Ready To Run // h.s

thirty four

Mia Roden Miles

  To this day, I still do not remember the exact moment when I realized what I needed to do. Maybe it was because of the endless hours that I had spent locked away in my bedroom watching television reruns, maybe it was the endless torment and abuse that I received from Matthew and my father. Maybe it was seeing Harry on gossip shows that made me realize that he would not be coming to my rescue.

  And so, I decided that I would have to rescue myself. 

  In my mind I always imaged myself to be a perfect damsel in distress. There was always something attractive to me about having the handsome boy swoop in and save the troubled princess from her miseries. But, after months and months of waiting in my tower for his arrival, I began to realize that I was not in a fairy tale. I needed to help myself from this situation before it got too out of hand.

  Every day was spent in a routine:

  First, Matthew would leave for work. I would wear my robe and give him a peck on the cheek, then watch his car roll out of the driveway as I silently prayed to myself that he would crash on the way to work. 

  Second, I would make myself a cup of tea. Rosita, one of the maids who worked primarily in the kitchen, would strike up a conversation with me. She was a short, slightly heavier woman from Guatemala who had a knack for cooking and always wore her hair back with a brightly colored scrunchie. She was one of the only people in this house that didn't drive me absolutely crazy. I also believed that she could see right through the fake marriage that my father had put in place. One day, she even blurted out to me something that I had never imagined she would.

  "I see what is going on," Rosita said. "I'm not stupid, and the other staff members can see it as well. Would you like me to help you?"

  And thus, the birth of my escape plan. Since Rosita worked in the house, she had a key that could access every room. She also had a key to the monitor room, where there were about fifty cameras watching the house from every angle. Almost right after my husband left for work, Rosita would shut off the cameras and hand me the key that lead to Matthew's office. 

  "I cannot help you any more than this," Rosita sighed on the first day. "This is all I can offer. If I'm caught helping you, I will be fired.

  "I understand," I said appreciatively. "I think I will be able to do this on my own from here, thank you."

  And so, for about an hour each day, I would sit in Matthew's office and collect as much negative information that I could about himself and my family. There were documents upon documents concerning the forced marriage, including the one document that held by far the most importance; the paper that Matthew, my father, and I signed stating that we would not share any information of the forced marriage to anyone. If I were to successfully expose them to the world, this was a key piece of information that I would need.

  Whenever I was finished for the day, I would wipe the computer history that I had used that morning and wipe the memory of the printer. If I had used any excessive amounts of ink that day, I would refill the ink cartridge so Matthew wouldn't be suspicious. One day, I had a smudge of ink on my hands and Matthew noticed when he had returned home. I swiftly told him that I had smudged mascara on my hand. I was prepared for anything.