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Which leads me to where I am now. Shoving as many of my belongings as possible into my bag. I don’t know where I’m going, but all I know is I’m done with Jed’s shit. I’m done with my mom, too, but she’s useless. Jed is a fucking creep. He pushes me around and borderline sexually harasses me. I can’t handle it.
I have to get out of here.
I sit down on my backpack to close it. There’s no room for food or drink, but there’s no way in hell I’m going out there to grab anything anyway. I’ll just walk past him and leave.
Easy.
Once my backpack is zipped fully, I heft the strap around my shoulder and take one last glance around my room. The saddest part is, is that I’m not going to miss this place at all. It holds no good memories, or belongings of mine. It’s just been a place where I sleep at night and hide during the day.
No looking through teen magazines with my friends.
No talking to boys on the phone.
Nothing.
I turn around, wiping the tear that escapes and leave my room. Jed’s sitting on the couch watching some poker game and doesn’t look up until I’m almost at the door.
“Whoa, where’re you going?” He barks at me.
I ignore him, opening the door and walking out. I slam it shut behind me. I hope he rots in there. I hope mold starts growing and eats away at his lungs.
I hope he chokes on a chip and cries out for someone. Because no one would be there to save him.
I hear the door creak open behind me but ignore it.
“Hey, Cara! I’m talkin’ to you. I said where the hell are you going?”
I turn around, giving him the nastiest look I can muster. “Away from you. I’m leaving, Jed. Tell my mom I said goodbye.” I flick him off for good measure, ignoring his barking orders for me to get back there.
I don’t listen, walking away from the place that’s never been my home.
And leave everything bad behind with it.
* * *
That evening,I second guess myself. Hunger has set in and I’m thirsty as ever. It’s fall, and the nights are starting to get really cool. With the sun setting, I pull a hoodie out of my backpack and pull it over my head. I’ve pretty much given up on finding any food tonight. Maybe I can find a job tomorrow. There’s plenty of rusty diners around here that could use some help.
I think about school, and how eleventh grade just started. I won’t be missing much. Not like this school teaches me much anyway. I’ll just be another Grove dropout that doesn’t make anything of their life.
But I don’t want that. I want to get out of this shit town and never look back. I want to kick my feet up and leave this place in the dust, only a faint memory of a time I’d rather forget.
With a sigh, I sit down on a park bench and think about my next move. There’s a homeless shelter down in the city, but there’s no way I’m walking twenty miles to get there. Not only that, but I’m sure I’d get picked up by the cops before then and either be taken home or given a ticket for breaking curfew.
Maybe I should just get up and start walking south, I think. Make my way down south, to Florida or something. A place where the weather is always warm, and I can start over. Start fresh.
But my aching legs tell me that’s not happening. At least not tonight.
With another sigh, I push to a stand and walk towards a back alley that I know is mostly deserted. I’ve seen a few homeless people sleep underneath the underpass. I’ll sleep here tonight, reevaluate my plan in the morning and make moves.
With heavy feet that feel like cinderblocks, I walk the ten minutes to my bed for the night. Once I arrive, I ignore the stares of the two other homeless people huddled around a makeshift fire inside of a garbage can. The homeless people around here are usually harmless. It’s when you get towards Minneapolis that you find the dangerous ones.
I pull out another sweatshirt, using it as a blanket as I curl up in a corner underneath the far end of the alley. Placing my backpack beneath me, I use it as a pillow as I close my eyes.
And dream about a monster with pudgy fingers and thick breath.
* * *
I hear glass shatter,and I shoot up, trying to catch my bearings as I look at my surroundings.
