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Maybe everything will just shut down and show me mercy.
As my breathing slows, there’s a slice of regret that cuts through me. I promised to never give up, that I would fight for the happiness I deserve. Yet, here I lay. Unworthy of the life I’ve been given.
A whirring sound hums in the distance, and I lose my thoughts to the white noise until it turns into a horn. Two quick beeps that sound familiar…
My consciousness perks up. I’m still in Portland. I’m near a light rail station. That’s the sound of a train I’ve taken dozens of times before. It has to be. That’s what I need to believe right now. If I can make it to the stop, I can wait for the next train. Even if it doesn’t come for several more hours, assuming that’s a possibility since it’s likely the middle of the night, I have no problems waiting.
The relief growing within me is a balm to my cracked spirit. I might be battered and bruised, but I'm not defeated.
I roll to my side and take a steadying breath as I stare down at the green grass beneath me. The dew covers my bloody palms, and I use the moisture in a pathetic attempt to clean myself up, but that only serves to smear things around.
Getting to my feet, I force myself to continue across the golf course. When I get to the edge, where I can see the train stop, I start to cry.
I’m going to make it. My father didn’t break me.
6
OLIVIA
Relief surges through me as I near the hill that leads to my refuge, but it's as if the once-solid ground beneath me has transformed into treacherous quicksand. Every step forward feels like a battle, each inch gained an agonizing triumph. When the hill finally looms ahead, I don't hesitate to drop to all fours, a silent acknowledgment of my body's limit.
I plow my way through the dead, fallen leaves, a slow and laborious march. Broken branches claw at me, adding fresh scrapes to my battered skin. The tears on my cheeks aren't just a release of pain; they're born out of a fierce determination to conquer the odds.
What seems like an eternity later, I reach the summit, only to be confronted by an obstacle—a fence. My breath fogs the air in front of me as frustration boils over. "You've got to be fucking kidding me." My words hang in the cold night air, mingling with each puff of breath.
The prospect of climbing the chain-link barrier feels impossible, especially in my current state. Even standing upright seems like a monumental task as my limbs shake with the effort it takes to even breathe. Hell, maybe a broken rib has already punctured a lung. The thought makes the need to search for an alternative path seem beyond my depleted reserves.
I slump to the ground in a twisted kind of surrender. If I was tracking the rising and setting of the sun well enough between the moments I was passed out in that room, I’ve been gone three days and none of the sleep I had in that time was peaceful. Being here, under the starry night, laying on the cool ground that seems to help my achy body…I let my mind begin to drift off, surrendering to the torment I’ve endured and desperately need to heal from.
But then my imagination decides to tell me that the shadows moving around me could be one of Titan’s men and I’m mere seconds from having my sorry ass dragged back to the basement and killed.
I jolt up from the ground with wide eyes and wince, hugging my ribs with both arms. “Damn it. This is such shit.”
Forcing myself to keep going, I draw on the fleeting burst of adrenaline. Using a nearby tree as support, I gather my strength. Facing the fence, I stand on wobbly legs, surveying the obstacle before me. Climbing anything like this would be a feat for me even under normal circumstances; my current condition makes this an Everest-level challenge. I fight through the haze clouding my vision, blinking furiously.
I know I can still do it with the right motivation, but getting started is proving harder than I like. My eyes cast up and down, then back before blinking several times. I can hardly see straight, but I’m pretty sure there’s an opening in the chain link further down.
Hobbling toward it, my shoulders drop with relief as I grasp the cut fencing and glance around me. “Thanks to whatever asshole did this.”
The homeless population is a bit out of control in Portland and not always a pleasant sight, but in this moment, their destruction is my saving grace, and I vow to try to be more helpful to their situation in the future.
I start to slip through, but with shitty eyesight, my depth perception is off, and I lean too close to one side. The torn metal grazes my side, ripping my shirt and gouging my skin. Blood mingles with dirt as I extract myself, my other hand joining the fray. "Just what I needed," I mutter, both exasperated and resolved.
The desire to throw a mini pity party for myself starts to surface until I see the light rail stop just a dozen yards from me. All woes are forgotten and, when I see a pay phone, I start to laugh at the absurdity of it. Something that I didn’t even know still exists is going to help save my life.
I can call… Fuck. My earlier thoughts come rushing back to me. Tori’s number is the only one I have memorized. Bringing her into this isn’t an option. I’ll just have to wait for the train as previously planned.
Painfully so, I make it to the stop and fall to my knees again before rolling over onto my side. Bloodied and bruised, smelling like literal shit with tattered clothes, I can’t imagine I’m a pretty sight, but that’s not something I can worry about now.
“Are you…okay?” a woman’s concerned but also suspicious voice asks.
My eyes crack open, and the blurry vision of someone bundled up on a bench, clutching something to their chest is all I can see.
“I’m great,” I drone. “Do you know when the next train is coming?”
She hesitates in answering. “About ten minutes.”
“Where’s it heading?” I force myself to sit up in an attempt to freak her out a little less. “Better yet, where are we?”
