The first time took six years and it was a complete accident. He’d forgotten to lock me in my prison, the small coat closet under the stairs of his lavish Miami home. I waited like an obedient dog for him to return and lock the door but he didn’t. I finally summoned enough courage to flee hours later.
It took him a month to find me. I had taken refuge in a safe house for abused women located in Arizona. I was prepared for him though. He taught me to always expect the unexpected, especially when he was involved. My planning had paid off and I able was to escape a second time.
Which brings me here, five months later.
It took him much longer this time but I had expected it no less. The only problem was the restful sleep I had fallen into. I wasn’t normally a hard sleeper but I was exhausted last night. I slipped up, I felt safe and instead of being on my guard and hitting the road immediately, I allowed myself a moment of comfort.
It was something I’d never allow to happen again. If I managed to escape a third time but I knew, short of a miracle, the chances were slim.
If I get out of this motel room, I’m never sleeping again!
There is a shift in the mood outside my door. The motel manager, Roland, has approached. I cringe. This was it. Erik was going to talk the man into opening the door and I would be trapped. My stomach dropped. My breath became short and rushed. I was starting to panic.
Please God, just make him stop. Make him go away. Don’t let him in this room. Please if you’re listening, I beg for your mercy.
I hear the jangle of keys and my blood runs cold. Roland is going to let him in. I try to burrow deeper into the closet of my room but the wall blocks me from fleeing.
Shit!
Another person approaches, causing a crackle of electricity in the air. My hearing focuses as I push aside my growing panic. Erik’s yelling at whomever interrupted him. This person is pissing him off.
The sound of his voice filters into the dark musty motel room I’ve called home for the last seven days. It’s deep rumble vibrates every cell in my body and lulls me into a temporary relaxed state. My breathing begins to slow and my ears strain to hear him more clearly. His baritone warmth resonates deep within my body creating a round of uncontrollable shivers. It’s him, the mysterious man from next door.
Though I’ve seen him enter and exit his room at all times of the day and night, I’ve never seen him in great length or detail. He leaves alone and returns alone. He’s quiet, although I could hear his snores through the thin wall adjoining our room and the occasional baritone timbre of soft speaking. He keeps to himself. I had a sense he preferred his lonely life, which was fine by me.
This obviously wasn’t the first time I heard his voice, but it was the first time it moved me this way. It frightened me but strangely excited me too. People in general frighten me, I don’t trust anyone anymore, especially men. But his voice calls to me. I never thought it possible after everything I’ve been through. I fight the urge to throw open my door and jump into the safety of his arms. I wish I knew his name.
The volley of Erik’s voice pulls me out of my trance and back into the moment. His voice fills my body with fear and despair.
I have to get out. Now. Before he gets in.
I rack my brain trying to remember my plans. Whenever I decide to stay longer than a day or two, I make emergency exit plans. These plans are what kept me alive five months ago and allowed me to get away safely.
Erik is getting angrier by the moment, his voice grows louder and more uncontrolled. I felt sorry for my neighbor and the motel manager. Neither understood what was about to happen or the wrath they would soon face if they didn’t get out of his way.
“Move the key away from the lock,” the warm voice says, his concern clear and precise. My eyes widen in fear, my breath hitches and my heart pounds in my chest. I feel sick and struggle to keep what little food I’ve eaten down.
“What the hell,” Erik shouts morphing into the monster I know well. I cringe, yes, that was the anger I never wanted to be at the end of again. “Open the fucking door.”
“Can I see some identification?” my neighbor’s voice moves closer to my door. I hear his boots scrape on the concrete walkway, stopping just short of it.
“Who the fuck are you?” I picture Erik’s red face and piercing blue eyes with each word. A face I once called beautiful. Eyes I was so easily lost in. Now it’s a face I hardly recognize unless it’s spewing hateful and vile things at me.
“I’m a patron of this establishment trying to work on his beauty sleep but you’re making it nearly impossible to do,” my neighbor’s voice is calm, almost amused. “Do you have any I.D.?”