The Youtuber And The Teacher

Poetry For The Lost

So, sorry if this story has gotten out of hand, it seems just stupid now, bc I'm fresh out of ideas, and the chapters are a little rushed, because *cough* a friend *cough* who shall not be named has been requesting chapters, but go on and read if you dare, or, ya know, don't. I don't really care. (Okay, maybe a little please I'm desperate)

Rose's POV

"Are you ready?" I asked Donnie, while sitting on his floor, my knees pulled up to my chest. He offered me the bed, but I had no interest in sitting there.

"Just give me a second," he murmured, stuffing an unknown object into his backpack, just as my phone started to buzz. Again.

It was one of my dad's, or my brother, I knew it. I let it buzz off, until it went quiet.

"Alright," he sighed, shouldering the backpack. "I'm ready. But . . . you better know for dang sure what you're doing." He angrily adjusted his glasses.

I managed a weak smile. "I do. You know, you're a really great friend for coming with me."

A look of sadness came across his face, but he wiped it off so quickly I doubted myself that it was ever there. "Yeah . . . friend. . . ."

"My daddy's not the sharpest tool in the shed, so he won't figure the note out," I explained while opening his window. I popped the screen out, and dropped it on the ground. It was only a one story window, so the casualties would be next to nothing. "But my dad's pretty intelligent. He'll figure it out pretty quick. We shouldn't travel next to the highway."

Donnie nodded, like he was listening along, but he dragged his index finger across the railing on his bed, distractedly. "Rose?" He asked, not looking at me. He continued to trace random patterns into the bed frame. "Why are you doing this? I mean, I know what you told me about at the party. And I know you weren't supposed to go. But why are you running away?" He finally looked up at me, yet his brown hair shielded his eyes. "You can't run away from your problems."

I sat down on his windowsill and put my head in my hands. "What happens after sex, Donnie?"

I don't look at him, yet I can practically feel him blushing. "I-I . . . kids?" He whispers, unsure.

"Yes," I say, my voice thick with unshed tears. "I just don't think I can face my dads with that."

His soft footsteps come over to me, and I all can see are his red converse. "Rose . . ." He trails off and grabs my hand. "I'm so sorry . . ."

I rip my hand out of his, and shrug at the floor. "It wasn't your fault. It was mine. I wore that stupid dress that was too short. That's why he did what he did."

Donnie's fingers cup my chin lightly, as if I were a delicate porcelain doll. He tilts my head up so I'm forced to look at him.

"Don't," he says. "Ever. Blame yourself for that. It wasn't your fault. Girls don't force people to do that. They don't want that for sure. Please, Rose," he says softly. "Don't blame yourself."

I answer by jumping out his window, landing on the ground with a soft thump.

His words climb down with me. You can't run away from your problems.

Watch me, bitch.

Donnie tumbles down after me, landing not so gracefully as I did.

"So, why Topeka?" He asks, once we walk across his street into the woods that line the highway.

I shrug. "It's a pretty large city. Number three or four in the state. It must be easy to get a job there."

He nods, and shivers a little. "Are you cold, Rose?"

Shrug. "Not really," I say, even though I am. It was late September, yet the afternoon was cool, and ready for fall to start.

We continue to walk, and even if it takes only forty-five minutes by car, it'll most likely take quite a few hours to walk.

I must continue to shiver, because Donnie takes off his hoodie and hands it to me. "Here," he says. "You need it more than me."

I take my backpack off and shrug it on. "Thank you," I murmur, greatfully. It's mega warm, and smells like . . . like some form of cologne. And it's amazing.

We walk like that for hours, taking occasional drinks from bottles of water, with little conversation.

Nothing can be heard except the sound of cicadas and the few and far between cars that pass, which is lucky for us, because, knowing my dads, they'd have called every police station in the state looking for me.

It takes nearly five hours nonstop to get to Topeka, and another twenty minutes to get to the college. Next to it is a local convenience store, called 'Ichabd's Mart', just as I had planned.

"Come with me, Donnie," I say to him, grab his hand, and pull him inside.

There is a lone girl sitting at the counter, looking dazed and extremely tired, flipping through a magazine with music playing from her phone. 

'The rooms have a hint of asbestos and maybe just a dash of formalde-'

I clear my throat, and she looks up, startled.

"Oh!" She laughs, nervously. "Hello. Innit a little late to be buying snacks?" She narrowed her eyes a bit. "Oh." She said, flatly. "You're from that party down the street." She rolled her eyes. "Yeah, the booze is down that isle." She pointed indirectly somewhere behind her, so that even if I did want alcohol, I still wouldn't know where it was.

"No," I say, slightly hurt at the assumption."Just came to hang up a sign in your bulletin board."

She raises an eyebrow. "Right there," she points. I follow her finger to the board and walk over there.

It's advertising bands, and selling dogs and kitties, and a car is for sale. A local child is missing, and a yard sale is being held tomorrow.

I pin my sign in the bottom left corner of the bulletin board. It's a sticky note, and it says this:

Your little girl got a job
She's doing just fine
She's saving up for college
Collecting every dime
Your heart may be broken
Your feelings may be torn
But don't worry;she's not a child
She'll make it through the storm
She loves you dearly
She loves you true
And she promises she'll come back to you

A picture of a rose is at the bottom right, along with a W-N, for Winchester-Novak. 

I look at the sign one more time, before walking out of the store and into the cool evening air  with Donnie at my heels.