Two lives.

06. unfamiliar echos

"C'mon, time to go." My dad shook me awake, his voice low but firm. I blinked, forcing myself up and pulling on the clothes I'd laid out last night. The house was eerily quiet as I headed down the stairs, and the smell of pancakes drifted from the kitchen.

"I made you breakfast," my mom said, handing me a plate when I entered. "I don't know how good the food will be there."

"Thanks," I mumbled, still groggy. She looked at me, her expression soft but tense.

"Baby, I'm sorry," she said gently. "You know we're doing this for you."

"Yeah, whatever." I stabbed at the pancakes, barely tasting them. I knew she meant well, but her words fell flat.

After finishing, I let the minutes pass, watching the familiar walls around me—the family photos, the knick-knacks on the shelves, the chipped paint on the kitchen door. An hour later, my dad grabbed the car keys, and it was time to leave.

They drove me to the train station, where I'd be taking a five-hour ride before switching to a bus that would take me the rest of the way to the school. I climbed out of the car, my parents following behind me in silence. We stood there for a moment, the weight of everything pressing down on us.

"We love you," they said in unison as they pulled me into a hug. I hugged them back, but the words didn't land. I still couldn't wrap my head around it—I hadn't done anything that bad, yet here I was, being sent away like some kind of punishment. But maybe it didn't matter. I'd be gone for four months, away from a home that often felt more like a cage than a refuge.

After a long, quiet pause, I finally said my goodbyes. I looked back one last time, then turned and walked toward the train, leaving them—and everything else—behind.

I climbed onto the train and found a window seat, sliding in as I watched my parents walk back to the car. They stood there for a moment, then drove off without looking back. Just like that, I was completely alone, heading to another state with no one but myself for the next six hours.

The train was nice—a modern electric one, with attendants coming by every so often to offer snacks or drinks. It felt strange, almost surreal, like I was on a trip I hadn't chosen.

I slipped on my headphones, scrolled through my playlist, and pressed play. "Time Moves Slow" by BadBadNotGood began drifting through the earbuds. It was one of those songs where every lyric felt like it was written for moments like this. I'd always thought it was strange how a song, created by someone else, could feel so much like home.

"I found you at the window again, looking out, watching the leaves falling in..."

I glanced out the train window, watching trees and fields rush by, a world slipping further away. Maybe this was what I needed—a fresh start, somewhere away from everything that felt too familiar, too suffocating. Maybe I really was a kid who needed help, someone who'd lost their way trying to be noticed. Perhaps this place, however far from home, could teach me something real.

"Time moves slow, when you're all alone..."

The lyrics filled the silence between thoughts, and for the first time, I felt the weight of the next few months. Running away had always seemed easy, but it was the leaving that hit the hardest, the finality of stepping away from my friends and the life I knew. They were more like family than anything else. And now, they felt so distant.

"Running away is easy, it's the leaving that's hard."

I was leaving so much behind—the good, the bad, and the only people who'd ever made me feel like I mattered. I know I'll never be able to fill those holes of my my friends.