Running for my life

Chapter One It was a cold and rainy day. All I could remember feeling was the rainwater running down my long red hair. It slid down my face and dripped onto my now soaked blouse. The cold water ran down my back, but I couldn't feel anything at all. The cold was gone—and so was everything I had ever thought was true in my life. What was I doing here? I didn't know what I was supposed to do next. What should I do now? The day had started off so well, and now, as I stood there with the daylight slowly fading, I couldn't even move. Fear held me like an anchor to the spot. My body began to shake, but still, I couldn't move my feet to run. What the hell just happened? I knew I should run and fast but how could I when I couldn't even move? The rain continued to pour, each drop feeling like a tiny hammer against my skin, yet I barely registered the sensation. My mind was spinning, replaying what I had just witnessed over and over again like a nightmare I couldn't wake from. As the shock began to wear off, I started to feel the cold again. I realized I was still standing in the same place, my shoes sinking slightly into the muddy ground. Slowly, I tried to move, but my body refused to cooperate. My legs felt like they were made of lead, heavy and unresponsive. Then, all of a sudden, something inside me snapped awake. Survival instinct, perhaps. Or maybe just pure terror. My body jolted into motion, and before I knew it, I was running running past my car. I glanced at it, wondering why I hadn't thought to get in and drive away. But by the time the thought crossed my mind, I was already past it, still running, my feet pounding against the wet pavement. This is where my story begins but it's far from the end. You see, I'm a happy, loving young woman who has always done as she was told and never asked why. My dad always said I needed to listen to him, so I did. Why question anything when your parents know what's best? What I didn't know then was just how wrong I was to accept everything without question. I thought it was my place to obey. I was so wrong. I had been raised to be compliant, to trust without hesitation, to believe that the people who loved me would never lead me astray. My whole life had been built on that foundation of blind faith. And now, in one terrible moment, that foundation had crumbled beneath my feet. Sometimes life hits all at once and I was about to learn just how bad it could get. Why did I go to see him at work? If I had stayed home, I would never have seen what he did. I could have gone on living, not knowing. Or could I? I don't know. But I do know I can't pretend that this is okay. The image was burned into my mind, impossible to unsee, impossible to forget. Every detail was crystal clear, even as I wished desperately that it would blur and fade. I had to leave and it had to be now. When I got home, I went straight to my room, grabbing whatever I could and stuffing it into my small suitcase as fast as possible. My hands were shaking so badly I could barely grip the clothes I was throwing in. I didn't care what I packed—just that I packed something, anything. A few shirts, some jeans, underwear. Nothing matched. Nothing mattered except getting out. I was just stepping out of my bedroom when I heard him calling me from downstairs. I froze. My heart stopped. How was he here already? How did he know I was home? Then quickly, I pushed my bag back into my room, shoving it under the bed where it wouldn't be visible from the doorway. Okay. If he knew, he wouldn't be here. He wouldn't be calling me so casually. He would be angry. He would be— I looked up—and there he was, standing at the top of the stairs, staring at me. My breath caught in my throat. I forced a smile, hoping he wouldn't notice how pale I was, how my hands were still trembling at my sides. He walked over and tried to kiss me, but I turned my face away. I couldn't do it. The thought of his lips on mine made my stomach turn. I let my lips brush his cheek instead, a hollow gesture that felt like betrayal of myself. He frowned. "Love, are you okay?" he asked, his voice carrying that familiar tone of concern that once would have comforted me. "Yes, it's nothing. I'm just a little tired. I think I'm coming down with something," I said, forcing a weak smile that felt more like a grimace. He looked at me suspiciously, his eyes narrowing slightly as he studied my face. I could see him processing, calculating. "Rochelle, why did you run off? I was told you were at my office today. When I went out to see you, you'd already left." I stared at him, unsure how to answer. My mind raced, searching for something believable, something that would satisfy him. He must have noticed something because he grabbed my arm and looked straight into my eyes. His grip was firm, almost painful. "What did you see?" he asked, his voice low and dangerous. "Why? Is there something I shouldn't have seen?" I tried to smile, but it faltered. Before I could move, his hand collided with my face. The impact was shocking, explosive. My head hit the floor with a thud. Pain radiated through my skull, and my vision blurred. I couldn't move. I had never been hit like that before. Not by him. Not by anyone. The pain spread, sharp and hot, and all I wanted to do was cry. My cheek burned where his hand had connected, and I could taste blood in my mouth. Above me, I could hear his voice. "Don't you ever lie to me!" he shouted, his face expressionless, cold as stone. I stared up at him in disbelief. He had never hit me before. Not once. This man who had been so gentle, so caring where had he gone? Who was this person standing over me? He bent down. I wanted to pull away, to run to my room, but I was too scared. My body wouldn't respond to my desperate commands. He grabbed me by the arm and pulled me to my feet, forcing me to look at him. His fingers dug into my skin, and I knew there would be bruises tomorrow if I made it to tomorrow. He lifted my chin, his eyes cold and unrecognizable. Then, in one swift movement, he pulled me into his arms, holding me in a tight embrace. It didn't feel like the kind of hug he had ever given before. This wasn't comfort. This was possession. Control. I could feel him shaking, and that was when I realized even he was afraid of what was happening. Looking up, I met the eyes of my uncle, and the fear I saw there told me this was not the end. He turned away, walking toward the stairs just as the sound of the front door opening reached my ears. Jonathan was home.