Runaway

.09

I woke up without her. Not being able to see her or hold her as soon as my eyes were open was one of the worst feelings I’ve experienced. It wasn’t the worst—her leaving without a word was the worst. But this feeling was like having a piece missing from you.

I never did well without all of my pieces.

My gait was lazy as I left my room to search for her. No one seemed to be home, and I understood that considering it was Monday. Most everyone was at school which left the house available to me if I couldn’t find Savannah. At that moment I wasn’t so sure I’d find her. She wasn’t in Maddie’s nor Natalie’s room, the guest room was unoccupied as was Jack’s, the living room lacked any sign of life, and nothing about the kitchen said anyone had been in there since breakfast. There was only one other room she could possibly be in and that option was highly unlikely.

As I rounded the corner to the office, I heard her soft humming. It wasn’t familiar to me, the tune, but it was catchy and whispered happiness. I stood in the doorway and watched her spin slowly in the office chair as she read from a book. Her eyes were bright and alive like she’d just had the best sleep of her life. Her red hair was down and sticking up in certain directions like she hadn’t cared to really worry about a shower yet. The shirt that she’d worn last night was wrinkled as were the oversized basketball shorts. This was her morning glory and it was messier and more beautiful than I could ever remember.

“She had a mind like a box of fireworks and hands that played recklessly with matches,” she said and slowly came to a stop from her spinning. Then she dog-eared the page she was on and put the book down.

“What’s that from?” I asked.

“Not what, but who,” she replied then turned her eyes on me. “Michael Faudet is that who. He’s great with words, don’t you think?”

I nodded because I couldn’t find the right words to reply to her with. That happened often I noticed as of late. Savannah had started to say things that didn’t warrant a reply, and I knew if I tried that I’d just make myself look incredibly dumb.

Savannah picked up the book beside it and opened it to a dog-eared page. Her eyes smiled as she skimmed over it before saying aloud, “Her bow is drawn to worlds of dark where arrows spring and miss their mark. She’ll turn their heads but not their hearts.”

I leaned against the doorway and thought for a second as to why she would say that. There was no real reason that I could find that would cause her to read something so…haunting. It wasn’t a sweet thing. It didn’t make anyone happy. It made me feel like utter shit.

“That’s a poem by Lang Leav. Beautiful, isn’t it?”

“No,” I replied. From there we were silent until she put the book down on top of the other one and walked towards me. Her eyes traced me from head to toe and back up again. I fought off the urge to ask her if she liked what she saw. Now didn’t seem to be the time for sexual jokes and smirking.

“Do you know what it’s about?” she asked as she stopped in front of me.

I stood up from my leaning position against the frame and took those few seconds to think. The poem made sense to me as something to make people uncomfortable. I didn’t like being uncomfortable despite the fact that I normally was.

“It’s about a curse—a curse of beauty. This girl wants love but can’t have it in the way she really wants because people fall in love with the way she looks and not the way she is,” she explained and took a small step forward as if asking me to challenge her.

So I did.

“Or maybe the only beautiful thing about her is on the outside,” I countered.

We were toe to toe now. She looked up at me and me down at her. Her eyes were a fierce hazel that carried the empirical gold; lips were in a flat, pink line; and there was a simple pimple near her hair line. She looked like she was ready to fight.