intended scaling down my window later if I could, but this way I can walk through the house, as though I’m late for laundry duty. If anyone sees me then I’m just collecting clothes and I can use the exit in the hall before the laundry room to access the rear of the house. It’s a solid plan, and I don’t waste time in pulling myself together.
I bundle my faux pile up in my arms, checking in the new mirror that was hung in here the other day to see if my backpack is on show. Satisfied it isn’t, I head to the door, take one last look around my room, and take a deep steadying breath.
It’s time to do this.
I use one hand to haul it open, slide out, and head left towards the back stair down to the first floor. The one that’s closest to my door and brings me out in the same narrow corridor that leads to the back exit and the laundry door. It’s perfect. I don’t know why I didn’t click on this before and maybe this is the fates trying to make up for messing with me.
I pass a few people who are lugging carts and hoovers from room to room and keep my head down, not really noticed by them, wishing I’d worn a hoody so I could pull it up, but it’s too late now. I stick on my route, turn into the stair, scale it in seconds in hyper speed and then head along the final corridor to freedom.
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