Chasing Freedom (Book 2)

Chapter Forty-Three: Nine Months, Four Weeks, Twenty Days (Part One) (Cole)

Chapter Forty-Three: Nine Months, Four Weeks, Twenty Days (Part One) (COLE)

Nine months, four weeks, and twenty days.

That's how long it's been since I saw Skylar; waiting until she walked away and my ears were filled with shrieks of joy before I quietly let myself out of the house, leaving nothing but a two-word note in my wake.

I knew it was wrong.

I knew I was an ass.

But there wasn't much for me to do.

I thought I could do it; I really did, I thought I'd follow her right into Belmount-into the place that should've been my home just as much as it was hers-and be able to pick up right where we left off.

I thought I could live there, at least until she figured out what she wanted to do, thought I could walk the streets I should've known like the back of my hand until we reached our destination and were welcomed with cries of joy and the simple love a family of friends shared.

Except I didn't know the streets and the destination was a home that mean little-to-nothing to me and the family of friends waiting inside weren't waiting for me and they weren't my family of friends.

So I stood there at the door, promising Skylar I'd be fine as she turned a corner and disappeared, leaving me to do nothing but stare at an unfamiliar spine of stairs that led to an even unfamiliar hallway in an unfamiliar home and the realization hit me:

This was supposed to be my life, this was supposed to be my home.

I should've been able to know what room was what and where it was located and which steps on the stairs creaked under the weight of my guilty sneaking-out shoes.

I could practically see it; waking up in the morning worried about something as mundane as being late for school, bumping into Skylar on the way to the bathroom and whispering a tired good morning her way, running out the door to the sound of honking with Lilia pressing a muffin in my hand and a lingering kiss on my forehead.

I could even see the bad stuff; stumbling through the door at one of the early hours of the morning, trying to be quiet, knowing it's no use because she's right there on the couch with a book in her hands and a disapproving look in her tired eyes hidden behind a thick pair of glasses.

I should've known what my relationship with her-and Skylar-would have been like.

Instead, I could do nothing but only guess.

And then the sound of her friends, happy to see her, rejoicing in the fact she wasn't dead, content with her standing right there in front of them after so many months of waiting, filled my ears.

And

I

Just

Couldn't

Do

It.

Hearing those sounds and standing around awkwardly and seeing nothing but what the front entrance allowed me to see, it really hit me, and suddenly I was just eaten up by the nostalgia of a past that wasn't mine-that would never be mine.

So I did what I do best.

I left.

Quickly found a crumpled bill in my pocket, located a pen, scratched two meaningless words on it and let it fall to the floor as I opened the door, took one last saddening look around me, stepped out and closed it quietly behind me.