Running away

I pretended that I was asleep until I heard the sound of your key in the lock. As soon as the coast was clear, I got up from the bed, walked into the closet, grabbed my backpack, and started putting all of my clothes in it. I didn't have much at the time, but still, there wasn't a lot of room in the bag. So I went to the kitchen and grabbed a grocery bag. I put as much stuff in it as I could fit.

With every echo, every noise, I had to catch my breath, waiting for you to storm back into the house, to ask what I was doing. But you didn't, and I was in the clear.

It felt like an eternity, but I was finished packing within 10 minutes. I thought about making the bed, the way you always had me do it every morning before we left the house, despite the fact that I always argued that it was wasted effort. "Fuck it," I thought, and left it exactly the way it was.

I grabbed my car keys and headed to the door, not entirely certain of where I would be going next, or whether you would try to come after me. I wasn't sure you cared enough to follow, but I was entirely sure that you'd be angry. I still hated making you angry. I shuddered at the thought.

I locked the door from the inside, pulled it shut, and left. The sun was shining and the sky was blue. I knew I'd be okay.