Page 222 of Revv

“That’s usually how names work.”

“You don’t stay anywhere.”

“I stay in plenty of places, I just don’t stay long.”

Emma rolls her eyes.

She isn’t wrong, though.

Staying has never really been my thing.

I like knowing I can leave.

There’s something comforting about fitting my entire life into a van, turning a key and having the ability to disappear before anyone can make me feel stuck.

Most people hear that and immediately start diagnosing me with commitment issues.

Which is honestly kinda rude, and yet, accurate, sometimes.

Still rude.

I spent almost a year rebuilding this thing myself, though. Gutted it down to bare metal, learned electrical work through online videos, fucked up the first set of cabinets so badly I had to rip them back out, then swore I’d never touch a power tool again before using one the next morning.

By the time I finished, it felt more like mine than any apartment ever had.

Everything I need fits inside, including enough coffee equipment to survive civilization collapsing.

If I wake up tomorrow and decide Miami is done with me, I can be gone before dinner.

Usually knowing I can leave is enough to stop me from wanting to.

Ohio was different.

I didn’t leave because I had some dramatic need to find myself under the Florida sun. I know exactly where I am.

I left because I stayed in a relationship long enough to start pissing myself off.

That’s the embarrassing part.

The breakup itself sucked, sure, but heartbreak is manageable. You drink too much wine once, block a number, delete a few pictures and eventually stop wanting to key someone’s car.

The part that really got under my skin was realizing how long I’d already known it wasn’t working and yet I stayed anyway.

Apparently, one manipulative asshole with good cheekbones was enough to convince me perseverance was a personality trait.

Never again.

When it finally imploded, I didn’t wait for closure because closure is usually just somebody lying to you one last time with better wording.

So, instead, I packed.

Clothes, books, my espresso maker and every tattooed little piece of myself I still liked.

Then I pointed the van south.

Miami was supposed to be somewhere warm to land while I figured out where I wanted to go next.

Except now I’m looking at the water, eating lunch with my cousin in the back of my house, and leaving sounds less appealing than it did three weeks ago.