Beautiful Escape

by Jenna Storm

  His fat friend turns and his eyes are calculating, trying to size me up.

  I continue to smile. “Hey boys, I’d love to stay and chat, but Julie and I really have to get going. We’re late.” I motion the girl towards me, trying to indicate with my eyes that she’s safer with me than she is with these two bozos.

  She seems to understand, because she quickly moves away from them and starts in my direction, a look of profound gratitude on her face.

  But I don’t have time to be pleased with myself for saving the damsel in distress, because the two meatheads aren’t done with us just yet.

  “What’s in the bags, faggot? Is that where you keep your spare dildos?” Backwards cap asks me. His eyes have gone flat and cold.

  I know what this means.

  He just struck out with the strange girl, and now it’s the end of the night and he’s decided to get some action one way or another.

  “Listen,” I say, as the girl walks closer to me. “Keep walking,” I mutter in her ear. “I’ll handle these two.”

  She nods ever so slightly and keeps going without so much as slowing down. I’m a little surprised, actually. Most girls would hang around, or at least try and say something. But not her—she just goes with the plan, almost like she didn’t need me to tell her in the first place.

  “Hey, where’s she going?” the fat guy yells, as if she’s personally offending him by walking away.

  “I told you, we’re running late,” I smile, dropping my bags to the concrete.

  The two boneheads stare at me, their expressions changing as they realize that I know what’s up.

  I feel relaxed, calm, a little smile on my face. The funny thing is, I should be nervous but I’m not. In fact, this is the best I’ve felt since coming home.

  “All right, you couple of douches,” I say, laughing. “Let’s have some fun.”

  “I hope it’s fun when you’re picking up your teeth,” backwards cap says. And then he comes at me, trying to blast me with a wild overhand right. If it hit me, it would probably feel like getting smashed with a shovel. But he’s slow and untrained and a little drunk.

  I dodge the right, kick him in the knee with my boot and watch as his leg caves in like it was made out of silly putty. The next shot is my fist to his throat, and he falls backwards, making sounds like a cat choking on the biggest hairball of its life.

  The cap is off his head and he doesn’t look so tough flailing around on the ground. I glance at him, and he’s not too badly hurt. But his knee might need some rehab.

  Backwards cap’s fat friend immediately backs away from me like I’m radioactive. His hands are up high and his double chin quivers. “Don’t hit me, don’t hit me!” he begs, as his friend writhes on the ground in abject pain, one hand on his knee while the other grasps at his neck.

  I stare at the fat guy, everything in me wanting to hurt him—knowing that I can take him apart piece by piece and turn him into a bloody mess. I already know how I’ll do it, the way it will feel when my fist connects with his jaw, my knee to his flabby belly, maybe grinding my boot into his fingers as he lies on the sidewalk blubbering.

  “Please, man,” he begs, and as the tears roll down his cheeks, I finally snap out of it and realize what I was about to do to him.

  “Find some better friends,” I warn him, and then I pick up my bags and start toward my car.

  I look back once over my shoulder and I don’t see the strange girl, which is way more disappointing to me than I thought it would be.

  She hustled off fast. I don’t really blame her, but still—out of all the women I’ve met since coming back, she’s the first one that I actually wish I could’ve had a conversation with.

  That’s probably because you hardly heard her talk, I tell myself.

  I finally make it to my car, and now the adrenaline is wearing off, and I’m alone and realize what I just did, and even worse, that I enjoyed it.

  I unlock my trunk and load my bags into it.

  I must be lost in thought, more concerned about replaying those moments with the hippie girl and what I did to those guys who threatened her than I am with being aware of my surroundings.

  It’s funny, actually, because I’ve gotten so good at staying alert and aware that it’s almost impossible for anyone to creep on me.

  Many have tried and failed.

  But when I slam the trunk shut and turn around, the girl is standing there, watching me.

  I never even heard a noise. I never saw her coming.

