×
It feels perfect. His hand holding mine tightly, the both of us laughing at who's knows what. Alcohol definitely making the feeling bolder, adding a little more spark to what is already there.
The two of us walk down the street. Pass corner stores and pedestrians like no body's business. Acting as if we aren't mental hospital runaways and just simply two drunk and in love teenagers, walking home after a night out.
I have no idea where we are headed; no idea what Finn has in mind for our safe haven. I just go along, follow his steps and laugh at the slurred jokes he shoots out.
The lights of the city shine, the cars that drive by leave a hazy trail behind them. The looks in the eyes of the folks enjoying the night life—all things I so desperately missed. I missed being happy, I missed feeling careless and free.
And for the first time I realize; Claymore was the worst thing for me. It was the worst thing for Finn, they gave him shock treatment and held him a prisoner for years. And because of what? He is different?
Everyone is different—just the people who sit proudly on the idea that they are "normal" like to call the ones that aren't like them, crazy. They like to tell us we're the ones with something wrong. While the self described "sane" people live their boring lives away, tying the knot to an everlasting, lifelong sadness.
They're the sad ones. Not us.
My parents, the nurses, the doctors, the people who determine the draft—all of them are sad, delusional robots. Going through life in one direction and looking down on those who choose to go another.
Not choose. Need.
I couldn't live a life like that. Waiting around for some man to marry me, only to have five kids and become a permanent housewife like my mother.
What a sad, sad life.
Because I rather be insane and happy in my own way, then have to go about life tied down by what others say I need to do.
I rather walk down the street, intoxicated in more ways than way; hand in hand with a boy that proves you can love someone who's insane.
Then I look up at him, admiring his glistening eyes. His flushed and freckled cheeks raised by a crooked smile. The hazy, drunken look in his eyes but the admiring glances his shoots at me are far from meaningless.
"Where are we going?" I finally speak up. He turns his head towards me, facing the front moments after. "Didn't I tell you silly? Remember Gaten?"
I furrow my eyebrows, my smile dropping slightly. "The one who got out—but shouldn't have?" I reply.
Finn nods. "Mhm, one of Claymores finest nut cases. And biggest failures," Finn remarks. "Left more fucked up than he was when he arrived."
I look down, wondering what business we have searching for a boy I had spoken very little to. A boy that I vaguely remember; his love for pills and shaking hands being the only thing that comes to mind.
"He lives not too far from here. His rich papa bought him a snazzy apartment in town," Finn informs, looking around and squinting his eyes. "Over there actually," he points across the street.
