I blinked and a bus drove by, the figure disappearing. I went back out into the street, but there I couldn't see anyone. I couldn't catch my breath, entering the store again, my hands trembling. I nodded to young woman at the cash and browsed the winter jackets.

I found one, black with insulated lining. $17. I set it on the counter, plucking a pair of gloves from the basket. "$24," the woman said, smacking her gum. I gave her the money, turning to glance behind me. "You in trouble or something?"

"No," I muttered and grabbed the coat and gloves. "Thanks."

The woman blew a bubble with her gum in response, glancing back down at her phone. I started towards the entrance, my mind whirling with possibilities. Am I in danger? Has my father found me? Is he waiting for me outside?

I paused in front of the door, my heart thundering in my ears. I turned and looked back at the woman before shifting my gaze towards the door that was labeled 'employees only.' "Excuse me ... but I think I need your help," I confided in her and her head snapped up, fingers pausing over her phone keyboard. "There's someone following me, I think. Can I go out the back entrance?"

The woman - Tara - as her name tag read, followed my gaze to the door behind her before frowning. "My boss is back there doing inventory."

"I won't touch anything, I promise." Please help me, please help me, please help me. I didn't want to leave the store, fear welling up in my chest, the possibility of someone finding me racing in my thoughts. Tara sighed and stood, her stool screeching against the linoleum as she pushed it back.

"Alright, come on." She slid her phone into the back pocket of her jeans.

"Thank you," I said quickly, nodding and clutched the coat and gloves tight against my chest. She walked back to the door and twisted the knob. The door creaked open, revealing a dim hallway lined with dozens of boxes and a flickering light overhead.

"It's straight ahead, the door at the end of the hall," Tara said, holding the door open for me. I nodded my head once more and shuffled down the hallway, pulling on the layered jacket to keep myself warm.

Outside, I peered around the building to see if anyone was watching. A gust of wind hit my face as I stepped out of the back alley, before running across the street. I needed to find a place to hunker down. I noticed some other people huddled next to a small fire in an alleyway, another in the lobby of a bank, keeping warm.

People cheered, their voices rising with each moment that passed. I had to pass by to continue on the park trail. Men and women, mostly men, stood in a circle and as I got closer, I caught a glimpse of two young men in the centre.

The air stung my cheeks as I lingered near the edge of the crowd. Every part of me screamed to keep moving, but the shouts and cheers kept pulling my attention. My fingers tightened around the cuffs of my jacket as I tried to melt into the shadows. Two men circled each other in the middle of the crowd, sweat glistening under the dull light of a nearby lamppost. One swung, the other blocked, and the crowd erupted into cheers.

I should go. I needed to go. This wasn't my problem.

A gruff voice barked out from the sidelines, "Last bets! Place 'em now!" I glanced toward the man pacing the perimeter, a wad of cash in his hand and a cigarette dangling from his lips. He didn't look like someone I wanted noticing me.

My stomach churned, and I turned to leave.

"You lost?"

The voice startled me, quiet but clear, cutting through the noise like a sharp wind. I spun around, my pulse spiking. A woman stood a few feet away, her brown eyes fixed on me with unsettling precision. Her, dark hair was pulled back in a loose braid, and the calm way she held herself made her seem older than she probably was.

"No," I said quickly, sharper than I meant to. My gaze darted back to the fight. I needed to disappear, not have a conversation.

"You should go ... these fights attract the wrong kind of people."

I blinked, caught off guard. My lips parted to respond, but the words stuck in my throat. By the time I'd swallowed them down, she was already moving, slipping into the crowd with an ease that I envied. Her braid swayed behind her, and for a moment, I thought about following her.

I don't know why but she seemed to know her way around people. I took a deep breath and walked the opposite way when a hand caught my shoulder, forcing me to turn.

A man stood in front of me, his eyes gleaming with excitement. "Hey there, girly," he said, smiling eight yellow and rotten teeth.

"Let me go," I said, my voice shaking as I jerked back. His fingers tightened like a vice around my shoulder, sending a sharp jolt of pain down my arm. My heart slammed against my ribs, every instinct screaming at me to run, but his grip kept me rooted in place.

"Not so fast," he slurred, his grin widening. The stench of alcohol clung to him like a cloud, making my stomach churn. "Where do you think you're going, huh?"

"None of your business," I snapped, trying to mask the fear creeping into my voice. I twisted, pulling as hard as I could, but his grip didn't budge. Panic rose in my chest like a wave.

"Feisty," he chuckled, his other hand reaching out. "I like that."

Before I could react, a shadow moved in my peripheral vision. "Hey!" a voice snapped, sharp and commanding. I barely had time to register what was happening before the girl from earlier was there, her booted foot slamming into the man's crotch with precision and force.