  ALEXA

  Ever since getting off the bus at South Station this afternoon, I’ve been confused. Nowhere really to go, no plan for what comes next. I chose Boston because it was far away, crowded, and it was one of the first buses on the schedule

  I spent most of the day wandering the city, lost, like a child in the wilderness.

  I was tempted to call home and tell Father where I am, only to convince myself to give it a few more hours first.

  I stopped and ate a hamburger at McDonald’s, sat on a bench and watched people and traffic passing to and fro.

  Eventually, I walked again for lack of anything else to do.

  Night fell, and I was transfixed, watching through windows into restaurants and bars and seeing how these heathens lived, my eyes wide with wonder and fear and…maybe something else.

  Maybe I liked it a little. Father help me, maybe I even liked it more than a little.

  I needed to find a place to sleep, maybe a hotel, but I was afraid to spend my money and even more afraid to sleep on the street. What if I got mugged or robbed by one of these unbelievers?

  Father has always said that these ingrates will cut your throat for a dollar or less, and they search for girls like me to rape, to have their way with.

  I ultimately decided to simply walk the streets until morning comes. Somehow, I was convinced that the coming dawn would change something. Maybe I’d have a kind of revelation, inspiration about where to go next.

  So now it’s after two o’clock in the morning, and I don’t have long to go before dawn comes again, and with it, perhaps a better understanding.

  The streets are filling up with young people, drunk on alcohol, girls wearing short skirts and showing their breasts with low-cut tops. They kiss boys flagrantly, groping each other, laughing and screaming without shame as other ogle them.

  I try and avoid the madness, choosing to stay clear of the horde.

  But suddenly, out of the darkness, two men approach me with greedy, hungry eyes, grabbing at me with their unclean hands. They make rude comments and sneer at my uncertainty.

  Fear tugs at my belly, making me plead and whine, making me weak—an easy target for the devil’s henchmen.

  As they continue to torment me, I’m almost resigned to my fate. This, after all, was what Father had often warned me would happen if I left the safety of his flock.

  But everything changes when HE shows up. He’s just another strange man walking down this dark street. However, when the stranger sees the situation, he seems concerned for my wellbeing.

  He calls me Julie, as if he knows me, and his mere presence distracts the two evil cretins.

  He’s one of them. Father says they’re all bad, all sick and twisted and perverse, capable of any cruelty and sin at a moment’s notice.

  But this one doesn’t seem like that at all. As I look at his face, I see kind eyes. He’s very handsome in a way that nobody else from my church could ever have hoped to be. His shoulders are muscular, and he’s wearing a dark leather jacket, carrying a heavy bag on each arm.

  His hair is cropped very short, and his jaw is firm and strong and a little square.

  He’s safe, the voice tells me. Go to him. Go now, while he’s distracting the bad ones that want to hurt you.

  It’s the same voice that told me to run last night, and I think it might be Satan trying to trick me. But I really have no choice except to try and trust this stranger, so I walk towards him, hoping against hope that noth
ing worse will come of it.

  As I get nearer to him, I’m feeling immediately safer. I sense that this young man won’t let the evil ones hurt me—he’ll protect me. It’s like there’s a force field surrounding him that only I can see.

  “Keep walking,” the stranger says, as I get closer to him. “Let me handle these two.”

  The sound of his voice makes my heart speed up. His voice is deep, calm and clear—nothing like Father’s loud and boisterous vocalizations. The stranger’s voice tells me that he can be trusted, and so I do trust him.

  I continue walking, even though I’m afraid.

  I remember the story of Sodom and Gomorrah and I tell myself to keep staring straight ahead and don’t look back, lest I become a pillar of salt like Lot’s wife.

  But somehow, I can’t resist. I need to make sure that this young man who risked his own safety on my behalf is all right. I stop and turn around, and what I see surprises me. The stranger is fighting those two men to protect me.

  And he’s utterly magnificent.

  I shouldn’t glorify something as awful as fighting, but it’s the truth. He moves as quick as a cat, as graceful as a dancer, and when he strikes, it’s ferocious and beautiful.

