Harsh reality

The moment the door closed after Mr. Long, Emma rushed over to it, made sure it was locked, and peeked through the peep hole to see if he was really gone. The corridor was deserted. Emma pressed her back against the door and sighed in relief as she slid down onto the floor.

If not for her throbbing, swollen lips, Emma might have thought that it had all happened in her head. After all, she had been imagining weird things lately. But unfortunately, it had been no figment of her imagination this time. It was just the harsh, dreadful, nightmareish reality that she found herself living in.

She remained sitting by the door for several minutes, just staring blankly ahead. Her brain felt sluggish. Yesterday she had broken down, shaking and crying. Now she just felt numb.

For the hundredth time she asked herself how this all had happened. Where had she gone wrong? What should she have done differently? Maybe it was simply inevitable. Perhaps it was her fate to become the object of Mr. Long's obsessions. In the end it didn't really matter. She was in this situation, and she must find a way once and for all to get out of this mess.

One thing she knew for sure. Whether it was fate or coincidence, she would not take this lying down. She would fight until fate, or whatever, left her the hell alone.

Emma felt herself being filled with an icy resolve. She would not stay here on this cold floor until morning came and she was dragged off by Mr. Long. But she could no longer stay in this apartment. Somehow, even though she had never given her address to anyone at the club, Mr. Long knew where she lived.

She paused for a moment, thinking that fact over. Ever since leaving her family, Emma had been taking precautions to keep most of her private information hidden. She had done it, because she was worried her father might try and find her, and meddle in her life again. But it should have also made it difficult for Mr. Long to find out there she lived. So how had he? Although she suspected that he had some connections to organised crime, he was after all just the owner of a night club, how could he have tracked down her address?

Suddenly, the realisation hit her. Hadn't she felt like she was being followed recently? She had brushed it off as paranoia resulting from her being stressed and exhausted, but what if there really had been someone following her? And then she remembered those men that acted so strangely at the village market when they saw her. They had probably been watching her.

Emma felt a chill run down her spine. That had been just the day after he had made is 'offer'. Mr. Long might have had people watching her for weeks! She supposed that it wasn't really surprising, considering everything else Mr. Long seemed capable of. But it was still incredibly unnerving to realise she had been followed for weeks without knowing it. That also made her next step more difficult. She knew that she couldn't stay here. She must leave. But where could she go?

Her first thought was to go to Auntie Sun's. But supposing that Mr. Long was having her followed, that might put Auntie Sun in danger. She suspected that the men at the village market that day worked for him, but even if they knew exactly who she had visited, they probably only knew about that one visit. If she went there again, Mr. Long might learn what Auntie Sun, really meant to her, and that would give him leverage over her. So going to Auntie Sun was out of the question.

The realisation that she couldn't seek comfort and reassurance from the one person she truly trusted and loved in this world was incredibly exasperating. She just wanted to run into Auntie Sun's comforting embrace and cry her worries away. She wanted to be held and comforted. But Emma couldn't risk that.

Since going to Auntie Sun was out of the question, that meant that there was only one thing left for Emma to do. As much as she dreaded doing it, she had to pull out her trump card.

Filled with purpose, she pulled herself to her feet. Her eyes were ablaze with determination. Within ten minutes she had gather all her most important possessions, and packed them all, together with a change of clothes, in a backpack. She changed into her most durable clothing, a pair of black jeans, a military green shirt and sturdy leather boots. She tied her hair up in a ponytail and put on a black cap. Finally, she slipped on a dark grey oilskin jacket. Slinging the backpack onto her back and securing the straps, she threw one last look over her shoulder at her apartment. Then she opened the door and left, unsure when and under what circumstances she would be able return.