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All I can do is hide and wait him out, praying to God he doesn’t open that door. That something, anything, comes and distracts him.
A phone call, a neighbor looking for a lost dog. Heck, I’d take a fire right now as long as I could get out in time—
There’s a sound… is that what I think it is? Breath finally fills my lungs. Could this be my savior, my escape?
A knock at the front door.
The apartment is tiny, the walls paper-thin. I hear our neighbor, Crank, calling for Trevor. Crank must have seen him getting out of his car in the parking lot and stopped by for something.
Thank you, sweet baby Jesus!
Trevor’s angry whisper of “Fuck” hits my ears.
Will the panther retreat?
I sense him pausing, right outside the door of my hiding space. The big breath I just took is gone. Can’t breathe. My heart is hammering out of my chest.
Finally, the heavy footsteps begin to retreat. Each receding step makes my heart beat even harder. Will this distraction be enough to let me get away from here?
Crank’s voice rumbles through the room. “Dude. That carburetor you wanted just came in. It’s got a little more rust on it than I’d like to see, but for the price, I think we can work with it. Come on down to the parking lot and take a look. See what you think.”
When Trevor replies, it sounds like he’s by the front door. “Alright, but I’ve only got a minute. I just stopped by to grab my phone. Gotta get back to work.”
The door slams behind him. He’s gone. For now.
Relief washes through my body. A cleansing ocean wave of saved-by-the-Crank. My skin cools as the heat drains from my face. I wait what I hope is an appropriate amount of time, enough to be sure he’s not going to pop back in, anticipating me coming out of a hiding place. But not so long that I miss my window of freedom.
I creep out of the closet and glance around the room. I didn’t come back for the stuff I’d left behind. He can keep all of it.
Except for the one thing I came for.
I only have a minute. Where to look? I check the nightstand drawer. It’s the last place I had it. I still can’t believe I forgot it in my rushed escape.
My hands shake as I open the drawer.
It’s not here.
Of course, he’s hidden it from me. It might not even be in the apartment anymore. Do I search the place? Make sure it’s not here so I never have to come back? That would be risky, and he might find me.
I need to leave.
Giving the room a last glance, I run down the hallway to the living room. I sneak through the back sliding glass door, so grateful right now that there was only a first-floor apartment available when we signed our lease. I break into a sprint and within moments I’m in the woods, surrounded by trees and the soft scent of pine.
No time to rest. With heavy breaths and jelly legs, I race through the woods till the trees clear, revealing the gravel path where I hid my little beat-up red Honda. This is where I usually sleep, feeling safe nestled amongst the trees.
But after hearing him call my name in the apartment—I feel like he might know I’ve been here, that I’m close. What should I do? The city is about a thirty-minute drive from here. I know he didn’t have a tracker on my car before but now I’m feeling paranoid. Did he find it here in the woods and know I was in the apartment? What if he’s put a tracker on the car?
I’ll go to the city, park, and just wander the streets for a while, making a plan.
The sight of my car calms me. For the past six days since I left Trevor, the Honda’s been my home. It’s like my very own cherry-red turtle shell and I’m grateful my dad left it for me when he passed.
He gave me three things in this life. My name—I was christened after his favorite minor league baseball player while he was dealing with the disappointment of me not being a boy—a small token to remember him by, and this car.
When I first got her, I named her Bunny because of her small size and her speed and ability to hop to it when I need to get somewhere.
I climb in, inhaling the scent of the worn leather seats as I take a deep breath. I peel out onto the main highway, kicking rocks from the backs of my balding tires as I go.
Not looking back.