  My mouth opens in awe.

  He’s the one. He can help you.

  I tell myself to just walk, to get away from him as fast as possible.

  A man who can do such things is a danger to himself and everyone he comes into contact with.

  But somehow I don’t think the stranger could ever hurt me. I recall the force field I sensed around him, the kindness of his eyes as he looked at me.

  I need him. I need him because if I don’t find help soon, I’ll be lost. I’ll lose my strength and start to doubt everything. I’ll call Father, they’ll bring me back and any chance I have at a real life will be gone forever.

  Crossing to the other side of the street, I lurk in the shadows and follow my savior at a safe distance, as he leaves the two men behind. He walks to his car and I cross back to the same side of the street that he’s on, not knowing what comes next or how to approach him.

  Yes, he helped me when I was in danger. But why would he do anything else for me? How dare I even ask more of him?

  I don’t know what I’m going to do, I only know I need to try.

  His back is to me as he puts his bags into the trunk of his vehicle, his head slightly bowed. For a young man, he looks like he carries the weight of the world on his shoulders, I decide.

  The trunk slams and then he turns around and sees me. His dark eyes register feint surprise, but that’s all.

  And then his lips curl into a strange smile. His smile makes my stomach flutter a little. It’s not the way I felt when Joseph would smile at me, either. This is different. This reminds me of the kind of sin my Father warned me about, the kind of sin that would make me a Jezebel, the worst of the worst and lowest of the low.

  “You again,” he says, folding his arms over his chest.

  “I thought I should thank you for what you did.” My voice sounds faint and weak in my own ears.

  His eyes are so still and calm that I feel captured by them, entrapped almost. He can’t possibly know how strange he is to me, how foreign and frightening in every way.

  “Are you all right?” he asks, suddenly leaning down to brush some dirt off his jeans as he speaks, causing me to jump a little. His movements are so fast and precise that he seems like he’s operating at a different speed from a normal person.

  I nod my head, although the truth is far from simple. “I’m okay.”

  He looks up at me again. “You don’t sound too sure of yourself.”

  “I…I guess I’m not.”

  His brow furrows slightly. “You’re not from around here, are you?”

  I shake my head, starting to smile a little despite myself. “No.”

  “You from another country or something?”

  “Not exactly.”

  There’s that smile again. He cocks his head slightly and holds out his hand. “My name’s Gavin Brooks.”

  Women and men don’t shake hands where I’m from, so for a long moment, I hesitate to respond in kind. Already, my failure to respond in the normal fashion has caused Gavin’s expression to change.

  He goes from smiling to suspicious.

  Not wanting to risk upsetting him, I lean awkwardly forward and grasp his hand with mine. Instantly, I’m shocked by the way his hand envelops my hand completely, and how warm and strong and good he feels as he touches my skin.

  It’s absolutely electrifying, and I’m feeling stirrings inside that I know are not wholesome or natural.

  God protect me. Perhaps this man truly is the devil come to tempt me.

  What else could explain the way he makes me feel?

  I realize I’ve just been standing here, shaking his hand and staring into space.

  His grin comes back wider than ever. “Wow, you’re really not from around here,” he says.

  I withdraw my hand, my cheeks blazing with embarrassment and deep shame. My cheeks aren’t the only thing burning. Below my stomach, there’s a sensation like white hot fire, and its like nothing I’ve ever felt before.

  “Perhaps I should go now,” I say, realizing how wrong all of this is. It’s like I’m waking up from a bad dream, and now I understand what a huge mistake I’ve made.

  I ran away from church, from family, from Father.

  It’s a sin. It’s unforgiveable and I’m descending into hell.

  “Wait a second,” Gavin says, his brow creasing. “You never even told me your name.”

  “Alexa,” I say, instantly wishing I’d lied. The wind picks up, whipping some strands of hair across my face and I try to wipe them away as I shiver.

  “Look,” he says. “It’s late and dark and cold…and dangerous out here. Let me at least drive you home safely.”

