Copper coats my tongue – sharp metal from biting my split lip too hard. I huddle in the kitchen corner, rain streaking the window like tears I can't shed.
Cold floorboards seep through my leggings; air reeks of stale whiskey and something sour.
My fault, I think, tracing a splinter.
Shouldn't have asked about the bank account.
Should've stayed quiet.
Floorboards creak upstairs – Marcus is awake.
I'd hoped he'd pass out long enough to slip out the back, but luck's never been on my side since moving in two years ago.
Not today.
I push up, whimpering as bruised ribs protest.
Can't let him see me break.
I packed hours ago – bag tucked behind the washing machine: clothes, cash from my cashier job, mom's locket, sneakers under the sink.
Now I just need to get past the living room where he's slumped on the couch.
I move quietly, but my cat-print sock snags a loose floorboard.
Fabric rips sharp and loud. I tumble forward, sprawling on the carpet – bag thumps to the floor.
Oh god.
Rain and my ragged breathing fill the silence.
Then a door slams upstairs.
"Where do you think you're going?"
His snarl carries down like gravel – rough with sleep and liquor.
I push up to see him leaning on the banister: shirtless, red-faced, angry.
Empty cans litter his feet.
Monster.
Then guilt hits – he used to hold me, bring me flowers.
I scramble up, clutching my bag.
My sock hangs loose; blood seeps from my scraped palm.
"I… just getting water," I whisper.
A terrible lie.
He laughs harshly.
"Water? With a packed bag? You think I'm stupid, Elena?"
He steps down, whiskey smell overwhelming.
Veins stand out in his neck. My feet feel like stone.
Why can't I move?
Cold sharpness crosses his face – the look before he strikes. I know it well.
"You're not going anywhere," he steps closer.
"Not after what you said last night – embarrassing me in front of my friends."
I just said you shouldn't hit me.
That I deserve better.
I don't speak it.
Just step back, eyes fixed on his fists – once gentle, now clenched tight.
Thunder shakes the house.
A car alarm wails and cuts off.
I can't do this anymore. Die in the rain is better than staying.
I bend for my bag – he lunges, grabbing my arm hard enough to make me cry out.
"Let me go."
"You belong to me," he breathes in my ear.
"Who else will want you? Can you survive without me?"
Safe Harbor, I think – the shelter I looked up, address tucked in my locket. I can survive.
I pull free and run for the back door.
Key's hidden behind a loose brick – I fumble it as he shouts and chases me.
Twist, pull – door flies open.
Rain hits me like a wall, soaking through my clothes instantly.
I don't look back as I bolt into the yard.
Mud sucks at my feet.
I reach the fence – loosened a board last night. It cracks free and I squeeze through into the reeking alley.
"Elena! Come back!"
I keep running, feet slapping wet asphalt.
The alley opens to a busy street – I dart through traffic, not caring.
A horn blares, but I don't stop. My eyes are on the bridge ahead.
Almost there.
I climb the steep slope, wind whipping my hair, rain stinging my eyes.
Slick rails keep me steady as the river rages below.
At the top, an engine roars close.
A truck rounds the corner way too fast – headlights blind me, horn blares deafeningly.
I try to jump, but slip on wet asphalt and fall.
Time slows: rain in sheets, truck bearing down, driver's shocked face.
Crash.
Blinding pain.
Cold river water closes over my head.
Nothing at all.
SCENE 2: ESCAPE ATTEMPT
Rough asphalt cuts through my skin – stones and grit send pain up my shins. Heavy rain drums down like tiny fists; mud clings thick and slippery to my soles. Every step is a battle to stay upright.
If I fail tonight… The thought loops sharp and terrifying as I push forward. Lungs burn, ribs ache where Marcus grabbed me – each breath feels like cold hands squeezing my chest. I keep my head down, eyes fixed just ahead.
The alley winds between grimy brick walls. A dumpster reeks of rot – I hold my breath to squeeze past. My torn sock hangs in tatters; cold water seeps into my shoe.
Footsteps behind me – heavy, uneven, closing in. He's following. My hands shake so hard I clutch my bag tight to my chest. Legs feel like lead, but I push faster.
Up ahead, the alley opens to a main street – blurry orange lights blur my eyes. Cars hiss through puddles, traffic roars, but I still hear Marcus shouting my name, voice raw with anger.
Don't look back.
