Gazelle doesn't stop me, not when I rush to the door.
I turn to her, and speak.
"Remember, he was hitting you, you were defending yourself, and I knocked him out and hurt him and ran away. You tried to stop me, but I hit you. Got it?" I said, trying to make sure that I didn't incriminate her any more than I already had.
"Lith?" Gazelle asked, saying my name. Lith. Short for something that I didn't bother to remember, given that whoever my parents were, they weren't my parents, not really. Ugh.
"Yeah?" I asked, shifting foot to foot.
"I'm sorry." She said, obviously sad, and I paused, and the weight of this all getting to me, despite usually impartial and indifferent nature, I couldn't help but feel disappointed as well, that we couldn't make this work, despite struggling for such a long time.
"It's going to get better." I whispered, though mostly to myself, even though I knew that it was a lie.
I turned, with nothing more than a few school notebooks and textbooks on my back; and ran outside, the chilly morning air making me shiver, but within a few minutes of jogging I was warmer.
To anybody else I looked like a kid off to school; walking towards the bus waiting area. I was soon there, and heard faint sirens. I noticed the bus approaching, and I got on, and used some of the precious money I had saved up to pay for a bus ride to the furthest I could go without arousing suspicion, which was to the store, which was a ways away from here, and I could probably walk out into the woods or something.
I had the mind to bring with me my food stamp, though the end of the month was nearing; and if I were to try to live off this, I would be caught at some point or another.
Soon I was in the store, and the employees didn't say anything about the bruises on my face; this happened often.
I got a large amount of unparishbles, and used the rest of my money on a lighter, and some protein-rich granola bars. These granola weren't going to keep me healthy, not if I was truly planning on spending some time running away.
Next thing, I'm running out into the woods behind the store, which was more of a gas station, now that I thought about it, hoping that the backpack wouldn't wear me out. I reached into my pocket, and pulled out a stolen knife. For protection.
I then took off anything that would help Identify me, and I got some dirt on the ground, and passed it through my ginger hair; making it a dusty brownish.
I wasn't smart, just resourceful, observative, partially indifferent. I wasn't mad at Gazelle. I wasn't mad when I got the black eye. The way I saw it, it was what I got for meddling in something that wasn't my business.
That was my nature. Which was why I had been surprised when I hit Jamell. I continued walking, making sure to stay there for a bit, deciding to run if I heard any sirens.
I didn't know the layout of these woods; I lived in a small town, and hadn't made any friends.
I already had so much crap to deal with, why involve myself in somebody else's mess? So, for the most part, I had the mind to stay away from others, which admittedly was lonely, but it was much better than getting attached, only to have to leave.
Time passed, and I stopped, hearing faint sirens, so faint I could have been making them up in my head.
I don't know what to do now. If I return, it's guaranteed juvie for me, but if I run away, won;t have anywhere to go? After all, where could I go to when I'm underage, haven't finished school, and have no family to speak of, and am trapped in a remote small town in the middle of nowhere.
Maybe I should hitchhike. Or perhaps I can catch a biker unawares and take their bike. I wasn't keen on the idea; it was alien to me to purposefully do something proactively. But what made me feel slightly numb was that the idea of well, whatever negative things stealing a bike would entail.
But it was reasonable, at least a little.
But maybe the person I would take the bike from would call the police, they'd describe me, and I'd be traced down by the end of the day.
So, hitchhiking it is then, though I'm pretty sure I'd have equal chances of getting called the police on.
A runaway is simply a tremendous amount of trouble that nobody, myself included, would like to involve themselves with.
But maybe I'll get lucky.
But at that thought, I snicker, for the first time in a while. My luck was extremely bad. I had gone through a few foster homes; and I've come up with my ratio of good people to bad. People with the minimum level of morals were considered good people, by my standards. However, those who used me for gain of benefit solely to themselves, were bad.
Loose terminology, I know, but My standards had been lowered substantially as time went by, and 7/10 people were bad, while the small three had simply gotten rid of me because of my character, or were in bad situations.
I had a family who had made a donation site for me; an orphan, and got a decent amount of money, and then simply returned me to the foster home, pockets full of cash.
I thought I had hit the jackpot with Gazelle, she was a good person, exceeding my standards by a large margin; but Jamell brought that down quite a bit. But everybody has their own baggage.
