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Chapter One
“Hi, this is Cassie,” I whisper, cupping my hand over the cell as I glance at the door. “I’m calling for an escort.”
“Okay, Cassie, where are you?” the female voice on the line calmly asks.
“I’m at 1349 Miller Lane.”
“Got it,” she says into the phone. “Are you hurt? Do you need me to call an ambulance or the police?”
I look in the mirror, touching the cut on my left cheek from the huge fucking ring he wears on his right hand. I think he wears it for moments like these. So the bastard can leave his mark.
I brush the blood off and raise my chin.
“No.” I walk over to the open door. Not seeing Glenn anywhere, I quietly push it closed. “Just send the escort.”
“So you’re prepared to leave? You can’t take much with you.”
“Yes. I understand. Everything was explained to me.”
When I was ready, the woman told me to make the call, and a man would show up to safely remove me from the home. She informed me that I could never talk about him or tell anyone about what happens while he’s there.
I’ve always considered myself a strong person. I never thought I’d allow someone like Glenn to hurt me. We’ve only been together for eight months. He was amazing, attentive, and didn’t seem intimidated by my independence in the first six.
I was a fool.
I moved in with him too fast.
Shortly after I did, things changed.
The sex was rough. I like it that way. At first, it was exciting. Then one night, he choked me so hard I almost died. I thought it was my fault for being so aggressive in bed. Perhaps, I pushed him too far. Still, it never escalated to the point when I feared for my life.
He let me go right before I blacked out.
Sure, he apologized and acted genuinely sorry, but the next time, he grabbed me so hard he left bruises on my arms and legs. When I tried to talk to him about it again, he was apologetic.
Things were good for a few weeks. Until I went out with some girls from work and got home late. That’s the first time he hit me. He punched me in the stomach. I puked all over the living room floor. Then the fucker stood over me with his hands on his hips while I scrubbed it clean.
I came home the next day and told him I was moving out. He knocked me around some more and threatened to kill me if I tried to leave. I fought back but quickly realized no matter how strong of a woman I am, physically, I’m no match for him.
That was when I reached out for help. I met up with a woman named Lisa on the hotline service. We’ve been talking for the past week. She encouraged me to go to a shelter or call the police. I didn’t want to get the police involved, nor was I ready to go to a shelter. I thought I had a handle on things.
I was wrong.
I’m ready now. I’ve packed a bag and hidden it in my closet. I need a clean break.
I planned to leave after work on Monday, but it’s only Friday, and from the look in his eyes, I might not make it until then.
There’s no way I’m getting out of here without help. I want to leave. I have enough money in the bank to start somewhere new.
But first, I must get out of here.
That’s when I remembered her mentioning the escort service. She gave me a number and said if I was in danger or feared for my life, and I was reluctant to call the police, I was to call it and tell them I needed an escort. The woman on the phone isn’t Lisa. I know her voice. This lady sounds older.
I don’t care who she is. I just know that I need her.
“I’ll make the call,” she says. “Is your abuser in the house?”
“Yes.”
