Guilt - MWBB

This weeks Mid-Week Blues-Buster didn't bring a big crowd, but the song worked for me.  I did get stuck half way through this one, not sure where I wanted to it end, or how I was going to end it, but I found my way in the end. It even drew me a 2nd place, which was a surprise. Hope you like it. 

The prompt song this week was:

You got Time - by Regina Spektor

Lydia ran her hands through her hair and clenched the roots. She sat on the edge of the bed looking out of the penthouse windows overlooking the sleeping city.

She’d done it again and she had no way of getting out of it now. She mentally chided herself, feeling the frustration build, knowing she had to bury it; what’s done was done.

She looked over her shoulder at his sleeping body, his perfect skin, the line of his back facing her, beautiful in the nightlight. His profile was perfect too, his lip line, his strong jaw; she wanted to savour this moment forever. Her stomach churned at the thought of what she had to do now.

She stood up and went to the bathroom, splashing water on her face and staring at her reflection in the mirror. She studied her eyes for an answer, some solution that would mean she could have both, but she knew there was none. The question was: how was she going to do this? She took a deep breath, the only way she knew how: without thinking.

Lydia returned to the bedroom and picked up her clothes, careful not to wake him. She went into the hallway to dress and took her keys out of her bag. She gently worked the key off the key-ring and laid it on the entrance hall table, while her mind ran through all the belongings she had here. There weren’t many, and none she couldn’t live without.

She slipped her coat on, resisting the urge to take a peek at him one last time.

As soon as the door was shut behind her she ran down the corridor to the elevator. She considered the stairs, not really wanting the bellhop working the elevator to see her, but when it arrived no one was in it. The universe was working with her tonight.

When she reached the foyer there was only the night porter and he was expecting her. She glanced at him as she walked past, and he gave her a meaningful look as he picked up the phone.

By the time she stepped out of the rotating doors she wanted to throw up. She covered her mouth to hide the retching sound.

A cab was waiting but she didn’t want to get in. She didn’t want to sit, she couldn’t, she needed to keep moving for as long as she could. She walked at high speed away from the building, not really thinking about a direction.

Going back to her apartment was out of the question. They’d find her again, they’d put her through it again, and she couldn’t keep doing this, she couldn’t keep loving them, watch them love her back and then set them up. She didn’t want to do it anymore, she wanted out of the loop, but no one ever got out – or so they told her.

A thought sparked in her mind and she ran with it. At the next ATM she took out as much cash as it would let her, then she got on the subway – a taxi could be traced. Once at Grand Central station she scanned the destination boards and found what she was looking for. Even at this time of night she didn’t have long to wait, and when the train crossed the border into Canada she was sound asleep.

Coming off the train she rummaged in the concealed pocket of her bag and pulled out her Canadian Citizenship card. She kept it on her at all times as the ‘just in case’ she knew would come one day - but they didn’t; they didn’t know as much as they thought.

From there she took the bus to the storage unit her parents kept for her and changed clothes, grabbing her real passport and some bundles of cash her dad insisted on stashing there. Then she headed for the airport.

Only once she was in the air did she breathe again and let her mind wander back to the life she’d been leading. It was no easy task being an assassins’ mistress, but at least it had taught her how to be traceless.