Fated to Break | ✓

t h i r t y ~ t w o

Olivia

I stuff the pajamas I just stripped out of into the small suitcase I brought, my heart beat thudding in my ears like a hand pounding at a door. I'm wearing jeans, a t-shirt and a leather jacket. If my parents saw me they'd glare and tell me to put on something more appropriate. Like a pencil dress or a silk blouse. I shiver. Gross.

I don't know why I'm in a rush, Rowan messaged me that he's still an hour away but the need to get out of this place and see him again has a shit load of adrenaline coursing through my veins. I'm thrumming with overflowing energy like a live wire and I need to do something, anything to distract from the fact that I feel like I'm a teenager running away from home.

I remember when my father was still drowning in scotch and whiskey. His paper thin resolve to stay sober tearing when his partner at his company started trying to take his position from him. On the worse nights I'd escape his flailing fists and glass from his shattered bottles by tiptoeing off the property to parties and boys bedrooms.

The first half: the most fun of my high school career, the second: unsatisfactory nine times out of ten. I craved pleasure that would make my pain fade and my toes curl but for some air headed reason I never gave up searching for it.

But I have horrible taste. Teenage me thought athletic equals good in bed. Nope. I seemed to have forgotten that they had about as much experience as I did. Little to none.

Well...high school boys and apparently Lucas. Holy crap I really know how to pick em huh?

I found a way to keep that part of my life hidden from my parents. Lord knows what my drunken father would have done if he found out.

He's been sober for a little over five years but drunk men still make me uncomfortable and on the rare occasion...terrified.

That's why looking back I'm grateful how weak and groggy Lucas got when he drank too much because if he was capable of doing what he did while sober I don't even what to imagine what could've happened if he tried anything when his mind wasn't all there.

My hand trembles as I pull the zipper of my small green hardcover suitcase closed, all of the belongings I brought with me stuffed inside. Well...almost everything. I still have no goddamn clue where my purse is. With my driver's license, credit and debit cards, and my car keys probably chilling in a safe somewhere behind a painting like were in a Mission Impossible movie. I have no chance of finding it by the time my parents get home from their weekly poker night.

They'll send it to me in the mail in the next couple days, their use for it disappearing. I hope. I busy myself with looking through my old room, rummaging through miscellaneous stuff in drawers and sending Rowan the address to my families estate where I grew up.

This place is large and obnoxious. It never felt like a home, too empty and cold to truly feel comfortable. One doesn't just simply get 'comfortable' here though because even in my own house I had to put care and thought into what I wear and how I present myself.

Sweatpants and a t-shirt with no make-up? Unacceptable.

Maybe that's why I love ridiculous graphic tees and dressing down whenever I get the chance. A big middle finger to mom and dad. 

My phone lights up on my bed and I scramble across the room to check it.

Rowan: I'm down the street...are you sure you sent me the right address?