𝐑𝐮𝐧𝐚𝐰𝐚𝐲 |𝟏𝟖+

04 || Runaway

Song: Taylor Swift - My Tears Ricochet (slowed + reverb)

𝔚𝔚𝔚
Josiphina

I woke to the sound of birds chirping outside and the sun blaring down on my face through my open window. I must have forgotten to close it last night.

Squinting my eyes open, I peer around the room, only stopping once I see the open window.

The sun was bright and I could faintly make out the sound of the neighbours working on their gardens, mowing their lawns and chatting with each other.

To them it was a beautiful summer morning and had the memories of last night not come reeling in, I would have agreed.

I try clearing my throat but all that come out is a painfully dry screech. 

Another reminder that last night was real.

I throw my sore limps off the bed and stand only to wince and grab onto the wall for support while the soreness between my legs aches.

Marie had squeezed me into this dress, it was two sizes too small but she didn't care and the only way I was getting out of it was by ripping it off.

I tried not to look down as I did so, but that didn't last for very long because the second I caught a glimpse of red, I couldn't stop myself for from examining the red detailing that wasn't there before.

My dried blood.

I felt filthy. Violated. Dirty. And that was after I'd ripped the dress off and scrubbed every inch of my skin clean.

And it was when I stepped out of the shower and stared in the mirror at the girl before me that I saw it.

Her red swollen eyes- dull and so worn out. Her hollow cheeks - empty and so lifeless. And her sore aching body - filthy and so disgusting to look at.

The sight of her was horrific and only scratched the surface of what she was feeling on the inside.

I decided I didn't want anything to do with that girl.

And that's all it took.

All it took for me to walk out of my bathroom and into my closet.

And all it took for me to grab my most important things and stuff them into my backpack and my duffel bag. My art supplies, my inhaler, my cellular device, my medical kit and some random clothes.

I had three hundred dollars to my name. I'd been saving for five years and I knew that if my wits wouldn't get me far on the outside, the large sum of money in my pocket would.

Daniel was right to run.

And now it was my turn.

. . .

"That'll be eighty five dollars miss."

I snap my head up and towards the man behind the wheel. "E-eighthy five? As In eight five?" I ask, my heart sinking along with the last of my money.