The Last Page

Chapter 1- A New City

Waking up in a new city was difficult. Especially when it would become my permanent home and I was leaving everything and everyone back in California. Honestly, It was one of the most difficult things I had experienced. Although it didn't match up to the reason why I was leaving. Over time I just didn't think I belonged here, but then again I didn't belong back there either.

It was really for the best. I hurt too many people, I didn't mean to, it just happened. Yet the circumstances lead me to come out looking like a horrible monster. Or at least my own consciousness lead me to view myself as one, and the more time I spent locked up in my room, the more I drilled it into my mind that I was. Slowly I began to drift from those closest to me, affecting everyone and anyone who came close like some awful disease. At school I would walk down the halls with my head low in shame of the horrors I had building up inside of me. Soon I started becoming a danger for those around me as well as for myself.

One day my dad watched from outside the door of my room as I threw all the pictures and memories that tormented me across the room. He stood still not saying a word as I yelled and cursed the world. When I finally fell to my knees and cried into my hands he walked in and put his hand on my shoulder as he sat on the floor next to me. He slightly understood what I was going through, he'd done something similar when I was younger. I too stood at the door to his and my mom's room as he yelled the day my mom died. He'd always said he saw himself in me, and that night I would have believed him. The following morning he walked into my room and said he had some good news. The last thing I needed was more bad news, it seemed like everything in my life was just so full of negativity and a little spark of hope was all I needed. My dad hesitated as he told me, he wasn't looked like he wasn't really sure of what he was doing. We were going to move away, for my safety and his he said. But I was sure he had us move to prevent me from doing harm to myself. I didn't blame him, the last days at school were tough on me, everywhere I walked had me having to face someone mentioning something about the incident.

"Hey champ, I know this is hard for you," my day said while packing, "But once we leave this place I don't want you to look back, ever." He gave me a warm look as if it were all too easy. There was just so much to look back to, although there was also a dark past waiting to look me in the eyes.

A week before school ended I began packing. It didn't take long to do, besides my clothes I didn't have much to pack, everything reminded me too much of this place for me to even consider taking with me. I looked through a pile of photographs that I'd taken the days when everything was normal around this place. "You should be a photographer," my friends would often tell me. My love for photography and art was pretty much the only things I would be taking with me.

I deleted all my social networks the night before leaving, saying goodbye to a few people, only the ones I really cared about. A simple goodbye was all I was saying, nothing too deep or emotional. I just wanted to be cleared from the face of the earth, it was time to start of with a clean slate.

The following day we left for the city early in the morning, early enough to avoid being seen. "San Antonio, here we come." my dad said while starting the car. Oh Texas. All I could think about was seeing cowboys riding horses. Apparently we had family there that were willing to let us stay while we found a place to live at. My dad clearly hadn't gotten enough sleep, and neither had I. I stayed up late thinking about how screwed up I'd left things back home. I also couldn't stop thinking about the things people told to me. I lamented everything and anything, but that wouldn't help me at all.

The ride to the city was a great way for having a much needed conversations with my dad, who I hadn't been able to since my mother's death. They were so in love with each other. I was only 12 when she died, and I could still remember arriving home and receiving the news. My father was devastated, a short while after he got into a habit of drinking. I'd seen my father at his worst, and it was something i hoped i never saw again. I didn't blame him, luckily he was a man of reason and was able to realize that he still had me to look after. And after the incident I think he was afraid of losing me too.