Clandestine

sixty six

-julia-

The second my mother walks out of my room, I lock the door behind her. Once she walks down the stairs, I press my chair against the door, hooking the top beneath the handle. It's barely anything. It may give me a few minutes at most.

But minutes are minutes.

I grab my suitcase and then a backpack out of my closet. I pull everything important out of my suitcase and shove it into the backpack.

I pull out the screen of my window and open the glass wide. With one look back at my room, I just from the window. I sprint the moment my feet hit the ground.

My mother could be watching me. She might have glanced up from the window. Even more likely, she's watching all the feed on the cameras.

But maybe she isn't.

Maybe she's too confident in her fear tactics. Maybe she assumes that she did such a good scaring me and being intimidating and being such a good parent, that her obedient daughter would never think of running.

Because the daughter she raised would never be that foolish.