7 Days to Another Life

1. Misunfortunate

You've got the saddest eyes the world has ever known. 

~~~ Dear mother, dear father, I'm leaving now. ~~~

And after all you said to me...

~~~ I'm not the man I used to be. ~~~

***

Nick sniffed sharply, cold air stinging his nostrils but it was better than snot dripping down his face. He walked, hugging his black jacket close to his body as he forced his legs to move endlessly down this dark street. It was a cold out tonight and the air bit at the flesh on Nick's face. Though honestly... it was the best form of miserable Nick could touch. He'd rather be out here in the winter air of nighttime Utah than inside with them. 

The woman he lived with wanted him to stay-- it's like she wanted him to fail in life just so she'd never be alone. Of course she swooned over him, her only child, but Nick didn't want it. It was all so wrongly timed, so poorly played out. It made his skin itch when they touched, he felt sick to share similarities with them. 

Maybe, Nick thought, just maybe if you want your kid to love you, you wouldn't beat the shit out of them when they're growing up. It really wasn't that hard to comprehend. 

But Nick had to deal with it, waiting and hoping that he'd someday leave this place. They didn't understand that he didn't want to kiss his mother, didn't understand that when his father clapped his shoulder he wanted to puke. He just wanted out, but he had too many stupid life goals to just kill himself. He had this thing called hope, and honestly, it's not all it's cracked up to be. It made his head hurt, and Hope always got into fights with Shame. 

Nick would run away, just to be free for a moment but he always came crawling back. He couldn't shake the bashful compunction that lay written in his bones, just couldn't get his head clear enough without the weight of feeling ungrateful. It was pathetic, really. He couldn't escape it. 

And as the teenager continued on down the street, his arms folded tightly over his chest with his head down so that his black fringe of tangled hair might provide a barrier against the icy wind, a set of headlights running toward him began to slow as the hum of an engine grew closer. 

Nick kept his head down, not wanting to draw attention to himself. It could be the police, telling him to go home again like usual, or it could be a neighbor or a teacher from school. But that last one didn't seem feasible because why on earth would a teacher be up at this hour? 

The car continued to slow, Nick's eyes briefly surveying it before flicking back down again. It was a small, silverish thing with a windshield that was too dark for Nick to see inside of it unless he squinted-- which he wasn't going to do because it would look all too suspicious. 

Just as he was about to pass it, the window on the passenger's side rolled down. Fuck. 

"Hey kid, don't you think it's a little late to be walking around out here by yourself?" 

Nick lifted his head and saw that the guy had black hair and soft features, pale as a ghost, but again there was a lack of lighting during this hour so Nick couldn't make out much. 

The teenager shrugged. "No," he replied, sticking to one-word answers. Those seemed to be the best choice whenever people would question him, they were simple and easy and didn't reveal too much information. Because talking, talking could be as exposing as a bruise over one's eye. 

"Where ya headed to? I could give you a lift if you'd like," the stranger offered. Nick went to decline the offer when he stopped, mouth dropping slightly and an idea being born in that lovely twisted mind of his.