✧ runaway emo love story ✧

(1) on my own

I ran through the rain, the storm clouds rumbling and lighting up angrily. My mom's shrieking voice was heard over the downpour, her silhouette visible from the light streaming out of our open front door. Well, now her open front door, because I was fucking out of there.

"Get back here Autumn Dementia!" my mom demanded, her voice hoarse and slurred. She used my legal name, with made me seethe in rage. I hated the name Autumn- no offense to the emos out there with that name (but also full offense to the preppy whores who did)- and I wanted to be referred to by my real name: Raven. But of course, my shitty mom ignored my requests, like she did with a lot of things. Now, I was leaving her forever.

"Fuck you," I growled under my breath, disappearing down the street, the only sources of light being the streetlights with each passing block. My house faded away, and my mom seemed to make no effort to catch me. I was eighteen, so she couldn't drag me back either. I was going to be on my own, and that didn't exactly settle in my mind until I stumbled across an empty Taco Bell parking lot about two miles down the road. When it did settle, I sat down on the sidewalk and started to cry.

I had some money, and it would be enough to get me some food, but then what? I quit my job at Michael's because they wouldn't let me keep my heavy makeup and hairstyle (fuck those raggedy old bitches for that, by the way), and without a house address I couldn't apply to a new place. I could try, but.. I had no home. I couldn't afford any rent; that'd be way too expensive without a job to keep it up.

Fuck, I was really about to be homeless, wasn't I? How the hell was I supposed to keep up my look without any money?

I felt along my forearm under my baggy sweater, the rugged texture of my self harm scars clear under the fabric. The urge to cut was strong, and I bit my lip until I drew blood to keep myself from going crazy. I turned my head to the well-lit Taco Bell building and stood up. My tears and the rain were soaking my face, and my whole body was wet to the bone. Shivering, I fished my plush tiger print wallet with fuzzy heart keychains out from my black, pin-clad backpack and shuffled in through the front doors, grateful their dining room was still open.

"Welcome," greeted the cashier. Not looking up at him, I greeted the worker in return and looked up at the menu. When I faced the cashier to make my order, my limpid, icy teardrop-blue eyes widened, and I could feel my cheeks heat up.

The cashier was a total fucking hottie.