I had thought myself different, but with that kick I had given to Jamell, I'm not so sure anymore.
I'm supposed to be indifferent, observatory. Not vindictive. I frowned, pensive, my thumb still stuck out.
As I'm having a small mental breakdown, I hear a car's brakes groaning slightly, and I look up to see a gray van, time-worn, with crusted bumper stickers and drawings on the dust on the windows.
I'm slightly put off, unsure if I was in danger or not. The passenger seat next to the drivers opened, and a blond-ish lady lifted her neck out of the doorframe. She had laugh wrinkles around her eyes, and she looked concerned.
"Are you alright? Are you waiting for your parents?" She asked, with a faint trace of an accent, but I can't tell which.
She seems good. She asked me about my situation, signs of someone having somewhat solid morals.
She seemed empathetic, but also somewhat frightened at my silence as I pondered her state of morality.
"I'm a runaway. Please don't call the cops, I couldn't take it anymore, so I ran away." I lied, giving them a half truth. But the way I was, it was a half-lie.
Her eyes widened for a bit as she finally got a good look at my bruised face, though she restrained emotions, and I could see her conflicted state.
Her reasoning is probably telling her not to get involved, and truthfully, she shouldn't. It would be a detriment to her, but a benefit for me. Does that make me a bad person by my own standards? Perhaps.
Then there was her moral side. It was interesting to say the least, because people with strong morals, but any sense of reason usually have hard times deciding on major choices like this.
Those who usually make a quick choice, usually do it for their own benefit. But I can't quite be so quick to come to a conclusion, not when I've done the same thing just now.
"Do you have any family you know of nearby?" She called out, and I could see her breath becoming mist, fog.
It was getting colder. I suddenly shivered now, reminded of how cold it was.
"No. I'm an orphan, my parents didn't necessarily leave me a note with their names on it." I said, once more being slightly shocked at my anger.
Maybe Jamell's action finally caused a crack in my mental and metaphorical dam holding back all my crazy.
"I-I'm sorry, I'm not usually like this. I've had a lot on my mind lately." I quickly said, not knowing why.
Maybe because they're my only chance of getting out of this run down town, where I would be trapped.
"No, no, I should be the one apologizing. That wasn't a well-thought out question. Want to hop in? It's warmer here." She offered, and I felt slight distrust, but I once more scaled her on my standards, and decided that even if she was bad, at least it would be warm in the car.
I nodded, and shuffled into the car, and saw around four kids. The car was a van, so the order of the seats went like this: Two front seats for the driver and the passenger, two more right behind them, and three seats at the back.
The two kids in the seats behind their parents looked the same age as me, around fourteen.
I indeed was fourteen, but that matters little right now. The rest were younger, and the last one was really small, in a baby seat.
There was one extra space for me, it was occupied by a raised seat for children. I hurried to it, and sat down.
I didn't bother removing it; it would be a pain to put back when I would later leave. The van was cramped and smelled like fries.
I simply began to shake my leg, trying to warm myself.The ones around my age were looking at me curiously, I didn't like it.
However, as long as I didn't have to speak with them, I would be content.
I don't trust small children or people my age. They have yet to fully form their ratio between reason and morality, and that screwed up the standard scale I had, which offset my balance.
I looked to the front of the car, and saw the driver, which I assumed was the father. He wasn't gruff, but he seemed tense as we drove off, looking around.
He probably wasn't interested in helping me, but was only going along with this because of the wife.
Of course, he wanted things to get better for me, but most likely on the same level most would feel when they saw a homeless person in the middle of the street, asking for change or food.
And I agreed with that mentality. Getting into somebody else's business had never ended well for me, so there was no reason other than morality to get involved with the problems of another person unrelated to you.
He started driving, and the kids around me started asking me questions, huffing when I didn't respond, and pretended to sleep.
Somewhere in between my pretending, I had actually fallen asleep, and was awoken when I felt someone tap on my shoulder lightly.
I opened my eyes, and hurriedly wiped off my drool as I regained my composure.
There was a savory smell, and I tracked it to a bag with a large yellow 'M' on it. I looked around me, and realized I was at a fast food restaurant.
How long had it been since I had been at one of those?