  I swallow, not knowing what to do or say or think.

  Everything in me wants to get in the nice warm car with this beautiful man, sit next to him and feel his protective presence.

  But I cannot go against God, Father, and my family and church this way. As bad as it is that I ran, perhaps if I return under my own will, they’ll forgive me.

  Yes, I will be punished--I’ll need to answer for my betrayal, but eventually…

  Eventually nothing, Alexa. You’ll be worth less than mud on the bottom of Father’s shoe when you go home. You’ve seen how easily he turns on people for lesser crimes.

  “I should really go,” I say, shivering again in the wind.

  “Where are you going?”

  I look into his eyes and realize I can’t lie to him. “I don’t know.”

  His full lips tighten against each other. “Come on, Alexa. Get in the car.” He walks to the passenger door and opens it for me, waving me toward him. “I promise I won’t bite.”

  What if I want you to?

  What if, deep down, that’s what I want most of all?

  The wanting of him is horrifying on every level, but what makes it worse is that I’m not able to resist. In the past, if I felt temptation, I would get on my knees and pray. I’d read the Good Book, I’d confess to Father.

  But this is different. I can’t even look at Gavin Brooks. As soon as I do, my heart starts to beat faster, my palms begin to sweat, my insides shake, and my imagination starts to work furiously. I picture my lips on his, and allowing him to kiss me the way I never would allow those other suitors.

  And I know that I would let him kiss me, and more.

  You cannot get in that car with that tool of the devil, Alexa. If you go, your soul is as good as fried in the deepest pits of hell.

  This is your last chance to repent. Call home, have Father come and pick you up and beg for his mercy.

  Gavin is watching me, as I stand there, unable to choose my destiny. He laughs again, and something about that laugh makes my legs start to move, and I move towards him.

  As I brush past him, I can smell t
he heady, masculine but clean scent of him, and his dark gaze follows my progress.

  I get into the passenger seat of his car and he shuts the door.

  It strikes me that the reason I finally decided to get inside this car was seeing the way he laughed just now. His laugh was effortless, relaxed, completely at ease. I’ve never laughed like that nor seen anyone laugh like that in my entire life.

  And I realize that I want to learn how he’s able to be like this. I want to spend more time with him.

  A moment later and Gavin is sitting next to me, he’s got the car turned on and he’s adjusting the heat. “Just want to make sure you’re not too cold,” he says, looking me over.

  I’ve got my arms crossed but I’m chilled, and my skin is bumpy with gooseflesh. Of course, not all of that is from the cold. Some of it is because I’m sitting next to him, but he doesn’t need to know that.

  The warm air starts to blow on me and I smile a little. “I’ve never been in such a nice, new car,” I say.

  He makes a face like I’ve got two heads. “You’ve never been in a car this nice? It’s a Nissan Altima.”

  I feel instantly stupid. “Yes, well…we’re I’m from, we don’t…we don’t drive in new cars like this.”

  “Oh, of course,” he says, nodding like it’s all making sense now. “I just figured out what’s going on.” He turns to me with a very serious expression.

  He knows. Somehow, he knows. And he’s going to make me go back to them. He’s going to turn me in.

  “You figured it out?” I ask, my voice practically a squeak.

  “You’re Amish.”

  I nearly burst out laughing, which would be a relief. I want to laugh. I want to laugh and throw my arms around him, kiss his face, and tell him everything. But I don’t even know him. I know nothing about him or his beliefs, and first and foremost I have to protect myself.

  “You’re very perceptive,” I tell him. Part of me feels bad, because I am lying now, which I don’t want to do. But he’s close enough to the truth. Amish folk are very religious, and very simple, like my community. It will make more sense to him if he thinks I’m one of them.

  “You must be doing one of those…what’re they called again…” he snaps his fingers. “Rumspringa.” He shakes his head and chuckles some more. “You’re out sowing your wild oats or whatever. Trying to figure out if you want to be Amish or live in the modern world. I saw a documentary once,” he explains earnestly.