The man groaned, doubling over as his grip on me released. I stumbled back, clutching my shoulder and gasping for air. He collapsed to the ground, his hands clutching himself as he writhed in pain.

"You're disgusting," she spat, glaring down at him. Her voice was calm, but there was a fire in her eyes, a confidence that made the man's earlier arrogance look laughable. "Stay down, or I'll make sure you can't get back up."

The man groaned again, muttering something unintelligible, but he didn't try to move. She turned to me, her expression softening just slightly. "You okay?" she asked, her tone quieter now, but still firm.

I nodded, though my legs felt like they might give out any second. "Yeah," I managed to croak, though my voice sounded small and unsure. "Thanks."

"You should leave before someone else tries something," she said, sighing. I nodded and took off down the sidewalk. I glanced over my shoulder to see the girl still watching me before kicking the man down again as he tried to stand. I smirked, grateful, before hurrying down the street.

+++

The same evening, a bit eleven, I walked into the women and youth shelter, the bell overhead signalling I'd entered. I waited until an older woman popped her head out near the reception desk. "Oh hello hon," she said with a kind smile. "How can I help you?"

"Is there any beds available?"

"I'm sorry, we're at capacity," the woman spoke, her eyes filling with undeniable sadness. "I can call our sister partner, see if there's any beds there."

I nodded once, a lump forming in my throat. She picked up the landline and dialled as I glanced towards the entrance. I couldn't shake the feeling of being watched. I can't go back, I repeated it like a mantra.

"I'm sorry, hon, they're out of beds too," the woman said and tilted her head, sighing. "How old are you, anyway?"

I swallowed and forced a smile. "Thanks for checking,"
I said and hurried down the hallway, back to the entrance, my heart sinking. I'd have to find a place to sleep on the streets. I breathed but it felt like my ribs were collapsing in on my lungs.

"Wait, let me give you some things, please. No questions ... just wait a moment," she pleaded and I stopped, glancing over my shoulder. She disappeared and I started walking towards the entrance again. I felt hopeless. I felt myself crumbling. The womb returned with a small duffle bag, carrying it to me with a sad smile. "There is a small blanket in there, some energy bars and water. A new tooth brush and some toothpaste. I'm sorry I can't do anything more for you, hon."

I took the bag, nodding. "I appreciate this a lot. Thank you."

"Take care, okay? It's below freezing, keep warm and stay hydrated," she said before I turned and left the shelter. I'd have to find somewhere warm for the night. I hurried down the sidewalk once again, keeping my eyes peeled for danger.

I had to find a place to sleep. The wind cut through the layers I'd scavenged, biting into my skin like needles. My hands were numb, even through the gloves I'd found at the thrift store. My legs ached from walking, but the idea of stopping outside in this freezing cold wasn't an option. I scanned the street ahead, my gaze catching the familiar glow of the emergency room sign.

Sirens wailed in the distance, a nurse in navy scrubs stood outside smoking, everything overwhelming me. Hospitals were warm, and people came and went constantly—no one would think twice if I slipped inside for a few hours. At least until the library opened and I could spend my day in there, warm.

I pushed through the heavy glass doors, greeted by the sterile smell of antiseptic and the hum of fluorescent lights. The warmth hit me like a wave, and I nearly sighed out loud. My body sagged slightly as I approached the triage desk, feigning a hesitation I didn't need to fake.

The nurse glanced up, her tired eyes meeting mine. "What brings you in tonight?" she asked, her voice clipped but not unkind.

"My stomach," I said, wrapping my arms around myself. "I can't stop throwing up."

The nurse tilted her head, scanning my face. "Any fever? Diarrhea?"

I nodded vaguely, knowing I needed to sound convincing but not severe enough to put me at the top of the list. "No fever, just cramps. It's been going on for a few hours."

She tapped her keyboard, glancing at her screen. "Okay, take a seat. We'll call you when we can," she said, handing me over a clipboard. "Fill this out and bring it back when you're done. Make sure your insurance is listed."

I wanted to scoff, but settled for a slight eye roll when she wasn't looking and took the clipboard, no intention on filling it out. "Thanks," I mumbled, turning towards the rows of plastic chairs bolted to the floor. There were a few other people scattered around: a man holding his bandaged arm, a woman sitting with her head down, and a child sleeping on their mother's lap. I found a chair in the corner, sliding my backpack off my shoulders and hugging it to my chest.

The lights overhead were harsh, and the murmur of conversations mixed with the occasional beeping of monitors and overhead announcements. I sank down, closing my eyes for just a moment.

