The Promise
I was curled up in the corner of the doghouse. I clutched the list my mother had given to me as I waited for him to leave the house. It was 7:45 a.m. when I watched him exit the front door. He strutted to his car, coffee in one hand and his wallet in the other. Per my mother’s instructions, I counted to seventy before I made a mad dash from the doghouse to the first stop on the list.
1. Hardware store: Buy 1 handsaw, 1 roll of duct tape, 1 package of heavy-duty trash bags.
This was where the past six months of running track had come in handy. I was able to run there in just five minutes. My left ankle started throbbing only moments into my run. Each time my left foot landed on the uneven pavement, a sharp pain permeated throughout my entire leg.
***
“You will not run from me!” Chuck said, his hand twisting around my ankle to the point where I could no longer feel my toes.
“Please let her go! Just let her go!” my mother pleaded.
As she advanced towards him—in her weak attempt to save me—Chuck backhanded her, sending her to the floor with an audible thud. As Chuck increased pressure on my ankle with his thick fingers, I felt as if all my tendons were being shredded like a piece of pork.
***
The pain from my ankle fired off again as my foot landed on a piece of loose gravel. I bit my lip to suppress me from screaming.
I acquired the items from the hardware store. My baseball cap was pulled down low enough to cover my eyes. Even though I wasn’t looking at him, I could feel the clerk’s eyes hot on my skin. I tugged on the brim of the hat and lowered my chin even more as he gave me back my change.
2. Drugstore: Buy 1 of each: box of maxi pads, first aid kit, bottle of rubbing alcohol, bottle of ipecac syrup.
At the drugstore, I held my shopping basket close to my body. Mom and I had already done a dry run of the store, so I knew which aisles had which items. I had just grabbed the last item—ipecac syrup—when someone bumped into my right shoulder. Immediately, I dropped the basket and clutched my shoulder.
“Sorry,” the clerk said in haste to get back to stocking the shelves with more pain reliever.
After making my purchase, I walked behind the building and crouched down by the dumpster. I unzipped my hoodie and looked at my shoulder. The bandage under my tank top was soaked through with blood. I winced when I touched it, even though my mother had told me not to while she was bandaging it. Listening wasn’t my strongest personality trait.
***
