Do You Love Me?

In movies and books the world is always so simple. God do I wish the world could be simple. There’s no question as to who is the protagonist and who is the antagonist. When something fucked up happens everyone knows it was fucked up. Why couldn’t real life be that way?

Don’t think, just focus. Packing my bags would be simple. Most of the things I owned I didn’t care about. I was raised to never rely on anything physical in my life to stay consistent; not even parents. As long as I had my memories I could survive.

Shit, focus on the bag in front of you. Folded cargo jeans sat at the bottom. Shirts with designed fantasy landscapes far gentler than the realities I had to live with sat shoved to the sides. Pulling a Nintendo DS from the drawer, I carefully wrap a shirt around it and settle it down into the cradled middle. I needed my escape from reality and nothing was going to take that away from me. Sitting up, I blindly grab socks, underwear, belts, sweatshirts. The lack of light from even a full moon makes the whole process much slower. Touching the side of my watch I read 11:58PM. Plenty of time to get up and get out.

Tears start to form in my eyes. A heavy weight presses down on my shoulders. Suddenly it becomes hard to focus my vision on anything. My breathing stagnates. It’s hard to breath when your sad. Angry. Overjoyed. Under pressure. Why is the world so bad? How can I fix it? Shit, I’m starting to sob. Sound escapes my mouth. Tightening my throat, I do my best to swallow all emotions. It just makes me feel worse, but I’m silent. The snoring in the next room stays the same. It never stops. He never notices. No one notices the pressure I feel. I have to fix everything, otherwise nothing will ever get better. The world won’t get better. Someone has to sacrifice something. I’m willing to sacrifice it all. I close my eyes trying to bear the overwhelming angry ocean of emotions washing over me. Bearing the unbearable never works, all I know is that I feel an overwhelming amount of pain and I am drowning. I feel as though I have forgotten how to swim and there is no light showing me which way is up. Disoriented and alone I cannot understand where I’m supposed to go next. Sinking further and further into that ocean is so easy, so I give in.

I touch my watch again. It reads 12:24AM. At least we got that out of the way. Compartmentalizing my emotions and absolutely exhausted, I search my armoire. There’s nothing else that I want to bring with me. Now comes the tedious task of zipping up my bag. Three teeth at a time I zip, wait for the snoring to get louder, zip, wait for the snoring to get louder. He never wakes. Eventually the bag is sealed. I was smart enough to already open the window, so it won’t make any noise. I try to push one hand through the open window only to hit the screen. The screen you idiot! How could I forget the screen?

My stomach drops. The hinges holding the screen are so loud. Can I really get it open without him noticing? Hands shaking, arms tense, I try to slowly push the rusty hinges together. Old springs screech as I hold my breath not moving a muscle. The snoring stops. My heart beats faster in my chest. Blood pulses through my fingers at such a pace it feels like I’m going to accidentally make the springs cry out some more. Just as soon as it had left, the snoring returns. Relief floods my body as I realize the screaming won’t return. The disappointment won’t return. I won’t be interrogated about the awkward position I’m in. No complaining about my habit of staying up so late.

A final push together gets the hinges to unlatch. With one swift movement the screen shoots up grating metal on metal. The snoring gets too loud. I’m pushing too hard. Soon he’ll wake. For ten minutes I stand still not moving a muscle. For ten minutes the erratic snoring slowly goes back to it’s normal pulsating rhythm. I’ve had far too many nights of practice dancing around not to wake him up. Knowing the snoring will not stop, I lift one leg through the completely-for-sure open window and straddle the frame with only the slightest rustle. With one more lift of a leg I land in the small ditch next to the window, my feet landing on rocks.

Panic shoots through my back as my feet propel forward before I can think. Suddenly I’m hopping the fence and running. Where I’m running to I don’t care, all I know is I’m getting away. Reaching a tree in a rather open field, I slam my back into the trunk and catch my breath. My legs can’t carry me anymore. I’m too tired. I flinch at a passing car. There is no privacy next to an open road. I can’t cry out in the open, yet I’m not sure I have a choice. Head resting in my lap, I give in to the unbearable weight on my shoulders.

How could I run from someone who loved me? Who said they cared? Why didn’t I feel cared for? What was wrong with me?

None of these questions I have answers for. They all draw blanks. Nothing made sense. He wasn’t some villain I was running away from, he was family. He was my caretaker. Never once was I beaten or bruised. Almost everything was provided without question. The only thing was the yelling. Incessant and explosive, stepping on the wrong stone laid an unpredictable outburst. It was nerve wracking and I couldn’t help but cry. To stagger my breathing. To curl up. I can’t help but collapse.

In the morning. It’s morning. My eyes flutter open to a sunrise. A person walks by and stares at me as they move to somewhere more important. I rub off the grass stuck on the side of my face. Brushing off the dirt from my side I get up. It’s silent besides the cars rushing far faster down the road than they should. I feel relaxed. There’s a lack of pressure.

Looking back in the distance I can still see my house-scratch that-what was my house. What I’m doing is stupid. I had a home, a future, a place where family said they loved me.

What I’m really doing is not looking back.