Sweetheart

Prologue

TW: Foul language, firearm, disturbing scenes

The orange flame from the lighter brightened her face as she brought it to her cigarette. She pulled her phone out of her pink robe and sat down in the patio chair next to her. This was great, this gave me more time. My mom is typically a night owl, which makes this harder. I grabbed my already-made bag, slipped on my shoes, and made one final glance out of the window to make sure she hadn't got up, or worse, come inside. She was still there, smoking her cigarette and scrolling through Facebook.

Fuck her.

The glass from the vase she threw at me just a few hours prior still sat at the bottom of the staircase - it barely missed my head. The living room was dark, only lit up by the light of the television. I could see her silhouette outside the glass door, as I step over the broken glass and quietly creep into the kitchen, towards the garage. A picture of my mom, dad, and I hung on the fridge with a small smiley face magnet. The picture became more blurry the longer I looked at it. The sound of the patio chair moving on the deck jolts me back as I grab the photo from the fridge and run to the garage. Inside there were shelves with tools and other items belonging to my dad, nobody had touched them in years. I see his old pocket knife out of the corner of my eye and grab it - I could still feel the groves where he held it so often. The first thing I've touched. It was covered in four years worth of dust, dirt, and cobwebs. I felt a sense of guilt for taking something that wasn't mine, something that belonged to someone so important to me. I'd like to think that if he knew what was happening with mom right now, he wouldn't blame me. I hear the back door close and my heart drops. I sit unmoving for a few minutes, just waiting for her to bust through the door, but it never came. I slip out the garage door and let the cold darkness surround me. The August night was humid and foggy out, the mist wasn't dense, but it was hard to see. I see headlights flash from across the road.

There she is.

I run across the road, gripping my bag in my hands, and tears welling up in my eyes. I finally reach the door of the white Chevy Malibu and get in.

"How did it go?" Sarah asks while turning on her car.

"She said no," I answered. She laughs at my response.

"Sneaking out? You must've really wanted to go." She smiles.

"I had to leave that house, I can't do it anymore Sarah." her smile fades.

"Like, for good?" she asks, scanning my rather large duffle bag.

"I don't know, but I'm going." I hesitate, but I really don't have an answer. I didn't want to leave, but I had to leave.

"Claire, you're 17 and work at Mcdonald's three days a week. How do you plan on living on your own?"

She was right, but I didn't respond. I didn't want to snap at her, she was trying to give me good advice.

After a few more minutes of driving in silence, she pulls into a gas station.

"Listen, Claire, I'm not going to stop you, I'm just worried about you. Just really think about it. Maybe after tonight, you'll change your mind." She smiles and slips out of her car.

Tears began welling up in my eyes again. I need to go to the bathroom. I swing open the car door and Sarah's head shoots toward me.

"I'm going to the bathroom." she nods and I head towards the door.

The gas station was blazing with cold, fluorescent light. The cashier, a young boy with messy hair, was slumped over the register on his phone. A gray-haired man with a wild mustache stood by himself scratching off a lottery ticket on the counter.