TOO LATE TO RUN

~~LENA~~

“He’s coming today,” my stepmother said.

I froze in the middle of the hallway, still wearing yesterday’s clothes. “What?”

“Yes, Lena, you heard me right. He’s coming today.” She turned me toward my bedroom door. “So go get dressed. Something tight. Show your curves. Make sure he likes what he sees.”

I spun back to face her. “Why do I need to look good for… him?”

She rolled her eyes, already walking away. "Don't you want him to like you? We only get one chance to make a good impression, Lena. Don’t ruin this for us.”

My chest thudded painfully as I shut the bedroom door behind me and leaned against it, trying to breathe. This couldn’t be happening. Last night I’d overheard my father quietly agreeing to something, a deal, a marriage, whatever it was but I never thought it would move this fast. Today? Now?

I searched through my drawers, tossing clothes onto the bed—everything I could grab quickly.

Then a screech of tires made my stomach drop.

He’s already here? What is this, a surprise party?

There was no time. I grabbed the cash I had hidden, my phone, and shoved whatever I could grab into my pockets.

Then I jumped out the window. Yeah, I did—and immediately realized that was a terrible idea.

Pain shot through my ankle as I hit the ground. 

Oh, brilliant, Lena. This was really smart.

But stopping wasn't an option.

—

A taxi slowed as I waved it down. 

“Where to?” the driver asked, eyeing me through the mirror.

I hesitated, then said, “The train station.”

He nodded. I climbed into the backseat, clutching the little money I had like it could disappear if I blinked.

The ride felt endless and too short at the same time. My mind replayed my father’s quiet “Yes” from last night on an endless loop. Every red light made me flinch. Every car that passed too closely made me sink lower into the seat.

When we finally pulled up, the station buzzed with people moving in every direction.

“Here,” the driver said.

I paid him with trembling fingers and slipped into the crowd, keeping my head down and limping as fast as I could without drawing attention.

Crowds were good. Harder to be found.

I kept one hand pressed against my pocket. Just a ticket. Get a ticket and leave.

A man brushed past me. “Sorry,” he muttered without slowing.

I barely noticed. People kept bumping into me, rushing, living their lives like mine wasn’t falling apart.

By the time I reached the ticket counter, my hands were shaking.

“I need one ticket—” I started, reaching into my pocket.

My words died in my throat.

Empty.

No. 

No, no, no.

I checked again, patting every pocket frantically.

Nothing.

The man who had bumped into me.

I stepped forward anyway. “I… I need one ticket.”

The woman behind the counter barely looked up. When she did, her eyes flicked over my messy hair, my limp, the panic I couldn’t hide.

“No money, no ticket,” she said flatly.

“I… I had it, it was just—”

“Then go find it.” She turned away. “This isn’t charity.”

Heat rushed to my face. “I’m sorry,” I whispered.

I stepped away from the counter, chest tight.

How was I supposed to run when I didn’t even have money?

The thought hit hard. Maybe… maybe I should go back. It was already night. If I moved fast, I could sneak in, grab something, leave before anyone noticed…

No. Going back meant walking straight into his hands.

I stepped out of the station into the cool night air. My ankle throbbed as I turned into a dim side street, looking for somewhere—anywhere—to hide until morning.

A low whistle cut through the silence.

“Hey… pretty.”

My body locked up.

Two men leaned against the graffiti-covered wall, their eyes crawling over me. The streetlight above them flickered weakly, casting harsh shadows across their faces.

I took a small step back trying to make myself look invisible.

“Ohhh, she didn’t reply,” one chuckled.

“I said hey, pretty,” the second one repeated, stepping closer. The hunger in his gaze sent ice down my spine.

“Uhmm…” My voice barely came out.

“Relax,” he drawled, reaching out. “We won’t hurt you.”

His hand shot out and grabbed my wrist.

I flinched hard. “Let go—”

The other man moved in, close enough that I could smell alcohol and cigarette smoke. “Just a little fun. The three of us. You’ll like it.”

“Let go of me,” I said, voice shaking.

He laughed low. “Why so tense, baby? We’ll be gentle.”

My heart pounded. Move, Lena. Fucking move.

But my legs felt glued to the dirty pavement. Memories of my stepmother’s words flashed through my mind — “show your curves,” “make sure he likes what he sees.” Was this what my life was going to be? Passed from one set of hands to another?

Before I could force my legs to work, a deafening gunshot cracked through the night.

One of the men dropped instantly, a dark hole blooming in the center of his forehead.