by Imogen Wells
I do, however, almost fall flat on my face when the guy behind me calls out my name.
“Kasey! Kasey, wait up.” A hand latches onto my arm, spinning me around. I flinch, throwing my hands up to protect myself. I hate that it’s my body’s natural reaction now. Because of him. The guy immediately releases me, holding his hands palm up to show he’s not a threat.
“I’m sorry. Please come back to the house, and we can start again.” His voice is softer than before, trying to put me at ease. “I’m Rick. Tyler told me to expect you, I guess you’re not quite what I was expecting.” This throws me for a loop. If Tyler called him does that mean he knows too? He must see the panic spread across my face. “It’s okay, Se….”
“Please, don’t say his name. I can’t…. I just. Don’t.” My heart is racing, and my breathing quickens as panic grips me again. I can’t bear to hear or say the name of the man that haunts my every waking hour, and my nightmares too.
“He doesn’t know where you are, I promise, Kasey.” He lowers his hands, then gestures towards the house.
I start to relax as Rick guides me back to the house. When we arrive, the house is empty. ‘Pretty boy’ and Max must have left, and I’m glad too. Nothing more humiliating than having a panic attack in front of an audience. Bad enough that Rick got a small glimpse of how fucked up I am.
Rick leads me through the house to his kitchen as my eyes take in my surroundings. The walls of the hallway are lined with a dozen candid, black and white framed photos of a beautiful brunette and the little boy, Max, from earlier. I assume she’s Max’s mum and I wonder where she is, but it’s not my business. I’m not here to make friends, just to get a new ID and get as far away from him as possible and pray like fuck he never finds me. Because if he does…it doesn’t even bear thinking about.
The kitchen is clean, almost clinical, but still manages to be warm and homey. Decked out with top of the range appliances and every possible gadget you could ever wish for. There’s an island in the middle and one end acts as a breakfast bar with sleek black, high-backed stools. Rick gestures to them, and as I move that way, I take in the rest of the room.
At the far end, the whole wall is made up of bi-folding doors that lead out to a long, well-manicured garden. There’s a dark oak dining table that looks to seat 12, and to the left is a matching Welsh dresser.
I take a seat on the nearest stool, closest to the door in case I need to run. God! I’m such a fuck up. A throat clearing has me almost toppling off the stool, and I turn to see Rick looking at me from the other side of the island as he leans back against the work top behind him. Ha, totally proved my point on my fucked-upness.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you. Do you want a tea or coffee, or maybe something stronger?” he asks, giving me a wink. I appreciate his attempt to put me at ease and offer him a small smile.
“Thanks, but I’d rather just get this done if you don’t mind.” He nods his head in acceptance, before turning slightly and reaching into the drawer behind him. My heart beats a little faster at the thought of what he’s getting, and several scenarios run through my mind all at once. I watch every movement he makes like a lion watches its prey. When he turns back to face me, he’s holding nothing more sinister than a large manila envelope in his hand. Well, sinister is completely subjective as blackmailers usually use manila envelopes, and I guess this could be classed as sinister due to the fact I’m here for a new identity. Not exactly legal and above board, or so I assume. I shut my ridiculous thoughts down and focus back on Rick.
“So, I managed to get you everything except a new passport.” One side of his face kicks up as he says it, almost in apology, but there’s something else in his eyes I can’t quite put my finger on. I shrug in reply.
Whilst it’s a lovely idea to leave and set myself up on the other side of the world, I just can’t. There are things keeping me here.
I leave Rick’s with my new ID, and a business card for a security firm that he and ‘pretty boy’ run together. He refused to take any sort of payment, instead making me promise to call him if I ever need anything, but I have no intention of calling him.
I head back to the B&B, not exactly relishing the idea of spending another night there, but I have no other option. The reason I picked it certainly wasn’t for its luxury that’s for sure but for its location so close to the train station.
Back in the room, I remove the documents that Rick gave me, checking everything.
I am no longer Kasey Smith, now I’m Camryn Juliette Moore.
