Philophobia

Running

    Yo. So it's been like. Almost a year.
Hey at least not a full year though so back to The story- this one is shorter since it's been a while. Couldn't find the artist for the picture :(

In a city the size of New York, it was hard to keep oneself updated on all the crime and happenings of the area. Combined with the fact that Jack had been busy struggling with where to live, and especially with who he was living with lately, there was no way he could have seen it. Or even known. Like all things you run from, however, it was catching up to him, far sooner then he could have possibly imagined.

    A cold rush of wind seeped into the back of his hoodie, tearing through the thin material. His face was wet and rosy, red from yelling, crying, and the revival of things best left forgotten. Jack stopped at a nearby cafe. He bought a coffee. For a while, he sat and watched the rain trickling down across the windows and pool on the sidewalk. Strangers muttered muted words as they scurried by the shop, the occasional taxi giving quick glimpses of their faces. He thought nothing of why he left, or of where he wished to go. Biting his lip with a sigh, he took the last sip of his drink. Standing up he tossed the empty cardboard into the trash, and with the door clinging as they do, he walked back out into the night.

    No one could have expected him to know it, that there were people looking for him. That his family had bothered to care. Jack knew them so well, but he trusted himself in how careful his actions had been. He had run away seamlessly, with little trace to find him with. To top it off he had settled in one of the biggest cities in the world, all the way across the oceans.

    Somehow though, there was no running. As said before, It all was catching up.

    Sitting on a bench under a large, leafy tree Jack was comforted by the natural shelter from the pouring rain. The world around him grew darker as he continued to shiver, rubbing his hands and then shoulders, switching between the two when the other started to grow numb. He didn't want to go in. This was numbing. It was exactly what he needed right then. A streetlamp flickered on above a nearby crosswalk, letting Jack see a policecar sitting across the street from him. With a pang in his chest he peered closer, having a normal curiousity for what the officer might be doing, only to sit back quickly with wide eyes as he saw in the window.

   A woman with a large disheveled bun and curvy body looked out at him, eyebrow raised and smoking a cigarette. She flicked it out the window and turned away, messing with something Jack couldn't see. While she was distracted he stood up, head tucked in close like a turtle and hands shoved deep into his pockets. It wasn't like he had done anything wrong, but there was something Jack couldn't place, a gut feeling the screamed for him to make his way towards a place he could hide. For the first time since he'd left he thought of Mark, subconsciously wishing that he had his friend here to make him feel better. Fear tore anger away with rabid precision until Jack was tapped on the shoulder, biting down to keep Mark's name from escaping his mouth.

   Stomach dropping and nose crinkling with the smell of cigarettes, Jack's mouth opened as he licked his dry lips. Stepping backward he found himself shaking his head slightly as the police officer pulled a small printer sized paper out of her back pocket, unfolding it to reveal Jack's face and basic information about him scrawled and highlighted.

   "Was told by the department to be on the lookout for you. Said they'd tracked a missing man to New York," She rambled off, folding the paper back up and storing it away, "Don't want any trouble, so if this is you you'd better come with me kid."

   "I-" Jack began, mind fuzzy and chest starting to tighten. Glancing around for an escape he breathed quickly, trying not to alert the suspicious woman in front of him as to his thoughts, "Yes. T-That's me."

   Pulling himself together, he knew, for now, to listen to what she had to say. He could outrun her but that would cause even more problems, and for the moment that was plan B. Causing trouble was usually plan B.

   "How about you get in the passenger seat of my car then, the stations not too far from here," She explained as Jack reluctantly walked over to the police car, hoping in and glancing out the window. He guessed this was it. There was no where left to go.

But who was looking for him?

Sadness turned to disbelief, then disbelief to raw fear. A guttural panic shot through his veins. He was paralyzed. The women looked back through the glass, her eyes lazy.

"Don't think about running. You won't get far." She said, and the car started up and made its way through the rain.

There was a weird phenomena he'd noticed over the years, being forced to suffer silently, that when he screamed in his mind he became out of breath. He only did this when he was truly paralyzed, terrified, and lost of all hope.

His parents. Of course they were still looking. His hand pressed to the window, but every time he glanced outside there were faces in the trees, and people racing by in the cold as though nothing was wrong, as if his life wasn't ending as they spoke. All he could see was his mother, her cold smile, the locked doors and hours being told who to be. Be the doll. Be a machine. Of course he'd run, how else to become his own person by leaving the damn country, jobless and never looking back?

How else to be himself but to fall in love?

Reality set in, and he suddenly noticed he was out of breath. Rain continued to fall.

The car stopped. Jack's head turned slowly, sounds numbly and hazy. Shadows seeped through the windows of a brightly lit building to his right. It was a police station, a small one, crudely labeled but clean. The officer opened her door and stepped out, handcuffs clinking in her palms all the while. She didn't seem like she was going to use them, but they were there, a reminder of sorts.

His door was opened and he stepped out, watching where he placed his feet on the slick sidewalk. The officer was trying to light a cigarette as she led him to the door, it flickered and she paused, frustrated. Jacks anger began to fester again, no longer bleak and dead from earlier.

Mark lied to him, treated him like shit, his parents acted like he was their personal doll even after he became a legal adult, hiding the paperwork to keep their son forever, and now the officer stood in front of him, barely paying attention, busy trying to feed her habit.

Every time he tried to rebel the world caught up with him. Fate found him, or his parents, or the police. When he ran from Mark he ended back up where he started. Yes. Mark was an asshole. But more than that, at this very moment he was Jack's only support. And whether or not he wanted to admit it, the man he loved.

He couldn't go back. But he didn't have the guts to survive by himself.

"Fuck this." Jack spit under his breath. The woman ignored him, and dropped her soggy cigarette on the ground. She cursed, and leaned over to pick it up.

And that's when Jack ran.

"Hey! Stop!" A tired but firm voice called after him, as he sprinted through the rain, clothes and hair soaked to the bone. Walkie talkies mumbled through the rain. He didn't stop. Weaving between buildings, he ignored the rush of cars going by. He wondered if sirens would go off. He didn't know if police even chased down missing persons. Probably not- but because of his parents they could think he was anything. Mentally insane. Underage. A criminal. They would lie and crawl their way back to him no matter what it took.

Stopping in an alleyway, he leaned down beside a trash can and looked up at the buildings. They were a shiny metallic, probably very pretty in the daylight.

He pulled out his phone, unlocked it, and opened the message app. In all her obvious seriousness the cop hadn't taken his phone. He tried to type, but he could barely hear the rain over his heart, and his hands shook rapidly. He only got out one word. And hopefully the only one he needed.

"Help."

He tried to think of the address he was at, why he was running but his head was muffled and he was chewing on his lip, terrified.

If Mark truly was who he thought he was, he would find him. He couldn't do this alone anymore.

If not, then maybe Jack would have to start getting used to closed doors again.