By Hannah Stevens

She picks up the cat, climbs the stairs and closes the bathroom door softly behind her. She puts him down and slides the lock into place. He pads about on the lino and looks at her. She knows he doesn’t like the coolness beneath his paws but, for now, he will have to be patient. She runs the hot tap and steam begins to cloud the mirror above the sink.

The website says: Pack an emergency bag for yourself and hide it somewhere safe. She wiggles the bath panel loose, slides it out enough to fit her arm inside the gap and searches for the material of the bag. There, it’s in her hand and she pulls it out.

Be prepared to leave the house in an emergency. She isn’t sure exactly what this means, though she has money on her at all times, like it says. Change for the phone, for bus fares. It’s inside her bra.

She can hear the banging downstairs, the crockery smashing. She imagines the shards of blue plates joining the broken glass dish, the teapot, the coffee cups.

If you suspect that your partner is about to attack you, go to a lower risk area of the house, go somewhere you can find a way out. Avoid the kitchen or garage where there will be knives and other weapons.

She thinks of the knife block, how he knocked it over, chose the one with the serrated blade, brushed her face with its point. How close; how easy it would’ve been for him to press harder, to pull it slowly across her skin. She avoided his eyes, watched as he turned and threw the knife across the kitchen, watched as its handle hit the cat and felt lucky it wasn’t the blade.

The bath is half full now. She pushes the bathroom window wide, looks down to the flat roof below and the back gate that is slightly ajar.

Avoid rooms where you might be trapped, such as the bathroom, or where you might be shut into a cupboard or other small spaces. She quietly clicks the bath panel back into place, thinks of the darkness behind, the space like a coffin.

The bag is on her back now, the cat in her arms. She hears his footsteps on the stairs, looks at the door and hopes that the lock will hold.

About the Author

Hannah is a writer currently based in Leicester in the UK. She writes short stories and flash fiction and her work has featured in numerous anthologies, magazines and literary journals. Her debut short story collection Without Make-up and Other Stories was published in 2012. She has a PhD in Creative Writing from the University of Leicester. Hannah teaches creative writing workshops in a range of educational settings and the community, and is involved in various freelance writing projects. When not writing, she works part-time in the voluntary sector. She lives with her house-rabbit Agatha.

Hannah has a portfolio of professional and creative publications that includes her own standalone collection of short stories. Her creative work has been featured in a number of print anthologies and online short story and flash fiction websites. A few of these are listed below:

‘The Best Way to Kill A Butterfly,’ Unthology 10: Fight or Flight, Unthank Books, to be published July 2018

‘Bones,’ to feature in a drinking stories anthology published by Valley Press in 2018 – http://www.valleypressuk.com/

‘Fading,’ to feature in the anthology Canthology published by Cant Books in 2018 – https://cantbooks.wordpress.com/

‘Gabriel,’ featured in LossLit Magazine, Issue 4 – http://losslit.com/issue/issue-four/

‘The Moon Was Low and Close’ and ‘When the Sun Sets’ published by The Letterpress Project in 2016 –  http://www.letterpressproject.co.uk/inspiring-older-readers/2016-07-12/when