Considering I had no say in my new name, I’m actually very happy with it. I repeat it several times in my head and out loud, getting used to the sound of it. I thought I’d be upset about the loss of my name, especially as my dad named me, but I’m not.
Honestly, I’ve not felt like me in a very long time.
After checking everything over, I take another look at the map Tyler gave me. Deciding that I’m probably safer nearer a larger town or city, you know hiding in plain sight and all that shit you see in the movies.
I look at Norfolk and wistfully remember we visited once when I was younger, taking a trip on the Broads, it was the one of the best holidays. I don’t think I ever saw my parents look so happy. It was always their love that had me wishing for the same. Now, I’m not so naïve because my hopes for the same have been tainted. I know how lucky they were, but that won’t ever be me, not now.
I decide against Norfolk, it’s somewhere he knows I’ve been, and I talked about fondly. Before I spiral into dark thoughts and things I wish I could forget but never will, I decide to take a walk to the station.
It’s early afternoon and there are plenty of people milling about, but I’m not sure if that’s better or worse. As I enter the station, a guy comes rushing out and nearly barrels me over. He doesn’t stop, not even a ‘sorry’ called over his shoulder. Bastard!
My heart is pounding inside my chest, and my breathing has spiked. Please, god, don’t let me have a panic attack right here, right now. I step to the side and lean against the wall, taking in some slow, deep breaths right from the gut. I rest my head back on the wall and close my eyes, conscious that it’s not the best idea, but if I want this to pass and the heavy weight settling in on my chest to go away, it’s what I need to do.
I don’t know how long I stand there, but slowly the tightness lessens, my heart rate slows and breathing becomes easier. As I open my eyes, I become aware of someone standing off to the left of me. From my periphery, I see it’s a woman holding a little girl’s hand.
“Excuse me, Miss, are you alright?” she asks. As I turn to look at her, I can see a small, but concerned smile on her face. I pass a quick glance at the little girl by her side before looking back to the woman in front of me.
“Yes, I’m fine. Thank you.” I can see the question on the tip of her tongue, so I quickly add, “I was running for my train, but I missed it. No bother, there’ll be another along any minute.” Whilst it’s clear she doesn’t believe me, she nods, accepting my lie before going on her way. I watch them as they leave and can just make out the little girl, who appears to be around four years old, ask her mother “Why was the lady so sad mummy?” and my heart breaks a little bit more. If that’s even possible. Pulling myself together and drawing in a deep breath, I head for the counter.
Sleep evaded me last night, not surprising in the slightest. My panic attack, although minor, combined with the little girl and her mother, left my mind in turmoil. And now, I need to lock that shit up tight. I can’t afford for my mind to take me back there, last night was it, the last time.
The sun is just coming up and as my train doesn’t leave until 8.30am, I decide to take a shower and go for breakfast.
After I paid for my train ticket last night, I realised I had enough money to get breakfast, and with hardly any food yesterday and no idea when the next time I eat will be, I take this opportunity.
At the café near the station, I order the biggest breakf
ast I can afford, and then board my train to Manchester and my new life.
Two
Camryn
Six months later
“Camryn, get your nasty arse outta that pit you call a bed, or you’re gonna be late.” Jamie calls from the hall. I groan as I roll over, stretching my sore body out and cracking my eyelids open.
You would never guess that Jamie’s parents are loaded based on the way she speaks, but that’s one of the things I love about her. She hasn’t let the fact she has money change the fabric of her being.
“Why are you shouting? It’s too early, and my head hurts, like really fucking hurts.” I knew I shouldn’t have had that last cocktail, jeez. What the hell was I thinking! Before I can think any more about it, the bedroom door flies open, and there stands Jamie with her hands on her hips and a smirk on her lips. Bitch! How can she look that good at this time in the morning after last night? Like I said, bitch! But I love her, sometimes.
Right now, I want to slap that silly look off her face, and then bury myself in the warm, comfortable quilt and sleep for eternity. A girl can dream, right?
