Escape

It was June 29, 2009. I had just turned 18 2 weeks before and I was ready. Crammed in the tiny corner bathroom in the south of baghdad surrounded by sand, from the sandstorm that had occurred 2 nights before. I wasn't going to clean it up. It wasn't my mess, they deserved it, each and every single one of them. Steve was his name, and he said he was going to save me. I think he said he was some kind of officer. I got the embassy number from none other than the enemy *evil laugh. I convinced him that if he wanted to go to the United States with me he would have to get me the phone number of the American embassy in Iraq. He bought it, just like I thought he would. Steve sounded like an all-american guy, blonde hair, blue eyes, perfect to me. Of course I hadn't seen him, but the idea that he wanted to help save me, the way he asked "are you okay?", the way he said "I was so worried about you,", made me feel butterflies, and happiness, something I hadn't experienced since I was brought here by my parents last year. I told him I had it all planned out, I had the money and I could make it. He wanted me to travel about 15 miles from where I lived in a cab, to meet him at the embassy, where the government had payed for my plane tickets and everything. I was going back home, finally, I missed the U.S. and the thought of being back brought this relief that I hadn't felt in so long. He told me he'd be ready when I was, and I thought I was, my escape plan seemed perfect. The enemy was at work and his parents were out, this was the perfect opportunity. I put the niqab over my face, and climbed the roof. My goal was to jump to the neighbor's roof as safe as possible. It was my only way out, as stupid as it sounds. I took the leap and made it, but I was too loud. That's when the chase began. They thought I was a terrorist or thief, since my face was hidden and I refused to speak. They weren't going to believe that I had an abusive husband that was a pedophile and wanted to hurt me. Even if they did, I would be wrong to run away from him, it makes me a whore. A real women is a doormat. One that sits at home, takes the abuse and deals with it, silently. I ran to the nearest cab and told him to go. I wasn't quick enough, they caught up with me and told him I was a terrorist. I cried and begged them to leave me alone, that I just wanted to be free. The driver wouldn't move and he yelled at me. I ran out of the cab, across the street to the souk into the nearest storage room. I was surrounded by different soft drinks in a tiny back room. I felt safe, and now, they wouldn't find me.