Escapes Aren't Always Easy
1244 Words
GWEN
They think I’m staying here.
They really think I’m just going to sit in this polished, overpriced dollhouse of a room and wait for whatever Sara wants next. I pace once, twice, my heartbeat scraping at my throat.
No. I’m not doing this. I’m not letting them choose anything for me ever again.
I’m getting out.
My brain clicks into survival mode. I double-check everything:
Check the window—sealed from the outside. Balcony—locked. Bathroom vent—tiny. Door—guarded.
But the room isn’t perfect. There’s always a flaw.
My gaze lands on the cabinet above the counter—hinges exposed, loose from whoever installed it too quickly. If I can climb up and get into the maintenance space behind it…
I drag a chair over, climb onto the counter, and shove my shoulder into the cabinet door. It groans but gives just enough. Inside is empty, except for a thin piece of plywood at the back.
Perfect.
I jab the metal fork from an abandoned room-service tray I found into the panel. The prongs bend, my hand slips, but desperation gives me strength. A crack splits across the panel. I push harder. The whole thing pops inward.
Behind it—darkness, pipes, a crawl space.
Without thinking, I pull myself in. My elbow smacks metal. Dust fills my throat. The space is barely big enough, but I wriggle through, dragging the panel shut behind me so no one knows I’ve left.
It’s pitch black. The metal is freezing. Every breath sounds too loud.
Left. Always go left.
I crawl until my knees ache, until I hear faint voices somewhere far below, until a thin line of light glows through another maintenance panel. I flatten my ear to it.
Storage hallway.
No footsteps.
No cameras.
No guards.
I push it open and fall out onto a pile of towels. I land silently—thank God—and press myself against the shelving as a staff member walks by humming.
As soon as he disappears, I bolt toward the service elevator. My fingers tremble so badly I nearly miss the button. The doors close, slow and old and loud.
Please don’t stop.
Please don’t stop.
Please—
The elevator shudders downward. At floor twenty-two, staff get in, chatting loudly, not noticing me tucked into the corner with my head down. The moment they get off, I exhale so hard my lungs cramp.
The lobby dings open.
I walk out calmly, even though my entire body is screaming Run. The exit is right there—but guards are checking everyone.
I can’t get past them without being seen.
My eyes flick left.
Fire alarm.
I drift toward the bathrooms like I’m headed there, pass them, and stop right in front of the alarm panel. Stare. Think once. Don’t think twice.
I pull.
Chaos detonates instantly.
Sirens scream.
Sprinklers open.
People everywhere rush toward the doors, guards yelling into radios.
Perfect.
I slide into the crush of bodies and let the panic carry me out. Someone shoves me. Someone screams. I keep my face down, shoulders tucked, moving exactly like everyone else.
The moment I hit the sidewalk, I sprint.
I don’t stop. Not until the air is sharp in my lungs and the HQ building is swallowed by the city behind me.
-----
I finally slow beside a storefront with a massive TV in the window.
And there it is.
The video. Sara kissing me.
It looks like I’m kissing her back. Like I’m melting into her. Like I wanted it.
My stomach twists. My mind runs circles. Did I—? No. I didn’t. I remember not. I know I didn’t.
I rip my gaze away.
I need a place to hide.
Four hotels crowd the corner. I pick the one with peeling wallpaper and buzzing fluorescent lights—cheap, tired, forgettable.
Inside, the clerk barely glances at me.
“One room left,” he says.
Perfect.
I take it, rush upstairs, and lock the door behind me. My legs give out. I sit on the carpet, breathing hard. The first thing I do is check my pockets—just my wallet.
My phone isn’t there.
Right, someone took it earlier. I forgot in the heat of the moment.
Panic flares, but necessity kills it just as fast.
I need a phone.
I need to contact someone—Jay, anyone—before Sara’s people find me.
I grab the crappy hotel room key and head back out, keeping my head down, choosing side streets. Two blocks away, tucked between a liquor store and a vape shop, is a discount electronics place.
Perfect.
Inside, I slam a cheap flip phone, charger, and prepaid SIM onto the counter.
“Cash only for prepaid,” the guy grunts.
“Fine,” I say, even though it empties almost all the cash I have. I shove the items into my jacket and hurry back to the hotel before anyone can track me.
Once inside, I rip open the packaging, jam the SIM in, and punch in the first number I remember by heart.
Jay.
It rings once. Twice. Three times—
“Hello?”
“Jay? Jay, it’s me.”
“G—Gwen? Where are you calling from?”
“Oh my god, Jay.” My breath breaks. “It’s been hell. Listen—I just escaped from their headquarters.”
“Escaped?” he repeats, voice tight.
“Yes! I was almost caught, but I made it out. I’m going to buy a plane ticket to Paris later today and meet you there, okay? Doesn’t that sound great?”
Silence.
“Jay? Aren’t you excited?”
“I don’t think you should come here, Gwen.”
The way he says my name—flat, distant—stabs me harder than anything in the past 24 hours.
“You’re calling me Gwen now?” My throat goes dry.
“Jay… you’re not suggesting I go back there.”
“It might be for the best,” he says quietly. “They’ll take care of you. They pay well. All you have to do is give them whatever they want from you. It’s not hard.”
My heart stops.
“Jay… you’ve been dating Caleb for almost six years. Was this a job?”
“Yes,” he says. “I needed the money. And I was tired of you being the only one paying rent.”
“You broke up with me for a job?”
Silence.
“You broke up with me to get paid for dating someone else?”
“I didn’t want to—G, it just felt like we weren’t really dating anymore. You were always sad. Always thinking about Sara. I was always number two—”
“You absolute i***t,” I choke out. “I was happy to pay rent because it meant I was taking care of you. I loved cooking for you. I loved you. The night before we broke up, I was thinking about our future, Jay. Our entire damn life. And you… You left me for a paycheck? Not even for Sara. For a f*****g paycheck.”
“G—”
“No. Enjoy Paris alone.”
I hang up. Then block him. Before I can stop myself.
The room goes silent again.
My hands shake. My eyes sting.
“I hope you’re happy, Sara,” I whisper. “You ruin everything.”
- Writer