"You worthless piece of shit," my father's voice boomed throughout the house, my heart threatening to beat out of my chest.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, dad," Ashton sobbed, "I'm sorry." I ran out of my room and down the stairs, nearly tripping, clutching the wall to keep me upright. In the kitchen, my father had Ashton by his shirt collar, screaming in his face. Ashton blinked, tears falling down his cheeks.

"Don't you fucking cry," my father's voice boomed yelled, shoving my brother back with a force that made a crack in the wall as his head slammed against it.

"Stop hurting him," I said, my voice cracking, but I stepped forward, determining to help my brother. "Let him go."

Royce glanced back and sneered. He turned and slammed Ashton into the wall again. "I expected better from you, boy. You disappoint me. You embarrass me. If you don't bring your grades up, I'm sending you away. For good."

He dropped Ashton, striding towards me. He reached and I cowered and he chuckled. "I'll be back tomorrow night, don't do anything stupid." It took a moment to realize he was reaching for his jacket. I didn't move until my father left the house.

"Ashton?" I hurried to my twin, who caught me in his arms. "Are you okay, what happened?"

"I failed my chem test," he choked out around sobs. I hugged him tight, not letting go until he pulled back, wiping his nose on his sleeve. "I love you, to the moon and back."

"I love you too, to the moon and back."

+++

I jolted awake, my heart slamming against my ribs like it was trying to escape. For a second, I didn't know where I was. The nightmare clung to me like a second skin, my father's voice still ringing in my ears, cold and sharp as glass. My brother's cries haunted me, the hopelessness I felt in my chest felt too real.

"You worthless piece of shit."

I swallowed hard, forcing my eyes to focus on the sterile fluorescent lights above me. The emergency room came back into view: plastic chairs bolted to the floor, exhausted faces around me, the faint hum of voices and the sharp tang of antiseptic in the air. I was here. Not there. Not with him.

But I could still see Ashton, crumpled against the wall, tears streaming down his face, his voice breaking as he apologized over and over. My chest felt like it was caving in. I wrapped my arms around myself, gripping the sleeves of my jacket until my fingers ached.

It wasn't real. Just a dream. Just a dream.

But it didn't feel like a dream. It felt like a memory. Like I'd been yanked back into that kitchen, standing frozen as Royce screamed and Ashton broke.

I pressed my forehead against my knees, trying to block it out, but the images wouldn't stop. My father's hand in Ashton's collar, slamming him into the wall. Ashton's sobs, his whispered "I'm sorry." The sound of his head cracking against the plaster.

I squeezed my eyes shut, but tears burned anyway, hot and traitorous. I didn't want to cry. I didn't deserve to cry. Not after everything. Not when I was the one who left them.

A cough from across the room made me flinch, and I forced myself to lift my head, blinking rapidly to clear the wetness from my eyes. My heart still raced, my breathing shallow and uneven, but no one was paying attention. No one saw me breaking apart.

I leaned back against the hard plastic chair, staring up at the ceiling tiles. My chest felt so heavy, like the air had turned to water and I was drowning in it. The nightmare kept playing in my head, over and over, and no matter how much I told myself it wasn't real, I couldn't shake the thought:

What if it was?

What if Ashton really was hurting? What if Royce took it out on him because I wasn't there to be his target? What if I'd only made everything worse by running?

I scrubbed my hands over my face, my palms cold and clammy. My father's words echoed in my head, just as sharp and cruel as when he first said them.

My stomach twisted, and I had to swallow down the bile rising in my throat. I'd left Ashton and Cameron and Sebastian to deal with the fallout. I'd left them to deal with him.

I let out a shaky breath, trying to push it all down, but it didn't budge. My father's voice, Ashton's sobs, the crack in the wall—I couldn't outrun any of it. I didn't know if I ever would.

I hurried down the sidewalk, my fingers freezing. I'd left my gloves at the hospital and my lips were dry and chapped from the cold. The sun had risen, brightening the sky with pastel red and orange and pink. I walked across the street and down an alley, a shortcut.

"Excuse me?" I paused, heart skipping a beat, and turned to see a man following me down the alleyway. He had on a black leather jacket and dark jeans, his eyes scanning me before glancing down at the map in his hand. "Can you tell me where the hospital is, I'm a little confused."

"Um, it's that way - "

The man lunged as soon as he got within fix feet. His grip was like a vise on my arm, cold and unyielding. "No, let me go," I screamed, struggling in his arms. I managed to kick his ankle, making him loosen his grip just enough for me to tear away, stumbling into the brick wall.

The man widened his stance and I flattened myself against the wall and my breath hitched when I noticed the barrel of his gun gleaming faintly in the dim alley light. My heart thundered so loudly I was sure he could hear it. His dark eyes were cold, cruel, reminding me of my father.

"I admit, it took me longer than expected to find you." His voice was casual and chuckled. "I'm impressed, honestly."

