The One Chance

I arrived in Miami on Sunday afternoon exhausted to my soul. But I kept moving. I caught a cab to an inexpensive hotel which trained workers.

I took a room, acting calm and polite. When alone, I fell on the bed and slept until early Monday morning.

I awoke, fully dressed, and lay like a corpse. I forced myself up, to shower, sponge my clothes. I made a cup of coffee, slowly drank it. I concentrated on getting myself together.

Once functional I went out to find a job, any job, in walking distance of the hotel.

I had been lucky escaping, lucky getting to this hotel. Now, will I be lucky getting a job?

I hadn't planned on using the fake name of Diana Lopez, it just kind of happened. It was a good choice. There was no link between me and that name and further, I had no papers. It wasn't a problem in Miami where a lot of people had no papers.

I seemed one of a group of illegal aliens. That was a perfect 'cover'.

At the end of my first day at work, I returned to the hotel and moved from my single room at the hotel to another with a kitchenette.

I was not ready to call this cell 'home' but it would do for now. It would do until the time I knew who and where I was. Until then, the word 'home' was not to be used.

Later that evening, I sat by the window, looking out, looking in.

I assume after the first few days of absence my husband might have gone to the police, although I wasn't all that sure about that. Did he realise I ran away? Did he think I was kidnapped?

Knowing him, to ask for 'help' from the Police would be admitting he'd lost. And he would never do that. He would search for me, perhaps thinking I was with some friend he had chased early in our relationship.

Oh Yes! He had been so successful at chasing my friends away.

I considered if I had left any 'clues'.

I had never mentioned Miami to him. It had never come up. I'd never told him that I'd been to this city before. Perhaps I was safe. Yes. As long as I didn't contact anyone.

I wanted to contact someone, anyone, as I felt so isolated, so incredibly alone. But I controlled myself.

Contacting anyone might be contacting him.

As I sat there, my heart was pounding as my eyes began moving around the room.

Window, fridge, ledge, microwave, bed, bathroom, table, chair, ledge, window, around and around, as my heart pounded.

I could barely breath as thoughts jumbled through my mind. My husband loved me, no man would ever love me as he had. I shouldn't have left him...

No. I had to.

No, I didn't.

I left my home, no, not my home, it was not my home. It was his home...window, fridge, ledge, microwave, bed, bathroom, table, chair, ledge, window...

I couldn't breath. I had to get out...I ran to the door, opened it into an empty corridor, and didn't want to dare it. I shut the door.

It was not yet eight p.m. and I felt I'd been up for fourteen hours and couldn't see how I'd get through the next hour.

As I stood there I realised; this is madness, this is how it happens. I can't let it happen to me.

I put on my shoes, took the key, went out. I left the hotel and went onto the street, walking, walking, as if I was a tourist.

Hungry, I stopped at a diner, trying to concentrate on the food. I don't know what I ate, I was so lost.

I left the diner, back to the road.

There must be something to anchor me here.
Something.

I can't do this.
I have to do this.
I can do this.
I will do this.

I will go to work tomorrow. I will be Diana Lopez. I will get through one more week. I will get through today. I will live today.

Over and again telling myself; "I Can Do This"