Running Away With Him

Chapter 1

Kate

I can’t hear his footsteps over the heartbeat in my ears. But I know he’s out there. Looking for me. Waiting. Ready to add more bruises to the growing collection on my arms and face.

My breaths feel too loud. Ready at any moment to betray my hiding spot. He’s going to figure out where I am. And when he does, no one will stop him as he drags me back to his place. No one will help. Not even the police.

Because he is the police.

Not to mention that he’s my ex. Not like he accepts the fact that I broke up with him. This past week he’s only been cyber stalking me. But the moment I saw a flash of him while walking past the cosmetics section on the first floor of the department store, I knew why he was here. Somehow he’d followed me. And I knew he wouldn’t leave without me at his side.

What would happen after is something he’s threatened time and time again when I would cry after he slapped me so hard that I swear I felt my teeth rattle in my mouth.

“See what happens if you try to leave me, bitch. You can’t do anything. You can’t go anywhere.”

Despite his threats, I'd gotten free of his grip a week ago. Now I’m peeking out from behind shelves holding skinny jeans advertised at 30% off for their spring sale. There’s only one front door. I don’t have much of a choice: eventually, I’m going to have to make a run for it.

But run where? Trevor knows where I live. He knows all the friends he cut me off from over the six months we were together. I foolishly brought him into my little circle back when we first started dating. Before he showed his true side. When I thought he was just a teddy bear.

Instead, he turned out to be a grizzly, tearing away at me without the slightest provocation.

“Can I help you find anything?” A less than helpful sales attendant asks from behind me, causing me to nearly leap out of my skin at the sudden intrusion into my space. My frantic eyes scare him away soon enough. And another peek outside reveals no sign of Trevor.

While the adrenaline is still pumping, I dash out onto the tiled floor and straight down the escalator. But the moment I get down one floor, I see him watching from above. Our eyes meet and it’s like a direct line opens up, allowing all his malice access into my heart.

He’s going to catch me. And then he’s going to have his way with me. And after I’m used up, bloody and crying, he’ll never let me out of his sight again.

I’m now on the fourth floor, which is apparently men’s wear. I could keep heading down the escalator, leaping down the steps, hoping to keep ahead of Trevor, but hope failed me each and every time before, so why should it help me now?

I need to be unpredictable. It’s the only way I’ll be able to avoid him. I can’t outrun him, but I can outsmart him.

Maybe.

So I dash across the floor, and into the first shop I find. I wasn’t planning on bringing anyone else in on my plight, but as I pass by a well-dressed businessman who looks to be about my age, I latch onto his arm and hiss out a pathetic, “Help me.”

Chapter 2

Brad

“Do you have this in a medium?” I ask the attendant that’s been hovering over my shoulder ever since I stepped foot in her little corner of the department store. She wears a nametag that identifies her as ‘Liz’.

With hands folded in front of her immaculate black dress, Liz, who has at least twenty years on me, shakes her head. “I apologize, but if it isn’t on the rack, I’m afraid we don’t have it. Perhaps I could help you find something else?”

Of course, even shopping is something that simply can’t go right for me on this morning to top all shitty mornings. I’m just on the verge of ranting about why I find myself at such an upscale department store at eleven o’clock on a Monday morning. But I don’t go into the whole story of how I’ve recently obtained an internship at the one software upstart in California that requires all employees to adhere to a strict dress code. Explaining that my boss essentially banned me from the building until I could change into a more appropriate suit and tie won’t help Liz find me the very first suit I’ve ever had to purchase.

“Then how about this one?” I hold up a navy jacket with pinstripes. I have no idea whether pinstripes are in fashion, or even how wide they’re meant to be, but it’s in front of me and it’s 50% off. “That’s a medium, sir. If you would like me to help you find the matching pants, you can try them on in the fitting room.”

Half an hour later, I’m emptying out half of my pathetic savings account for a single suit and white shirt. Then I stop by and spend another fifty bucks on the cheapest pair of dress shoes I can find that don’t look like they were made in a toy factory.

After all of this mess, it’s noon, and I have just enough time to grab a sandwich on my way back to the office. Where I will sit in my cubicle, checking code and trying to remain unnoticed.

I’m cursing under my breath as I turn the corner, my jeans and hoodie stuffed in a bag that Liz provided me with after changing into my new get-up. My toes hurt, my wallet’s painfully empty, and I’m considering just skipping lunch altogether in order to save the cash. That’s when a woman dressed in a tiny skirt, her make-up streaked with tear tracks, clutches at my arm. She’s looking over her shoulder, her breath fast and shaky.

“Help me,” she whispers. “Please.”

When I pull away from her, I’m not trying to be rude. I’m startled more than anything at this stranger attaching herself to me. But I’m also very much aware of the price tag that was just snipped off the same sleeve she refuses to let go of. The last thing I need now it to return to the office with a suit that’s crumpled and stained with mascara.

“What’s going on?” I ask and look around for anyone to hand this girl over to. “Do you want me to get security? Or the police?”

At this, the weeping woman’s expression startles, the whites of her eyes round and wide. She shakes her head in firm little spurts, and mouths, “No, no, no.”

“What’s going on?” I ask for the second time.

“No police. Please.”

“Okay, okay.” I motion with my free hand, waving it in defense, showing that I mean her no harm. “But you have to tell me what’s going on.”

“He’s a cop,” she says, looking over my shoulders as a woman walks past us, her jabbering toddler close behind.

“Who’s a cop?”

“My ex-boyfriend.”