Oh, fuck. He was here on behalf of my father.

"H-how did you find me?" I asked, forcing the words out past the lump in my throat. My voice shook, and I hated it.

He grinned. "You showed your face to one of the street cameras at a bus terminal and the facial recognition software used by your father picked it up," he said, "I lost you again but then you showed up outside the hospital early this morning, camera caught you going inside."

I swallowed hard, trying to steady the trembling in my legs. "I'm not going back to him."

His smirk widened. "That's not your decision."

Panic clawed at my chest, and for a second, I was thirteen again, frozen under my father's shadow. My mouth went dry, my hands clammy. I couldn't outrun a gun. I couldn't fight him.

But I couldn't go back, either. "I'm not going back, let me go or-."

He barked out a laugh. "Or what? Come on, my car is on the next street."

"No, I am not going back," I screamed again, and he lunged forward, the barrel of his gun digging into my side. "Shut the fuck up and move or I'll knock you out."

I couldn't breathe. I couldn't breathe and my chest hurt .. fear and panic overwhelming every part of my body. "Okay, okay," I whispered and he stepped back enough for me to walk in front of him.

I darted a glance around the alley, not daring to move my head. Trash bags sagged against the walls, spilling rotten food and broken bottles. A metal pipe rested a few feet away, leaning against the bricks like it was waiting for me.

"You must be pretty desperate to work for a man like my father." My voice was unsteady, but I let out a forced chuckle myself.

His smirk faltered, just slightly. "I said shut up," he snapped, tightening his grip. "Move, now." He gripped my arm tight and I knew it'd leave a bruise.

My chest heaved, and I forced myself to focus on his face. His posture was too loose, too confident. He thought he'd already won.

Adrenaline surged, sharp and overwhelming.

I made my move. I twisted my arm hard, yanking back with a strength I didn't know I had. He cursed, his grip slipping just enough for me to stumble back.

"Stop—"

I fell to the ground on purpose, the impact jarring my knees, but it put me closer to the pipe. My fingers closed around the cold, rusted metal, and I swung upward blindly, tears streaming down my face.

The pipe connected with his ankle, and he shouted in pain. I swung again and I hit his forearm, making him drop the gun.

I scrambled to my feet, my chest burning as I gasped for air. "Stay back!" I screamed, lifting the pipe again, though my hands were shaking so badly I almost dropped it.

"You're dead," he growled, clutching his arm, his hand covering the wound that oozed blood from the jagged, sharp end of the pipe. I didn't respond, picking up the gun, shoving it in my pocket, then swung the pipe again. It hit his knee, and he collapsed with a grunt, his curses muffled by the blood pounding in my ears. I swung again and hit his head, watching as he fell backwards, crimson pooling on a fresh layer of snow. He reached for me but I hit him again and again and again until he gurgled and blood pooled from his mouth.

Sirens in the distance forced me to throw the pipe and run. I didn't look back. My feet hit the pavement hard as I ran, tears blurring my vision. I didn't know where I was going, but it didn't matter.

I bolted down the sidewalk, glancing behind me every few seconds to make sure the man didn't follow me.
A few minutes later, after running through the streets, unsure of the direction I headed, I stopped, gasping for breath. I was downtown somewhere, in a rough looking part of Chicago.

Someone honked their horn behind me. I glanced over my shoulder, squinting to see if I could identify the driver. I couldn't, running faster. The honking continued. "Hey, it's me, stop," a familiar voice called out and I paused, gasping for breath. The person had rolled down the window of their car, an old Volvo. "It's me, from last night, at the park."

I panted, eyes glistening as the cold wind hit my face, and studied the girl. I recognized her but stayed back, not trusting her. "Woah ... are you alright, is that blood?"

"Yes.." I glanced around me, looking for the man that worked for my father. "I have to go -"

"Are you hurt? Did someone hurt you?" Her eyes hardened and I nodded. "Are they looking for you right now?"

"Yes. I can't talk .. I have to run .."

"Get in," she said suddenly, throwing a bag in the backseat. She sighed. "Come on, I won't hurt you. I promise."

"I don't know you. I don't even know your name."

She leaned forward and opened the passengers door.
"I'm Ella. Ella Moreau. I'm heading to New York. Do you want a drive or what?"

I swallowed, closing my eyes. Did I trust her? No. Did I need to get as far away as possible? Absolutely. "Okay," I murmured, nodding, I can do this. I have to do this. I shrugged off my backpack and handed her my duffel bag. She put it on the backseat as I set my backpack on the floor as I climbed into the front seat, hoping to God she didn't pull anything on me.

+++

— thanks for reading!
Thoughts on this chapter?

Charlie 🧡