The Distance Between Us

Chapter 1

     Running... 

     Walking at a very fast speed. One foot in front of the other in wide strides. The adrenaline pumps through your veins, and your breathing is ragged. That's what I did often. What I was best at. It was my drive, focus, and most importantly it was my past, present. And it was my future.

     But this was different. No... I wasn't just running. Like I usually do. I was running away.

     Why was I running away?

     Then it all hit me. No, like really hit me. Although, instead of falling down... I woke up.

     I woke up like usual in a panic, and I looked at the clock on my bedside table. I dreaded the clock when I woke up. I hated the clock, and the clock hated me.

     2:00 am

     The clock said, well, almost screamed at me. Why was the clock screaming at me? And why did it do it every morning? Well, because time and I don't always get along very much. When it comes to sleep, and going to bed... That was not my friend. To me, a bedtime was never looked forward to, but at the same time, I just wanted to sleep!

      I was too scared to go to bed, and yet I still do. Thinking that maybe this time it'll be different. The thing is I've been saying that before bed every night for the past eighteen years, and now almost nineteen. And then the terms early bird and not a morning person. I was both, and at the same time, I was neither.

     As if I wanted to wake up this early.

     Getting up because I was most definitely not going to fall back asleep. This was normal for me. I got dressed in black Nike shorts, a t-shirt, and white socks. Brushing my teeth, and "freshening up" I hated.

     It was as if the mirror was taunting you. FORCING you to look at yourself. Right in front of you every morning; laughing in your face because no matter where you go there will be a mirror. Following you... everywhere.

     Dark circles --that were ALWAYS there-- formed under my eyes. My face was a bit red and puffy from my nightmare.

     I must have been crying.

     My golden blonde hair that ran to my shoulders was knotty, so I tortured myself by brushing it. The natural curls didn't make it hurt any less. Brown eyes, the color of dirt or in which you interpret as something else that was brown, and stunk.

     That's what I always felt like.

     I washed my face and freshened up quickly. The longer I looked at myself the more miserable I made myself feel.

     When I was ready to go it was 4:30 am.

     Perfect!

     Grabbing my sneakers I head out into the warm Californian air, to do what I loved to do; the only thing that could get my mind to other things than my dreams.

     Not dreams. Nope, not at all. They were more like nightmares. What were dreams anyways? I wouldn't know. Haven't had a decent one in probably years.

     I've seen it all before, but every morning I looked around at my surroundings like I was seeing California for the first time.

     I lived in Los Angeles. I wasn't famous or moved here to make it big. I was here because it's where I was born. I've never left, nor did I have any plans to. It was warm, and it felt like summer all year around. In the middle of winter, I can put on shorts and a tank top and go running.