I have to keep running! I can’t stop now, even though it hurts. If ever John catches me, I think he’ll murder me. My name is Libby. Right now I’m in a motel somewhere in the countryside in a rundown old town. I can’t tell you exactly where, or he’ll find me. I’ve been running for two weeks now.
I pack my belongings – such stark reminders of home. Oh, how I miss my little sister Jemma. She gave me the flowered shirt I’m wearing. Every photo of the family stirs up a new memory. I’m almost in tears when the phone rings.
“Hello?” I say hesitantly, nervous about what is coming.
“Ma’am, you requested to be notified as soon as someone asked about you. There was a young man, of about seventeen, asking after you. As requested we said that we had no knowledge of such a guest.” The receptionist says.
John. He’s here!
How did he find me?
“Thanks, I’ll wire the payment as soon as I can.” I say as I slam down the phone.
I grab my backpack, my body slick with nervous sweat. I make it into the reception area and let my black bob cut and long fringe disguise me (he knew me with lang brown and wavy hair.). I’m almost out when I hear his voice behind me.
I quicken my pace.
This time the voice is more urgent.
As soon as I get outside, I hop onto the nearest motorcycle I see. My dad – being a “used car dealer” – taught me how to hotwire a bike in five seconds. My heart soars as the engine roars. Soon I’m out of town and on the highway, tears streaming down my face.
I have evaded him
It has now been four weeks, almost a month. I missed my sister’s birthday, but I sent her a postcard. I wish this would just end. Sixteen ‘an on the run ain’t exactly what I call fun. I’m in a coffee shop in the city. My hair is auburn now. I dyed it after he saw me at the motel. I have extensions to and new contact lenses. My eyes are now a smoky grey. I sip slowly on my coffee as I watch the cars ride by. On my plate is a delicious slice of cheese cake. We were always so the same, John and I. we both loved dancing in the rain and reading fantasies. And we would both kill for a slice of milk tart. Until that fateful day when it all changed.
A tinkling bell brings me back to the present. I look around. John just entered the coffee shop. How did he find me again?
I stand up to leave, but he grabs my wrist.
“Not this time, Libby.”
He pulls me over to his car and shoves me in the back seat. He’s finally caught me.
He’s brought me to a hotel. I’m sitting on a bed, while he’s pacing around.
“Why did you run away Libby?” he asks, his anger barely in check.
I can feel my own fear rising.
“Because you wanted to kill me.” I reply.
He turns around, fire shooting from his dangerous green eyes.
“What was I supposed to do Libby? You cheated on me!”
The reminder of what I had done hit me again, like a blow to the stomach.
“So Libby. How was he?” he says maliciously.
Something inside me snaps. I won’t take this.
“You know what? He was way better than you could ever be. With his soft and sensitive centre, his delightful cream so readily given and his hard, firm, chiselled but delicious outside. You could never be that!” I yelled.
“So it’s true.” He says as he sits down.
Despair and defeat manifest on his shocked face.
“Yes John. I was tired of milk tart. So I had an affair with a millionaire. And it was all so worth it! All for… for…
That sweet, brief moment…”
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