painkillers. - H.S ✔

leave

I run.

To my closet, to retrieve the largest suitcase I possibly can find. To find any article of clothing that's mine, to find any pair of shoes that I want with me. I grab everything that's mine out of the drawers, and I leave the room a mess. It feels nice not cleaning up after anyone for once.

The suitcase is almost full by the time more than half of my clothes are stuffed into it. Trent and I never went on vacation anywhere, every suitcase and luggage bag I'd owned was stuffed into the darkest corner of our closet so that I would never even have a tiny feeling of adventure. So I'd never leave.

I stuff my clutch into my purse, every important thing that I own is packed into these two bags. Almost every t-shirt that I loved wearing to bed, a few dresses that Trent had said no to me wearing in the past, a couple pairs of shoes that I used to love wearing out shopping, and to top it off: my pastel yellow shirt that many months ago I had been called a slut for wearing.

My hands tremble so much that I have a hard time even grasping the zipper to the suitcase. And when I do, I tug on it until it's closed. I grab my burgundy sweatshirt from the dresser drawer and tug on my shoes that were discarded by the closet yesterday.

I slip my purse strap over my shoulder and lift my suitcase off of the bed, tugging it along with me as I walk out of the bedroom for the last time. I don't even give it a second glance, this place has enough haunting memories of me, it doesn't need one last one.

I almost want to smile, I won't have to make another sandwich. I won't have to sit in silence half the time. I don't have to watch someone who clearly doesn't love me dig me a deeper grave.

I snatch the car keys off of the kitchen counter and don't spare one glance at the half-naked man running towards me at the moment. I don't think I've ever seen Trent, let alone a grown man beg so much. With my every move, an 'I'm sorry' slips out of his cowardly mouth.

I pull open the door with Trent trailing behind me, he snatches his shirt off of the tile kitchen floor and pulls it over his head. He covers behind me, begging and begging.

And for once, I don't give a shit.

He stumbles into the hallway after me, trying to grab ahold of my wrist but I pull away quickly. At this point, he's almost at hollering volume. His desperate cries could be heard from two blocks away.

I stand there for a moment, I soak in the ugly carpet and the fact that the hallway windows are open and the cool early morning breeze is seeping in. And I hear a door click open, Trent stops begging for a moment and stands limp against the doorway and I slowly turn my head even though I know I don't want to.

He stands in his own doorway but his hair is disheveled and his eyes light in the tiny bit of light that the windows let in.

"Mara?"

And I leave, I leave Trent behind and I leave that shitty apartment. But I also leave behind possibly the only thing that has made me happy in the past year; Harry.

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American hotline for domestic abuse:1-800-799-SAFE (7233).

Website link for more information and numbers:
http://www.thehotline.org

Watch these:
https://youtu.be/WL3rfk2iFww
https://youtu.be/hhHdIhfK7LQ
https://youtu.be/5Z_zWIVRIWk

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