I step onto the street, bare foot slamming into a deep puddle.
Cold shocks me – I stumble, catching myself on the curb. My palm scrapes concrete; fresh pain shoots up my arm.
I push on, gasping for air.
Headlights flare – a car bears down.
I freeze, heart hammering.
The driver slams brakes; the car skids to a stop feet away, splashing dirty water over my legs.
"Hey! Are you crazy?!"
I can't speak – throat tight with panic.
I nod and stumble to the other side, pressing my back against a store wall to catch my breath.
I almost let a car hit me.
Shame burns hot.
Should be stronger.
But fear wraps around me like a blanket.
I peek around the corner – Marcus stands at the alley end, face twisted with rage.
No shoes, feet caked in mud, moving fast.
I have to go.
I run again, eyes locked on the bridge ahead – a dark shape through the rain I never thought I'd need.
Sidewalk slick with rain and leaves – I slip twice before reaching the slope.
Legs shake so bad I grip the iron rail to climb.
Wind whips rain into my face;
I can barely see.
The river rages below.
Marcus is closer now, voice echoing over the water.
"Elena! Stop! I won't hurt you!"
Lie.
But part of me wants to turn back, make it easy.
No. I can't go back.
I reach the bridge's middle and keep going – legs burning, lungs screaming.
Streetlights glow ahead, marking the shelter's side.
Almost there.
An engine roars close.
A truck rounds the corner way too fast – headlights blaze white hot, blinding me.
Horn blares deafeningly.
I freeze.
Can't move.
The driver's shocked face stares through the windshield.
Time slows.
Rain falls in silver sheets.
The bumper creeps closer.
Cold wind on my face, wet asphalt and river water in my nose.
Crash shakes the bridge.
Pain blots out everything.
Cold water closes over my head.
The impact hits like a mountain slamming into my side.
One second I'm on the bridge, hand on the rail – shelter just a blur through the rain.
The next, I'm airborne, spinning end over end through cold air.
Time stretches slow and thick; every move feels like wading through water.
I see the churning gray sky, then the iron rail racing past my face.
Raindrops hang like glass beads, glowing bright in the truck's headlights.
My bag tears free, tumbling into darkness. Mom's locket flies from my neck – a tiny golden wheel vanishing into the storm.
My body twists – for a moment I face the truck: driver's wide eyes, dented bumper, rain streaming down the windshield.
Then I'm staring at the dark, churning river far below.
The fall feels endless.
Water rush grows louder, wind screams past my ears. Soaked clothes pull me down;
I reach for anything but find only air and rain.
This is it. This is how it ends.
I hit the water – cold as ice, closing over my head instantly.
Storm sounds vanish into muffled silence.
Water fills my nose and mouth, burning as I gasp.
I kick to swim up, but the current yanks me down, twisting me until up and down blur together.
Lungs burn for air.
Strength fades; limbs grow heavy.
Darkness deepens, fear melting into something soft and warm.
Marcus… I'm sorry… I just wanted to be safe…
Nothing at all.
______
Warmth is the first thing I feel – dry and gentle, like sunlight on skin.
Soft scratchiness presses against my cheek.
I try to open my eyes, but they're stuck shut.
Am I dead?
I move my hand – sharp pain shoots up my arm. I groan, voice rough and hoarse.
"Easy there."
Soft, unfamiliar female voice.
My eyes flutter open; the world comes into blurry focus.
I'm on a straw pallet with a thin wool blanket.
Small dark room, stone walls glowing in candlelight.
Not a hospital. Not the shelter. Nowhere I know.
Iron bars cover a high window; heavy wood door locked tight.
Air smells of smoke, herbs, earth.
I'm in a coarse brown tunic – my shoulder wrapped in warm cloth.
I try to sit up, head spins violently.
I lie back, vision blurring to make out a woman in the corner – short brown hair, calloused hands, watching quietly.
"Where… am I?" My voice cracks to a whisper.
She stands and crosses the room, moving with stiff grace.
Kneeling beside me, thin white scars crisscross her arms and face.
"Rest," she says, gentle but firm.
"You've been through a lot. We'll talk when you're stronger."
I try to ask more – What happened?
Where's Marcus? My bag? – but my throat is tight, body too weak.
She places a cool hand on my forehead, then returns to her corner.
As darkness pulls me under again, I glance at the window – and see stars I've never seen before.
END OF CHAPTER 1