“Come on, up. I didn’t set this up so you could crash and burn before you even get there,” she says, raising a brow at me.
Jamie’s dad owns a newspaper, and she managed to get me an interview working in the human resources department. It’s not the glamorous journalism job I dreamed of when I did my degree, but it sure as fuck beats serving overpriced cocktails to jumped-up suits and barely legal girls looking for a sugar daddy. Besides, it’s not like I can follow my dream now anyway. There is no way I can risk putting my name out there, even if I’m not Kasey Smith anymore.
“Okay, okay, I’m getting up,” I say, as I roll, yes, literally roll out of bed. My body is most definitely still asleep. “What sort of friend are you, anyway? Who lets their friend get wasted the night before an interview?” I stumble as I get to my feet and look at Jamie. “More to the point who conducts interviews on a Saturday. I mean really, come on,” I whine, while pointing my finger at her. Jamie just shakes her head at me and laughs before walking out the door.
As she moves down the hall, she calls out that I have exactly 40 minutes to shower and be ready to leave. Ugh! Fuck my life!
Despite my snarky mood this morning, courtesy of a hangover to end all hangovers, I don’t know where I’d be without Jamie. Actually, that’s a lie. I’d still be begging on the street and sleeping anywhere that was dry.
When I stepped off the train in Manchester six months ago with nothing more than the clothes on my back and the one small bag I managed to escape with, I had no choice but to sleep rough. Those first few weeks were hard, but I’d been through worse. I refused to have made it that far, only to give up. So, I sucked it up and got on with it, all the while hoping that my luck would change, and it did. Jamie literally saved my life that day, and every day since.
I’d been sleeping in the same doorway for the last three weeks, claimed it as my own, the way of the street, apparently. I’d had a good day begging and had enough money to eat and buy a bottle of whiskey. Having drowned my sorrows, I’d crashed in my doorway around 2am, with not much chance of sleep before that on a weekend. The drink helped me on the way, but not as much as in those first few days.
I woke to a crushing weight on my chest, at first, I thought I was dreaming about one of my panic attacks, but then I heard someone grunting. When I opened my eyes, I found a guy kneeling on my chest. I immediately started shouting at him to get the fuck off, but he didn’t listen. Then I lashed out with my fists, hoping to land one on the arsehole’s nose. I almost did too, until he pulled out a blade and held it to my throat.
He leaned in real close, I could smell his rancid breath, and as he spoke spittle landed on my cheek, “Shut the fuck up, bitch, or I’ll cut you from ear to fucking ear, then I’m gonna take whatever I want anyway. Maybe have a little taste of you before you take your last breath too.”
At the time, my stomach almost turned inside out with disgust, I gripped the edge of my sleeping bag, knuckles turned white. Surprisingly, I wasn’t afraid, I guess it not being the first time having a knife held to my throat or the threat of rape, meant the effect wasn’t quite as potent.
Still kneeling partially on my chest and restricting my movements regardless of the knife, he started searching for the zip on my sleeping bag.
As his attention was elsewhere, I scanned the area, as much as I could, looking for anyone that might help, but the sun hadn’t even risen in the sky yet. I remember my mind was racing with how I was going to get out this without my head hanging off my shoulders and my life flowing into the filthy gutters.
Death hadn’t really scared me in a long time, but when I made the decision to run, to escape, I chose to live. To fight back and not allow the deaths of those I loved the most to be in vain. Surviving their loss hadn’t killed me, although it came close, and that meant that I could survive anything this shitty life threw my way. I refused to let him hurt me, tear me apart anymore, to win.
His hand brought me back to reality as it brushed past my breast before coming back to cop a feel completely, squeezing tightly. Immediately my whole body tensed up, muscles locked tight and a grimace crossed my face at the pain, but I refused to make a sound and give him even an ounce of satisfaction. A soft groan filled the air as he eased his grip only to squeeze again.
“These tits would look fucking delicious with my cum all over them,” he groaned, and I could almost picture him licking his lips. My stomach roiled and acid burned in the back of my throat at his words, but I swallowed it back down.
