Ashanti

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Ashanti

Fear.

Intense fear.

My hands are shaking, and my breath is coming in sharp pants as I struggle to run. My lungs are begging for air, but now doesn't seem like the time to stop. I can't die. I won't die. Not now. Not until he's dead. Not until I see him struggling to breathe a word, not until his blood decorates wherever I find him. This shouldn't be the thought of a 10-year-old, but that's mine.

The thudding of heavy footsteps following me makes it even worse to think that these men want me dead. Not them, though. The man they work for Roman Domino. The man that I'm going to kill The man whose name I'll forever remember, even when I'm six feet under

Running up ahead, I see a small hole that I know I can use to hide long enough if I can just fit through. I scan my environment and quickly throw my bag the opposite way, ducking into the hole to save my life. The sound of footsteps and voices gets louder as they reach my hiding place. Black Wolverine boots come into my vision, followed by several others.

"I'm sure she went this way," comes a deep voice that I'm sure belongs to Rick, the leader of the men. "Scan the environment and get her alive; she couldn't have gotten far."

"I can't believe you allowed her to escape, Rafael," says another, followed by a crashing sound, an OOP," and strings of curses. I can't even tell what's happening right now. I want to look, but I won't. I'm sweating, and I feel like if I breathe loudly, they'll capture me. I'm folding myself so tight I could turn it into a sheet.

"How was I supposed to know she was hiding a knife with her?" comes another voice, followed by another crash. "In case you've forgotten, she fucking stabbed me." I did; it was either him or me, so you know what the choice was. I will fold even more if that's possible. The sound of footsteps receding makes me release the breath I didn't even know I was holding.

The place has been dead silent for close to thirty minutes. The full weight of being an orphan falls on my shoulders. The loudest sob broke through me before I could even comprehend it. My entire body is shaking. I'm an orphan. I'm being chased. My body trembles as the memories of my parents' passing flash before my eyes, all in less than fifteen hours of celebration. I wish there was no party. I wish I had asked them to take me out instead.

After an hour of being sorrowful and miserable, I pick myself up, wipe the tears, and swear to never be weak. He can't survive. He won't. Even if it's the last thing I do. Roman Domino will pay. My eyes harden, and so does my heart. He's responsible for this. He's behind this.

I chant the mantra "He's responsible for this" over and over until it's stuck in my brain. He won't escape; there will be no mercy for him. But first, I have to escape. After thoroughly checking my surroundings, I make a run for it, heading for the subway. I'm running.

The subway is a little crowded, and I've never been here before. The little things remind me that I'm not who I used to be and that I can't ever be that girl again. This place seems alive with the chattering of people walking and sitting by. The sounds of their feet The tapping of their hands. Their laughter. I'm probably the odd one out.

I feel the stares of their eyes through every fibre of my skin. But it's okay. If I were them, I would look too. Who wouldn't? A kid walking alone with muddy shoes and dirty socks Blood on her dress. I'm pretty sure my black hair is sticking out everywhere, and my hazel eyes must look bloodshot with bags under them, but that's okay.

Soon their stares turn into whispering, and when I can't take it anymore, I break into a run, heading for the trains. I don't care where that train is going, but I'm getting on it. And I did get on the train.

I heard a couple say it was heading for New York. New York, a city that never sleeps Who would've thought that I would be on a train at this age, going to New York alone? Not me. My parents were overprotective. Were. To even think that about my parents is bizarre. I would never wish this upon anyone. Losing both parents, I mean.

I'm so lost in my thoughts that I didn't see him until he said, "You shouldn't come to places like this." His eyes roamed over my figure for a second. Then, "especially if you're on the run."

I shrink further away from him, which isn't even far considering I chose to sit at the very last seat on this train, away from prying eyes.

"I won't hurt you, Bella." He lifts his fingers to touch me, and I flinch, closing my eyes tight, waiting. "But it doesn't mean they can't. You have to run." He whispers while his eyes scan our surroundings.

My eyes widen, taking in the man standing before me. Did I hear him correctly? I could run, and he wouldn't hurt me.

"Wha... why are you helping me?" I manage to croak out, Lawd. My voice sounds scratchy, like I haven't used it in years.

"I don't know," he shrugs, and he sits beside me so casually, like we're best friends. "But it doesn't feel right to kill you for something you didn't do." The way he says it so easily, like we're discussing global warming,

"What's in it for you?" I'm even surprised my voice sounded confident despite how broken I am inside. Surely he wouldn't help me escape just because he wanted to. There has to be something he wants. But his response surprised me, to say the least.

"Nothing. There's nothing you can give me." His eyes roamed the train, then fell back on me. "I could've killed you earlier, but I didn't."

Before I can get a word out, he continues, "Run far away; take this." It was only then that I noticed he had a similar bag to what I was carrying when I ran out of my house. "There's enough money to sustain you for a while, and there are other materials in here; change your clothes. Get off this train and jump on another. Don't ever return, and if I were you, I would change my name while I'm at it."

I don't blink for another second, and then another. He was commanding me, and I let his words soak me. His eyes roam me from my head to my toes, lingering on my face long before he gets up and leaves without a backward glance.

I watch him walk away until he's out of my vision. I drag my feet to look for the bathroom and lock myself in one of the stalls. I quickly open the bag and see there are different clothes and bills of money that look way more plentiful than I've ever been allowed to hold.

This is it. I don't understand why he helped me, but I'm grateful. He said to change my name, so I will. But for now, I have to get out of here. I change into fresh shirts and pants and tuck my head into the cap in the bag. Looking through the bag, I see a note: "Call this number when you need help."

Below are a number of different addresses. For what? I don't know, but now's not the time to figure it out. Looking in the mirror, I don't look like the 10-year-old girl who left her house this morning. That's good. I look different. Different is good. Different is what I need right now.

Leaving the bathroom with a solemn promise to myself, I hop on a different train and pray that whatever the future has for me will be good. After sitting, an older woman is scolding her daughter, whom she calls "Ashanti." Ashanti. I love it. Ashanti Dunbar. Perfect.