The loud slaps of feet hitting the pavement echoes through the long hallway, followed by harsh panting; the symphony of my escape. My heart pounds so harshly against my ribcage that I am sure it will leaves bruises and my sore joints cry out in pain at my fast movements.
But, I can't stop now.
The tortuously long hallway seems to finally come to an end and the flashing red EXIT sign acts as my beacon of hope -of survival. I don't even hesitate to throw open the door and clamber down the steps as fast as possible. I have to hurry; not a second can be wasted.
It's only when I turn the corner of the stairwell that I see the camera perched into the corner like a fly on the wall.
Shit.
I feel panic crawl up my throat and it is this momentary distraction that causes me to miss a step and stumble down the last three. Pain shoots up the knee I land on so quickly that I swear I might have to amputate my entire leg. I take a few seconds out of my escape in order to calm down and pray that the fire licking up my leg goes away.
The adrenaline pumping through my veins allows the pain to subside fairly quickly, but I know I will be feeling that later. A light purple bruise has already begun its formation, but I shrug it off and continue my sprint.
What's one more bruise on my discolored body, anyway?
I have to come to an abrupt halt when I reach the door that leads to the lobby of the cheap apartment building I have suffered in for the last two years of my life. Act natural. I have to act natural.
With one last mini pep talk and a greedy intake of air, I swing open the door to the hustle and bustle of the tenants that live in the building. A few send me smiles of acknowledgment, but I just pray that no one notices the red marks on my neck poking out from my scarf or the specks of blood on my sneakers.
But, I know they won't. They never do.
Despite my calm demeanor, my whole body twitches with nerves. The glass doors that lead to my freedom are only a yard away and all I want to do is make a run for it, but I can't do that. It would raise too many flags. I was already caught on camera. I'm being too risky; this whole debacle is too risky.
But, this is it. This is my only chance. I had formulated this plan months ago, assembled supplies weeks ago, and just gathered enough courage to follow through with it once his hands were around my neck again.
I won't get a chance like this again. I don't even know if I will survive long enough to have a chance like this again.
It isn't until I bump into someone accidently that my focus strays away from the pearly gates of freedom and I notice the devil himself standing in the elevator going up. Up to see me.
Green eyes meet blue. Frightened expression meets a furious one. My whole body freezes and my heart steadily increases it's tempo until all I can hear is the blood pumping through my ears.
I'm only a few feet away from the elevator doors and even though people continue to walk in between us, we never break eye contact. I see his hands curl into fists and his jaw clench as He takes in the backpack strapped on my shoulders and obviously puts one and two together. The familiar drugstore bag I had come to loathe suddenly drops from his hands, the bandages and ointment spilling onto the patterned carpet.
I am frozen like a deer in the headlights as I see him pick up his boot-clad foot and take one step forward. Suddenly, the world seems to slow down; tenants freeze and fall into silence and He picks up his other foot achingly slow. The blood pumping through my ears is the only audible sound as his foot almost makes contact with the ground. Coming closer towards me.
This is it. My plan failed. I'm stuck with him forever, yet I'm not sure if I will survive through the night.
A loud ding seems to throw the world back into chaos and I shakily watch as the elevator doors shut in his angry and panicked face.
And suddenly, I'm unfrozen.
I don't even bother acting casual now because I know that as soon as He reaches our floor He is going to fly down the same stairs I just did and chase me to the ends of the Earth.
I burst through the lobby doors and hail a taxi as fast as possible. I try not to panic at the fact that it's a man behind the wheel and that I stuck in a car with him. It almost works. As soon as the cab drives away my adrenaline also vanishes and my whole body aches from the fresh wounds and shakes in fear.
I keep thinking that we'll turn a corner and I'll see his silver pick-up in the rearview mirror. He would never let me get away this easy. My freedom is only temporary.
The drive to the airport is endless, the line to buy tickets is endless, and the line for security check is endless. Nothing can slate my restless nerves until I hand the disgruntled TSA officer my ID. The one with my new name on it. The one that symbolizes my fresh start.
But, it doesn't really hit me until I am in the airport bathroom with a pair of makeup scissors chopping at my long, red hair. It takes a long time and a lot of concentration to cut through my thick mane with just a dainty pair of scissors. It also takes a lot of strength not to snap at the women that give me odd looks for haphazardly hacking off my hair in the LAX bathroom.
It's then -when I am standing in the mirror and staring at the uneven short length of my hair that I finally feel like I can breathe again. For the first time in two years, I can finally breathe. And I almost collapse on the floor from the liberation.
I dig in my backpack and push aside the only two outfits I could fit inside, the manila envelope stuffed with my life savings, and the only picture of my mother I have until my shaky fingers grasped my passport.
My eyes flit between the beaten down and ragged looking girl in the picture taken just three months ago, to the beaten down and ragged looking girl standing in front of the mirror in front of me. Both have matching sunken cheeks, heavy bags under their eyes, and barely noticeable bruises on their face.
The only difference between the two is that the girl in front of me now has a glimmer of hope shining in her emerald eyes that the girl in the photo believed she would never see again.
My eyes scan over my new name; my new identity.
Layla Scott.
"Flight 90 to London now boarding; 8:45 P.M." The woman overhead causes me to panic slightly as I re-pack my things and grab my ticket. My hands carefully hold the paper towel that now houses my once treasured long hair before dumping it into the garbage.
He always did like it long.
Well, good riddance to that, and him, and my entire life up until this point.
Hello to Layla Scott, to London, and to a new life.
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A/N: New story! Please tell me what you think so far and feel free to vote! I'm really excited about this story!
The Harry in this story is so different compared to the one in 'Notorious'! So, I hope your ready for awkward, sickeningly sweet, bambi-like Harry and a brazen, scarred, and closed off MC. Oh, how the tables have turned.
Vote and Comment with predictions and thoughts!
P.S. The song on the side is basically the anthem of this story. And this is dedicated to @jhildey because I am unhealthily obsessed with her books (like, it's an actual problem) and she is just a downright awesome person. She inspires me!
-Mags xx