CADEA

THREE: UDĂTURĂ

My backpack is on my shoulders again. Climbing through the pile of garbage to retrieve it seemed normal. Maybe because I feel like something that needs to be thrown away. But Cadea's words push me forward.

I don't know where to go. My fathers home was the only home I know. And now I realize how weak I am. I look at my arms. My black sleeves are rolled up to my elbow. There are scars. I remember most of them now. One from when he threw me into a chair. Another from a cabinet. my chest hurts too and I find my hand mirror.

Above my heart is a huge bruise. I remember it. Getting struck repeatedly until I passed out. Waking up with bruises around my neck. It seems such a normal thing. But it shouldn't.

I have not cried for years. I've trained myself not to. But now, standing outside, I can't help but cry as I feel at peace for the moment. I look up as water hits my face. The sky is weeping with me. Raindrops fall in numerous amounts, drowning out ever other sound. My sobs hurt, but feel so freeing. I want to cry. I need to cry. All of my broken freedoms are are mending together. I am free.

I don't know where to go. I don't know what to do. And the only thing I want to do is stand here and cry. I look across the street to a sign in a shop window. and nothing could be more perfect. My vision blurs but I read it anyway.

We only regret the chances we didn't take.

But you did take the chance. And you're here now, I tell myself.

I look around. There is no one around, except for the voices in my head. I smile and begin walking through the rain. Part of me wants to turn back. But that's just stockholm Syndrome. If I do, I'll never find my way out again.