She tore through the alley, ducked into a doorway, and tried to squeeze into nothingness. Heavy boots pounded past as she held her breath. The acrid scent of cigarette faded, and she knew that he was gone. Lacy could barely contain herself. She had been trying to leave for years, but he always managed to catch her.

She touched the fresh bruise under her eye, hot tears burning the tender skin.
“Paul,” she murmured. It was not a name anymore. It was simply an idea, but the word was sour on her tongue.
The alley was rank with the smell of rancid alcohol and stale garbage, and it pierced through the stagnant night air. Emerging from her hideaway, she bathed in the pale green light of the streetlamps. She felt both vulnerable and safe at the same time. Her walking prison sentence was finally over, but her captor could be anywhere now. She had escaped from him, but she knew that she would never escape her memories. The image of his dark soulless eyes stained the fabric of her mind to an inky black; she shuddered.
There Lacy stood, a broken soul now liberated.
She gingerly started to walk down the dim, abandoned street that lead to her new stifled freedom . . .
She smelled of cigarettes still.