running from here || short story

running from here

NOTE**
SHORT STORY
TW ALCOHOLISM
15+

"You know," I started, my voice floating into the darkness around us as I locked onto her dark amber eyes, "you didn't have to come get me. I could've managed. . ."

She hummed in content, maybe some thought too before squirming uncomfortably in her seat a little bit before speaking, "Yeah, I know. I just wanted to see you, make sure you were okay. You've been even more . . . distant recently. You barely ever talk anymore."

I felt my entire body run cold and hot at her words, my head was swimming from the alcohol I had prier to her ripping me off the street; and for the first time, I was thankful for the darkness and eerie lighting—I didn't want her to be able to read me like she's always been so good at it. That was the one thing that really irked me. . . I could never hide from her.

"Thanks," I mumbled, attempting to hide the faint slur leaving my lips, and turning away from her to stare out the car window. I wasn't sure if I was mad, or glad she came to get me. No, wait. I was mad, but also kind of thankful. I wasn't in danger — danger that I couldn't get out of on my own. I've been on the run from myself for years, and she had been the only one to stick around me.

The silence between us grew more intense, it was almost deafening, and it would've been more deafening if it wasn't for the rain pitter pattering against the passenger window.

My head was pounding.

"You know . . .," I started up again, breaking the silence between us, "you should've just left me in the rain."

"Why?"

"Because people like me, they deserve nothing. not kindness, not affection, nor love—" as soon as the words had barely left my mouth I felt a sharp pain from the back of my head, she had ripped my head back by the hair and forced me to face her. She was two inches from my face, and now I knew for sure she could smell the liquor on my breath.

"You're a fucking bitch, you really think that if someone like me didn't care for your sorry drunk ass, they wouldn't have come to get you? You've been running for years!" I watched the anger and pain flash in her eyes, her hair was soaked from the rain from earlier, making her look ironically angelic.

I didn't respond, the stinging from her grabbing and ripping at the back of my head was making it hard to even think straight—it didn't help that I was soaked from the rain as well.

"Do you really think that?" she said through gritted teeth, her demeanor becoming cold and aggressive compared to what it was earlier.

I still didn't respond, her grip tightening causing me to wince. I wouldn't dare breakdown on her now. I've been so cold for years, and if I break now, she'll see how fucked up I really am.

She sighed and released her grip from my hair, I immediately wiggled away again, making sure to face her so she didn't have access to rip my hair again to get my attention.

"Rylee," she whispered, her eyes softening along with her voice. I could see in her amber eyes, she was trying not to either cry or yell at me again. Maybe both. She had never been good with her anger, especially when it came to me. We would constantly go at it with each other when I got like this.

"You're a goddamn mess. Yet for some reason, I still stick around, don't I? How many nights have I found you stumbling along side the road either soaked in someone else's blood, your own, or reeking of alcohol—sometimes all of the above?"

At this point, I felt a knot in my stomach and a rock in my throat. I could hear the shakiness, anger, sadness, and confusion in her raspy vocals. I couldn't speak. She had a point . . . how many times did she pull me off the streets? Too many. I had a habit of getting wasted and then picking fights with some random fuck at a bar—and half the time, I have no memory of any of it. The only 'memory' I have of it is of Lane telling me about how fucking reckless and stupid I was.