Free Fall

Chapter 18

*A/N: This is the last tiny little chapter of the book y'all :'(

Thank g there's a sequel that I've already started working on ;)

***

I stand in the mirror, an hour before Orlando plans to take me to the airport, and regard myself with nothing short of disgust.

My throat looks better, but it's still visibly bruised in several spots. The cut on my hand is healed enough not to have the bandage, but the scar isn't easy to hide. My eyes look bloodshot, the skin around them is puffy and red, and I'm pale as a ghost.

But nothing that some heavy makeup won't fix.

The security staff at the airport are going to take one look at me and assume I'm fleeing an abusive relationship.

Would that assumption really be so far from the truth?

To make matters a touch worse, Orlando told me it'd be a good idea to change my look a bit for the new IDs, so we lobbed off several inches of my hair and box-dyed it strawberry blonde. It's not terrible, but it's clearly a DIY job.

The door to the bathroom swings open as I'm finishing applying concealer around my eyes.

"Ready?"

I take a deep breath and check my handiwork in the mirror. I look almost normal. The bruises on my neck are mostly covered and my eyes looks much better. 

At the very least, it's hidden well enough not to get my stopped in airport security.

None of the other men posted outside my door or en route to the parkade say anything—or look even mildly interested in us—as we make our way down. I get the hunch that Orlando is a lot more powerful in this mafia than he lets on with me.

The drive to the airport feels morbid. In a weird kind of way, it feels like we're on our way to a funeral of sorts.

When we park in the airport lot, Orlando hands me several pieces of paper with names, addresses and phone numbers on them. They're all connections, he explains. One of them has an apartment for me to rent for a couple of months, at which point I've been instructed to move to another city.

"You have to keep moving, at least for a year. Before you leave," he points at one of the pieces of paper, "contact this number. He'll get you new papers and IDs that you can use to book your tickets, get a job, and a new apartment."

He gestures to my packed bag in the back seat, "You've got plenty of cash in there, but you'll need to find a job that'll pay you in cash for the first few months."

I stand dumbly just inside the airport, rehearsing everything he's told me in my head, as I clutch my carry-on duffle of belongings in front of me and stare at the short security line.

"This is harder than I thought it was going to be," I tell Orlando.

He puts a hand on my shoulder and squeezes. "It's a good thing you're stronger than you think you are."

He turns me to face him and pulls me suddenly into a suffocating hug.

"There's a small part of me that hopes I won't see you again," Orlando says softly into my freshly dyed hair. "Stay alive."

I squeeze Orlando a little tighter before letting go.

"You too."