“Ma’am, someone was definitely behind your house. I found this black mask in your backyard. We’re going to try and get prints off it and while we wait, I think we need to leave a cruiser with you to watch after you,” the other officer said.
I wanted this situation to be a fabrication of my previous fears, but to know I had actually seen someone didn’t sit well with me. For the rest of the evening, I answered question after question before they finally left. They left a cruiser behind to watch after the house and me. Although it made me feel good, they were taking my situation seriously. It didn’t change the fact that I had another damn stalker.
I walked around to each entrance to my home to check the locks before heading back upstairs to my room.
I’d been holding my pee for a while, so I rushed to the bathroom, relieved myself, then washed my hands. I stood in front of the mirror and stared at my reflection.
My fire red hair cascaded down my back. It had always been my staple. It was the one thing that gave me my seductress persona.
I’m tired.
I reached under the cabinet and pulled out the bag I’d bought almost a month ago. Opening the bag, I pulled out a box of jet black hair dye, a pair of scissors, and gloves to protect my hands. Before I became just Amore, I used to do hair in my spare time to make ends meet. So I knew I could pull off this idea that had been brewing for a while.
I lifted the scissors and used my free hand to hold out my hair. I stood frozen, wanting to be free of the very thing I felt created the hell I now lived in. A single tear trekked down my cheek. I quickly wiped it away.
Then I did the one thing I needed to do to free myself.
I cut the first piece without hesitation. I watched as strands of my hair fell into the sink and onto the floor in a dull red heap.
The breath I’d been needing all this time filled my body with each cut I made. Soon, the sink was full, and I had one more thing to do.
I pulled the dye from the box and mixed it in the bowl in front of me. Once it was ready, I took my time, making sure to cover every part of my hair—leaving nothing untouched, not even my eyebrows.
A few hours passed before I was standing in front of the real Solana. Not the one Hollywood had birthed. My hair was now cut into a Toni Braxton pixie cut, no red in sight, I had never felt more like myself than I did now.
All that was left was to leave this life behind.
I walked back into my room and made a beeline for the back of my closet, reaching for a plain black duffel bag. It was the same bag I’d had when I received my first big check—modest, but exactly what I needed to get away from this life.
Over the past few months, I’d been taking large sums of cash from my accounts and storing them inside. I’d been planning to leave for a long time—to start fresh somewhere no one would recognize me.
But I’d never had the strength.
Not until tonight.
I grabbed a hoodie and a hat, threw on a pair of black yoga pants that hugged my hips. Then grabbed one more bag filled with a few outfits, all my legal documents, and two pairs of shoes.
I walked out of the closet and glanced around my room once more. It was larger than most people’s whole apartment, yet I was ready to leave it all behind. If only they knew that, money would never make you happy.
I remember the days when I would hear people say that and laugh. Until I found myself with more money than I could imagine, only it wasn’t funny anymore, and held too much truth in it.
I placed the bags on my bed so I could find the letter I’d pre-written for my manager. Once I located it, I held it and made my way down the steps of my home. Then placed it on the end table in case he or Desirae came by here. I grabbed the card from the patrol officer outside and called.
“Ms. Amore, is everything okay?” he answered.
“Yes, sir. But can I get you to give me a ride somewhere?” I asked. Hoping he would say yes.
The line went silent for a moment before he spoke again.
“Here I come.”
We ended the call. I waited a few minutes until his cruiser drove down my long driveway until he made it to the front door. I threw on my hoodie and grabbed my bags. He met me halfway, taking the bags from me. I kept my eyes focused on the floor, not wanting anyone else to see my new look.
“Can I sit in the back?” I asked.
“Not before you tell me what’s going on,” he responded.
“I’m leaving, but I don’t want to take my car. Where I’m going, I don’t want to be tracked. I want to start over and leave this life behind me.”