A car turned the corner allowing the headlights to shine on his face, and I saw the delightful smile spread across his face, just as he moved to the other breast.
“Let’s see about getting these titties out so I can admire them before I pierce through this smooth skin…” he moved his face closer again, his mouth right next to my ear then whispered the next words, “and slice those pretty pink nipples off, while I fuck that juicy little cunt of yours.” His eyes lit up and his lip turned up in a smirk. I could see as the images he described flashed through his mind.
He moved his hand away from my breast, grabbing his crotch, and then he started to pull at my clothes. He realised he’d need both hands as I started to struggle against him. He pushed the knife further into my neck, and a small droplet of blood trickled down my neck.
“Stay the fuck still, bitch, and I promise I won’t hurt you, too much.” He threw his head back and released a psychotic laugh that sent a shiver through my entire body. It was cut off just as soon as it had started, and his eyes glazed over before he fell forwards on top of me.
When I finally got the sick fuck off me and took a second to breathe, there stood a petite redhead in gym clothes, and a bag hanging from one hand.
“Did you…Oh my god, thank you so much. How?” I asked, shocked and a little in awe. She wasn’t more than 5’5’’ and though it was clear from her outfit she worked out, she wasn’t exactly packing it. She lifted the bag as though that answered all my questions. “What the hell have you got in there, Bricks?” I asked on a chuckle.
“Nah, although, there might be a dumbbell or two in here,” she replied, shrugging and winking at me. “I’m Jamie, by the way.”
That is how I met Jamie, the feisty little redhead, with a heart of gold. This girl has been my absolute rock. She took me in, helped me get a job, fed me, bought me clothes, like I said, she saved my life.
Emotionally I feel much stronger too, I haven’t had an attack for almost 3 months now. Although we’ve grown close, I haven’t shared much with her, and I feel bad about that. But I don’t want to put her in any more danger than she already is just by knowing me and having me here is even more of a danger to her, so the quicker I can move out the better.
I’m ready to leave with 5 minutes to spare, and I head down the stairs meeting Jamie in the kitchen.
“How do I look? Scrub up pretty well,
don’t you think?” I ask, giving her a little twirl. I have on a black pencil skirt, that fits snug to my flared hips and accentuates my hourglass figure. I’ve paired it with a simple white bell-sleeved blouse and a pair of black kitten heels. No time or inclination for straighteners, I’ve put my unruly, long dark curls into a neat chignon at the nape of my neck.
“You know, you don’t look half bad, Cam,” she says, with a smirk on her face, “If I was a college guy trying to study in the library, I’d absolutely do you,” she snickers, before clutching her sides, unable to hold it in anymore. I walk over to her, slapping her good-naturedly before picking up the coffee she obviously prepared for me.
We pull up to a stunning glass building, and as I step from the car, I strain my neck to take in the whole building. A ‘holy shit’ whispers from my lips as the doorman greets me, opening the door and permitting me entry.
The lobby is vast but light and welcoming despite the plain decor. Directly in front of me is a half-moon reception desk behind which a stunning blonde sits with one of those fancy headsets on. I scan the rest of the floor as I approach the desk. To the left is a bank of lifts and on the right are several doors, all closed, with little plaques denoting the purpose of each room. As I near the desk, the blonde lifts her head and smiles wide, almost blinding me with her perfectly straight and bleached to within an inch of their life teeth. Her hair is in a high ponytail that falls down to the middle of her back, and she’s wearing a pant suit that probably cost more than my current wardrobe.
“Good morning, how may I help you today,” she asks, still smiling wide. Her jaw must be locked in place having to smile like that all damn day.
“Hi. I have an appointment with Miss Hudson at 11am.” She looks me up and down, assessing me, before bringing her eyes back to me. She thinks I didn’t catch the slight sneer on her face, but I did. I return the gesture, scanning her attire, scrutinising her. I glance at her name badge and store that information for later.
