After wrapping a towel around my head and another around my body, I caught my clouded reflection in the steam coated mirror. I wiped the fog away and blinked harshly at the person staring back at me. I thought the deep chestnut brown hair dye would be enough of a disguise, but now I worried it wasn’t. I still looked too much like me.
I twisted my hair up to visualize what I’d look like with a shorter style. I frowned and tried to decide if a short bob would give me more protection. Impulsively, I ran to the kitchen and grabbed a pair of scissors. When I returned to the bathroom, I separated my hair into four sections and began to cut.
Ten minutes later, I stared down at the long locks piled on the bathroom floor. Slowly, I brought my gaze back up to the mirror. The woman who stared back looked nothing like me. It almost hurt. I realized then, I might never see the old me again. The blonde was now gone, replaced by a dark brown that made my brows seem sharper. My eyes were hollow, my face sunken. With the short haircut, no one would ever recognize me without a double-take. It was unlikely I’d be spotted on a CCTV or street cam, either. Knowing Ethan and the lengths he would go to, there was no such thing as being too careful. I was a nobody hiding in disguise, no longer recognizing myself, but that was the goal. This was my life now, no matter how depressing it might sound.
I may look different but the change started well before the purchase of a box of cheap hair dye. It had been a gradual change—little pieces of myself slowly getting lost every day I’d spent with Ethan. The denial had won before I could think to stop it. I had learned a hard lesson and vowed to never lose myself that way again. My years with him had made me stronger, harder, and more resilient—but I was still very much afraid.
After I threw on a t-shirt and jeans, my stomach began to grumble. I went into the kitchen to fix myself lunch, but it was slim pickings. I knew I needed to get more groceries, but the thought of leaving the safety of these walls terrified me—hence the reason for the cut and dye. I hoped the changes would make me feel more comfortable venturing out.
Deciding on canned tomato soup, I poured it into a pot and set it on the gas stove. The old grandfather clock in the living room chimed noon as I waited for the soup to heat. I smiled to myself and looked around the sparsely furnished apartment. The well-worn plaid couch, faded curtains, and coffee-ring-stained end tables left much to be desired but I was thankful for a place to call home. It was the best I could do on short notice. I wouldn’t have been able to do it at all if it weren’t for the fat envelope of cash Teddy had given me the night I ran from the hotel. He had also arrived with a brand-new pair of Nike sneakers and a large duffle bag of clothes. Most were hand-me-downs from his ex-wife, but some still had the tags on them. Anything was better than nothing, and I’d forever be grateful to him.
On the night I made my escape, my old boss had come through for me in ways I never could have imagined. Once I’d stopped shaking enough to clean myself up in the bathroom of the run-down gas station, Teddy had driven me to the bus station and told me to pick a place. I had decided to scrap Cleveland. It was too close to Cincinnati and the city wasn’t big enough. I needed some place I could truly hide. I picked New York City for no other reason than its vast size. The dense population would better allow me to blend in. Plus, I was banking on the fact Ethan knew I hated city living and probably wouldn’t think to look for me here. It gave me a better sense of security.
Luckily for me, Teddy was able to hook me up with more than just cash and clothes. He also happened to have an old friend in New York and was able to get me an apartment relatively quick. My new landlord, Oscar Tomasz, used to be a poker buddy of Teddy’s. They hadn’t spoken in years, but Teddy said I could trust him. That was all I needed to hear.
Cash payment of the first and last month’s rent was all Oscar required. The fully furnished apartment was on the ground floor, an added bonus I hadn’t counted on. Not only did it eliminate the burden of getting furniture, but first-floor living meant I had more options in case I had to escape quickly. One could never have too many windows.
The building itself was sandwiched between a fitness center and a nightclub. I liked that people were always coming and going. It meant I wasn’t isolated like I had been at the house in Indian Hill and someone would most likely hear me if I ever had to cry for help. The only downfall to the location was the pulsing bass from the nightclub late into the night on Fridays and Saturdays—something I discovered on my second night here. However, beggars couldn’t afford to be choosers. I’d get used to it, eventually.
I was glad Oscar didn’t ask questions about the bruise on my left cheek or the fingerprint marks on my neck. He also didn’t ask why my ID didn’t match the name I wrote on the rental application. During the bus ride to New York, I made the decision to combine a shortened version of my maiden name with my mother’s maiden name. I was no longer Gianna Valentini Walker. From this point forward, all who met me would know me as Val Bonetti.
As I blew on a spoonful of soup to cool it down, I recalled the conversation with Oscar after the rental agreement was signed.
“I’m happy to have you here, Val,” he’d said earnestly. “Teddy said you’re going through a rough time but he didn’t say exactly what was going on. No need to tell me—it’s not my business to know—but I want to assure you, my apartment is right down the hall if you need anything. I’m number seven.”
Oscar, with his kind eyes and hair just beginning to gray at the temples, seemed nice enough. His words had given me comfort but not enough to calm my frayed nerves. That would take time. Still, I couldn’t begin to do that by staying holed up in the apartment all day. I had to stay productive or risk shutting down for good.
I rinsed my bowl and placed it in the tiny dishwasher that always made a loud, angry groan when running. Then I wiped down the counters with the lemon scented anti-bacterial spray the previous tenant had left behind. When I began to scrub a few spilled droplets of soup from the stovetop, I froze as a sudden realization washed over me.
I didn’t have to clean. I could leave the mess for days if I wanted to—whole days.
I wouldn’t, of course, but the simple fact was, I had options now. I no longer had someone looking over my shoulder, judging whether I had missed a speck of dust on the mantel or a crumb on the floor. And I had nobody to yell at me about leaving the damn toothpaste out on the counter.
I smiled to myself as I abandoned the sponge and went in search of my sneakers. I would clean up the stove and counters later—when I was good and ready. Feeling more confident about my venture out, I laced up my shoes and headed for the door.
12
Val (Gianna)
No one looked your way in New York City—even if you were doing something crazy. They just kept their heads down and kept walking. Knowing people didn’t stare too long, or not at all, helped reduce my paranoia. The small grocery store was conveniently located only a block away. I knew I had to figure out the subway system, so I could venture out farther, but today was not that day. For now, it was all about taking baby steps. Once I was more comfortable out in public, I’d think about doing more.
As I walked down the aisles, perusing the organic cheeses and free-range poultry, I forced myself to feel normal. I wanted to feel like I belonged here—to embrace the trendy foods and eclectic styles. Unfortunately, all those things were well outside my budget. The ninety-nine-cent box of spaghetti and a generic jar of tomato sauce would have to do.