Like hell I was dying in this pathetic place when I had love and happiness on the other side of the highway.
The window opposite the bed faced the barn, where I could see a few men shooting beer bottles in the dark, laughing uproariously when they didn’t connect and taking gulping draughts of beer when they did. It was obviously some kind of drinking game that would leave them senseless, but there was no way I could leave that way when they had guns in their hands.
The window beside the bed was painted shut, but it overlooked the back of the lot and just below it was the covered porch where I could hopefully land when I dropped from the sill.
I just had to get the window open.
Thank God for my backup nail drill.
I dropped to the ground by the bed to fish out my backup cosmetology kit, fingers shaking with adrenaline as I wrenched it open and found my spare nail drill. Relieved tears flooded my vision for a second, but I wasn’t even sure if it would work to grind away the paint.
The tool buzzed as I kneeled in the bed and brought it to the windowsill so I kept an ear trained to the door when I brought it down on the paint and it started to peel away from the old, soft wood.
No one stirred outside the door.
So I continued, fingers cramping as I moved the drill around the seam of the window, once and then twice to work the paint and grit free. I sent up a grateful prayer that it was my left hand with the broken fingers and not my dominant right hand.
“Please, God or whomever, let this work,” I begged as I curled my right hand fingers under the hinge and pulled with all my might, standing up in the bed to leverage everything I could.
Nothing for one painful moment and then a sharp crack and groan as it pulled away from the sill and slid up inside the frame.
I paused, breathing hard, listening for Macho.
Only the sound of music drifted in under the door.
With a huff to blow my hair out of my sweaty face, I heaved once more until there was enough of a crack to press myself through. It broke my heart to leave my mother’s ring after Aaron found it again, but nothing was worth more than my life. So without hesitation, I kissed my nail drill and left everything behind, slipping awkwardly out the window to perch with my ass on the sill.
It was still a decent drop to the veranda roof, and I knew the landing would make some noise, so I waited anxiously until the sound of shots and shattering bottles rang out again to push myself off the window.
And drop.
My landing was graceless, knees banging into the flat roof, hand skidding as I tried to catch myself, burning the skin off my palm. Even in the sling, my left hand throbbed at the jarring impact.
I froze, straining to hear if anyone would come to investigate.
The creak of the screen door opening and two sets of boots moving outside onto the porch below me.
“You hear that?”
“You know this place is a dump, probably just settling. It’s humid as fuck so the wood’s probably swollen.”
“Like you know anything about construction.”
“More than you.”
“Get fucked!”
Their voices drifted back inside, but I waited for a few long moments before scooting to the edge of the roof and peering over. It was another fair drop straight to packed earth, but there was nothing for it.
I waited for another round of the shooting game when suddenly there was a whooshing noise and the sound of shattering glass from theotherside of the house and a heavy thump from within followed by shouting.
The waiting game was no longer an option.
I dropped to the ground with a tiny squeak of fear and landed hard on my right side, but the blast of pain was dull and didn’t stop me from getting quickly to my feet.
Another gunshot, so much louder than the ones by the barn, thundering through the air so it seemed to echo across the fields.
More cries.
