Boston {ryden}

1

I think I'll go to Boston, think I'll start a new life
I think I'll start it over, where no one knows my name
I'll get out of California, I'm tired of the weather
think I'll get a lover, and fly him out to Spain
I think I'll go to Boston, I think that I'm just tired
I think I need a new town, to leave this all behind
I think I need a sunrise, I'm tired of a sunset

The day I found my sister in the bathtub dead was the day I met Ryan Ross.

The water was a deep red and the entire room smelt like copper and death; even her blonde hair had been dyed a shade of pink on the ends where it was floating on the surface of the bloody mess she lie in.The paramedics took her body and left the bloody water for me to clean up. I wouldn't have dared let my mother in to see the mess Christina had left behind. I remember pulling my sleeve up, feeling nothing, dipping my hand into the murky red to pull the plug of the bathtub and wash my sister out of it. The white ceramic was stained even once it was empty, a dark ring of red remaining, and a tiny glint of silver came from the bottom, a clean razor, my sister's destroyer, sparkling at me from the blood stained bottom of the tub. I picked it up, and set it on the sink, unsure if throwing it away would really do the moment justice. I spent the next three hours in that bathroom with a spray bottle of bleach and a sponge, ridding every inch of that tub of any trace of my sister that still remained. My hands and clothes reeked of chemicals by the time I had finished, but somehow I could still smell the copper stench of her blood as I left the room that day. My mother and father were in the bedroom with the door shut, and I could hear my mother's whimpers as I made my way past and down the stairs. I had done my part. I found the mess. I cleaned it up. The house stank of death and I needed new air, so I changed my blood stained clothes and washed my hands a few times before I left, wandering to no where inparticular, with no jacket on a brisk October day in Maine. I didn't even feel the cold biting at me after an hour of walking when I reached the bus stop and slid onto the empty bench, my short sleeves rustling in the wind, goosebumps raising on my skin. I didn't even notice the boy who huffed as he sat down on the vacant end of the bench, wrapped in a worn out hoodie, his cheeks pink with the cold and frustration. I heard him sigh once or twice before he piped up.

"Where are you going?"

I looked over. His hair swept over his left eye, and half of me wanted to reach out and brush it aside, like I used to do with Christina.

"I don't know," I answered him, truthfully, noticing how intently he was looking at me. "Probably nowhere."

He looked unconvinced. "Well, you're sitting at a bus station, you must want to go somewhere," he reasoned, though I could tell he was just trying to pursue the conversation further. His eyes struck me; I knew he wasn't going to be an easy one to shake.

"Well, if that's the case, where are you going?" I shot back smoothly, watching his expression change from curious to confused, lips tightly pressed together. He looked away from me and back across the street, huffing again.

"Boston," he answered stiffly, with a firm nod, as he hugged a worn, tattered black Jansport to his chest.

"Boston?"

He nodded. "Boston."

"What's in Boston?"

"Everything that's not in Maine."

I had to smile. Maybe I was just numb.

"Aren't you cold?" He questioned me once I had fallen into silence, his arms loosening their death grip on the backpack in his lap, brushing it onto the bench beside him. "You don't even have a coat on."

I shrugged. "I'm not cold," I told him, though my pink cheeks and the bumps on my arms must have betrayed me. "I need the fresh air."

"Sick of being inside?" He guessed, and I noticed his ever so slight scooch towards me on the cold metal bench.