run out…

I looked back at the dark bedroom, signs of our struggle were all around. The dislodged lampshade, the Venetian window blinds fanning back into the room bent at odd angles, and his half naked body. The large man with trimmed beard and dark short spiked hair, now matted with blood was slumped diagonally across the bed. His gorilla chest was slowly lifting and falling, there was a smear of blood on the pillow where the half empty bottle of bourbon had struck its mark. He wouldn't be out for long. I'd already given up on hopes of finding my passport, but I'd finally learnt where he kept the key for the bedroom, my prison. I groped around under the bed, it was in his sock. The sock needed darning. The thought of my concern for his welfare surprised me, but didn't deter me. I used my body to muffle the click of the turning key. The door opened noiselessly, I had oiled the hinges with lube from the bathroom the day before. As the door opened I hadn't anticipated it would get caught on the doormat, the mat slid with the door making a loud shush noise which startled me, I heard him groan. The fingers of his right hand awoke as spider legs slowly creeping along the bedsheets searching for my warm body. I froze, then exhaled slowly as his fingers fell limp, as he again drifted into unconsciousness.

I had run out on him, and vowed to never return. The icy air of the corridor slapped my body hard  leaving goose pimples. My blood stained satin nightdress was my only protection. My bare foot trod in a puddle of warm piss, that's when I noticed the bedroom opposite to mine was ajar, the other man had just relieved himself, if I'd emerged a moment earlier I would have been detected.

I forced my stubborn body to walk past the sound of rape, coming from the opposite bedroom. Tears burned my cheeks, my mouth tightened, I had to be resolute, if I could get to the shelter I could help her, maybe I could help the other woman escape too. A year ago when I was still allowed a phone to make arrangements with my clients, one of his old girls who'd got away had texted me an address where I could get help. He had found the message and confiscated my phone but he couldn't erase my memory. I'd be back for her, once I got to the shelter, you see she was my younger sister once, in another life.