Boiling worries

-They'll never catch me again.

Aoife muttered to herself as she approached the door of her small apartment Her heart raced, and her hands trembled as she fumbled for the keys. Before she dared to step inside, she scanned the dimly lit corridor, ensuring no prying eyes watched her. Just because she had experienced worse things that being stared at by strangers, it didn’t meant she had to endure it, not anymore.

Definitely not.

With a nervous glance over her shoulder, Aoife quickly opened the door. The first time, nobody was there. Still, she closed it, remaining outside, they could be hiding. She opened the door again. Nobody was there the second time. The door closed again, they could be waiting patiently to deceive her and show up once she let her guard down. The door was reopened. Nobody was there the third time.

It seemed safe for now.

Only then did she dart inside, locking the door behind her in a hurry. What if they were following her? In that case, one lock would not suffice. The other two locks were quickly closed, in such a speed that left her hand aching.

However, that may not be enough.

Aoife had to push a rickety chair against it for good measure. Sometimes, she had entertained the idea of adding a fourth lock to the door, but that idea would never be carried out. The chair will have to do. Three was the ideal, perfect, holy amount and whoever said otherwise was just a lunat…well, a different person with different views that were completely respectable, just not shared by her. Everyone had the right to own and practice their own beliefs, didn’t they? It wasn’t weird at all. Why people struggled so much to understand that?

In the dim light of her apartment, Aoife's eyes flitted about nervously. She made her way to the window, with a macramé tapestry that served as a makeshift screen from the outside world. She needed fresh air, not stares. Whoever decided to add clear glass to windows was likely an exhibitionist.

Aoife sighed, her breath visible in the chill of the room. She couldn't afford to be careless. Her life had become a series of cautious steps since that fateful night when she was finally able to escape. Maybe she wouldn’t have to worry so much about it f only she had managed to set that damn place it on fire…no, Jasmine was right. I wasn’t going to work. Maybe the fire killed the three of them before they could escape, maybe it wasn’t done the right way, maybe they managed to stop the fire, maybe she was outed as the perpetrator and sent to prison, maybe prison turned out to be even worse, maybe Jasmine and Mathilda were sent there too…out of all the possibilities, all of them seemed worse than the current situation.

Her attention turned to a pot of water on the stove. She had set it to boil hours ago, but now it was definitely cold, the lack of the silver steam being enough evidence. Panic welled up inside her. She quickly relit the burner and set the pot back on, her heart racing.

Cold and water should never be combined, not for drinking. Or for washing. Or for waking up. Or for bathing. Not for anything!!

While the water began to boil once more, Aoife finally settled herself at a small wooden table, took out a piece of paper, and dipped her quill into an inkwell. She began to write a letter to her long-neglected friend, Jasmine.

Dear Jasmine,

I trust this letter finds you in better circumstances than the last time we spoke. My apologies for not writing sooner; the circumstances aren’t the best for us to keep touch, I would change that if I could.

Life has not been easy, but I would take it over returning to that awful place any day. If you ever find yourself in a hard situation, I hope you don’t give up. Remember what Mathilda said, we made it, and many in our situation don’t. They never do.

Do I think life can get worse? Yes, it totally can. But I also believe that I can prevent it this time, with the possibility to protect myself this time. Back there, there was not much we could do besides being dragged around. Talking to you two was the one of the few things I was able to do for my own will, and I don’t regret it. Not only did you provided me with a friendship I wasn’t able to experience before, I also think I wouldn’t have gathered the courage to escape. Nor I could plan it, let alone carry it out. Most importantly, I wanted to do it because it meant that I could help to save the two of you. 

I sincerely wish you managed to be safe. And make amends with your parents, like you said you wanted. You’re more forgiving that I am. I have completely distanced myself from that awful woman I was obliged to call mother. I’m unable to forgive her decision and don’t think I ever will. If father was alive, he wouldn’t…no. If he was alive, he would never allow me to set a single foot on that place. Father never saw anything wrong with me, why did she? I thought that somebody who was able to love father would be different. Yet, she turned out to be like everybody else and saw me as a crazy creature she wanted to be away from.

But this isn’t about her. I’m more interested in knowing about you and Mathilda. Did you managed to contact her? She’s probably doing better than me anyway, she’s wealthy and educated enough to stay safe. She might be busy too, remember all the things she wanted to if we managed to escape? I never had the time to think about it, my mind was too worried about the escape to allow other thoughts.

After that, I could finally imagine a life of freedom. At first, I believed that having this room all to myself would bring me all the privacy we didn’t have and be more comfortable. I was wrong. They still haunt me in my nightmares. I had to get rid of anything white in my room, because in the dark, white always manages to look like them somehow. You may find it strange, but I keep a knife beneath my pillow, just in case I have to…

Aoife paused in her writing, the quill trembling in her hand. She was suddenly overwhelmed by the fear of the letter falling into the wrong hands. Could someone read it before Jasmine did? What if it never reached its intended destination? Or if her family saw it? After all, she was using Jasmine’s parents address, it didn’t necessarily meant that everything between was fixed. It had been almost a year since they parted ways.

Perhaps Jasmine wasn’t even living there currently, and the letter was delivered to someone else. Her mind raced with the dread of somebody discovering that Jasmine had associated with a marginal like her and subsequently revealing the place she used to be in. That could be enough information to ruin Jasmine’s reputation. Aoife’s own reputation was ruined beyond repair, always being the weird one whenever she went. But Jasmine did had a reputation to protect. Reputation that mattered so much to her parents. If she failed to live up to it again, it could easily grant her another stay in that place.

There was also the possibility of Jasmine having a nice life, in a safe situation, and the letter arriving without complications. Yet, it was impossible to know for sure. Why risk it?

The pot of water on the stove whistled loudly, snapping Aoife from her paranoid reverie. She let out a shuddering breath, feeling the steam engulf the room. Strangely, the sensation relaxed her.

With a deep sigh, Aoife crumpled the letter and muttered to herself:

-I’m sorry Jasmine. I can't let them catch me, or any of us.

She turned off the stove and carefully carried the pot of boiling water to the table. In her haste, she accidentally spilled a few scalding drops onto her hand. She winced in pain, but at least, it wasn't cold water. Now, that would be awful.

As she gazed at the spilled drops of water, her thoughts darkened. No matter how many locks she fastened or how much she changed the water’s temperature, she could never be completely safe.

With that realization, Aoife discarded the letter entirely. Her life had enough unfortunate events on it already, and trust was a luxury she couldn't afford. The past was the past, and she could never truly erase it. But she could keep moving forward, ever watchful, ever vigilant, and determined not to be caught again.