lies

one

Sav

Three years ago, to the day, I took off in the middle of the night. Leaving only a note behind.

I was nineteen and in so much pain. My family had no idea that I was planning my escape; they didn't have a clue how bad things were for me. Or perhaps they just didn't care.

I suppose, in the end, it doesn't matter.

I'm in my cosy little kitchen, a hundred miles away from home, and although I don't really have anyone, I'm better off. It's better to have a small group of genuine friends than dozens of surface ones, right? Well, that's me. Only, instead of a small group, I have one friend, who's also my boss, who I could be genuine with—but that would involve opening up.

Basically, neither of those is me. I don't have friends. I'm the hermit. That's me.

Placing my hands around my mug of steaming hot coffee, I drop my shoulders. Yes, okay, I might be better off, but it still sucks.

Things were so bad back then, and I had no one to turn to, no one who seemed to be on my side or at least trying to see things from my perspective. So, I did the only thing I felt I could, and I left.

I hate to admit that I still feel the ache in my chest when I think about the circumstances surrounding my total abandonment of my boyfriend and entire family. Sometimes, it takes my breath away, and other times, I can ignore it. The ache is like the moon—always there but not always visible.

My mum and my ex contact me often, but I do everything I can to keep them out of my life. I don't want to go back there. I don't even want to think about what happened.

In these last three years, my life has changed immeasurably. I used to live with my family in a large house on a respectable estate where everyone kept their grass cut at a scarily precise length. It was a beautiful and safe place to grow up.

It's where I met Simon—aka The Colossal Wanker.

It's also where I left Simon.

Now, I live in a small one-bedroom apartment on the outskirts of the city. It's a nice flat, built about six years ago, and I rent it from a sweet lady who bought it to hand down to her granddaughter when she turns eighteen. The apartment is also super close to work.

Sometimes, I barely recognise the person staring back at me in the mirror, but this year, I am determined to rebuild me.

The warm July rain hammers down on the window in my little kitchen.

In my old life, I hated the rain. I used to care so much about my appearance and would never leave the house without perfect makeup, flawless hair, and trendy clothes. When I closed the door to the old Savannah—or Sav, as I was nicknamed—I decided it was pointless to worry about such trivial things. When your whole world has imploded on you, it makes stressing over flat hair a little too superficial.

In an hour, I have to walk out the door for work. I'm ready, as I hate being late anywhere, not that my boss and only friend here would mind if I was a few minutes late.

Heidi is everything I want to be. She's strong, independent, and successful, and she seems to have everything together.

Her ducks are in a row. Mine are zigzagging. Though, I suppose, leaving everything I knew at nineteen and building a new life on my own does make me independent, but I'm working on the rest of it. Most of the time, I feel lost.

My laptop is open on the table in front of me. I kept my old Facebook account, but I don't use it. Sav Dean is long gone. The picture of me barely looks like me. I was eighteen, and the photo was taken at Glastonbury. Even there, my dark blonde hair is styled in a perfectly maintained bun.