Father? I couldn't stand seeing him with that devil-soon-to-be-my-husband. The Accardi's were selfish, evil and made everyone around them feel like worthless slaves whom they might control in their fucked up way. And sadly I was forced to marry one...
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Hours passed since my encounter with Camilo. I'm trashing in my bed, unable to fall asleep because my thoughts keep drifting to the scene where Camilo asks for my hand.
I have plenty of options: continuing to try falling asleep or pack my things and take our private plane and fly to another country.
I pick the second option and hurriedly get up as I make my way into my big clothset and grab a big suitcase. I fold open the case and load some thick sweaters if the weather is cold, underwear, leggings, and a few tops.
I shut the suitcase and slip on my everyday thick heels, lifting the heavy case in my arms, and run to the main door.
I carefully manhandle the handle and look right then left for any guards but I see none. I clutch random car keys from the key holder and click on the button and the car makes a thumping noise.
I unlock the trunk and softly place the suitcase in the empty space, then I climb in the driver seat and start the car as I drive twenty minutes to my destination.
Inside the plane, I settle comfortably in my seat and start the plane. I didn't learn to be able to pilot for nothing. The plane navigates forward at an unspeakable speed and airs off the ground and into the sky.
I type in the country on the GPs and look ahead. The sun begins to rise as I near Mexico. Beautiful shades of orange and pink are displayed in front of me.
While I admire the view in front of me, I can't help the thought of Camilo finding me. The furious look in his eyes as he forces me back and marries me. I shook the terrifying thought off and focused forward.
I glance at my GPS which is telling me that I'm at my destination and I slowly low down, until I feel the cement against the wheels.
I park the plane in our personal parking spot and opened the door, the staircase automatically spread apart, and I leisurely go down.
Helpers start walking around my plane, handing me my suitcase.
"Gracias," (thank you) I say and walk to the black rented Maserati--sliding inside I drive off to the nearest motel.
The motel is not fancy, but it's ok at the moment because he won't find me here. I lock the car with the button under it and undo the door open. I throw the suitcase on the king-size bed and lock the door.
It all happened too quickly and all I could do was scream.
In a rapid move, my cheek was pressed into the wall next to the door and my arms were bent painfully behind my back. The person's grip was solid on my wrists.
Air escapes from my mouth--I'm too frightened to move.
I feel the person dip their head and graze the outline of my ear as the warmth of their breath tickles the inside of my ear.
