I made it.
I cough, my lungs panting for oxygen that isn’t tainted with salty ocean water.
My arms and legs ache and my stomach wretches, needing food.
I smile.
I’m alive.
I lay on the shore on the edge of the water, the waves still hitting me with each push of the tide, covered in sand and saltwater.
The sun bakes me, warming my freezing core. I want to stay here lying on the beach, but I don’t want Enzo or the people he works for to find me alive.
I force myself up onto my legs. Then, I walk.
If I thought the swim was lengthy, the walk is even longer.
I wish nothing more than to call my father or Mason to come to get me and drive me home. But I don’t have a phone or any money. The little money I had must have been swept away with the waves.
I walk…
And walk.
And walk.
Each step is hurting more than the l
ast.
When my trailer finally comes into view, I stumble. Falling to my knees as tears pour from my eyes down my sand covered cheeks.
I’m alive but for how much longer?
I have no money to leave with, and right now, I don’t even have the strength to ride in a car, let alone walk or ride a bike out of town. I don’t even have the money for a bus fare. And if I don’t put food in my belly soon, I’ll end up sick.
Just a little further.
I’ll sleep in the trailer, hide away from all of this. I think there are some ramen noodles still in the pantry I can cook. And then tomorrow, I will find a way to leave.
I just can’t find the strength to stand up.
I feel cold hands wrap around my arms, dragging me to my feet.
“Who are you?” I try to say, but the words never leave my throat.
For a second, I can see the man’s face.
“Enzo?” I ask.
The man doesn’t answer.
And then I feel the coldness of his hand, the wretchedness in his eyes, and the rough, unbathed smell he oozes.
This man isn’t Enzo. Neither is the man to my left. They are both too cold to be Enzo.
I can’t walk, but it doesn’t seem to matter to them.
They drag me to a van.