I think it's been a year, the last visit being a field trip, which was free of course. Gazelle hadn't had enough money to pay for a non-essential thing like a field trip, and I had hidden the permission slips from her most of the time, so that she didn't feel so sad.
She cried often, even when Jamell and she hadn't gone down in metaphorical flames. She told me I was too young to understand.
And I cried that night, too. Not because I didn't understand, but because I did. Sometimes I wonder if other kids have it better when they don't understand. When they could go through the week without needing to hear their friends cry, or yell at their phones, or take medication.
I was taken out of my trance when I realized that one of the kids had been talking to me, and was offering me a wrapped cheeseburger,
I think, but I had put on my earmuffs, so I couldn't hear him clearly.
"Sorry." I briefly said, grabbing the burger, and opened it, and ate it slowly, feeling a sudden, unwelcome spike of resentment at them for not knowing who rare this was, and how they took it for granted.
I shook my head, putting my earmuffs to once more focus, clearing out the bad thoughts, pressing them down.
I savored the burger, taking in the taste, though along with it came bad memories. Memories of Gazelle saying that we couldn't go because it wasn't healthy, but in reality it was because she was trying to save up for tuition, and had adopted me out of necessity, for the extra cash. She later on began college, but by then, she had become attached to me, and refused to let me go, and always looked guilty when I had first asked her why she had adopted me.
But I didn't blame her. She needed the money, I needed to be under a morally driven person, and the fact that she felt bad for using me, and not proud of it showed she was still moral.
The burger was done too fast, and I restrained myself from licking my fingers. I felt ashamed, a familiar feeling. But it was gone, as the lady's muffled voice made it through the earmuffs.
"What's your name?" She asked, looking worried, concerned. I could tell I wouldn't hesitate when answering. It was a sign of a lie. So, I said what first came to mind. A name I had wished was my real name, not Lith, short for whatever crap my parent might have named me.
"My name is August." I said, refusing to flinch as she looked at me intensely, feeling my mind sink further into confusion as my morality-to-reason ratio began to feel muddled.
"That's a dumb name." One of the kids said, looking at me. Dyed black hair with a purple stripe, and had a snarky attitude. How original.
The anger flared up again, but I managed to block it out, pressing it down again, like an out-of-control dog.
I raised my thumb to my neck, feeling a familiar soothing sensation of my blood pumping, a certain rhythm within the pulsing.
Pulsing. I learned that word from Gazelle's college book.
The lady gave me a trained smile, and gave the girl an angry glare when she thought I wasn't looking.
I wondered what they wanted from me.
They were probably going to feed me then leave me when things got problematic. So, I pretended to need to use the bathroom, and they told the girl to go with me. She snorted, unhappy, and we stepped outside, the cold gusts making my skin raise with goosebumps.
But as I walked inside, I spotted the lady and the guy talking, sneaking a glance at me. I noticed the girl staring at me.
As soon as we entered, I tried to distract her from the fact that I was going to make a run for it by making small talk. I had brought my backpack with me, so I assumed that they probably knew what I was going to try to do.
But they didn't stop me. I took off my earmuffs, and I crouched down suddenly to tighten my shoe laces, and spoke.
"Um, hi. What's your name?" I asked, to which she only growled.
"Why do you not like me?" I asked, asking her up front, probably only because this would probably be the last time I would see her.
"Ugh. My name's April." She said, her voice dripping with angst.
"Oh. Don't like your name, I take it." I said, and she seemed surprised. What was she expecting?
"April, can I count on you to let me run away from here?" I asked, looking her right in the eyes as I adjusted my backpack.
She froze, her expression expressing her nervousness.
"It's no big deal, after all, you don't like me, right? I'll be out of your hair. Sorry, but I can't go back. Tell your mom and dad that I'm sorry." I said, before turning to the other exit, and walking outside, leaving April on her own.
I was on a busy strip mall, and it was noon, the sky painted a fading, blue, dark, casting shadows everywhere. I jogged, and I heard April shout out towards me, and I knew I was screwed.
Shit. If the employees called the cops, I'd be screwed. I tried to keep a casual pace, but I heard her voice near me. Was she running? Crap
I broke out into a run, no longer caring about looking normal. I wasn't strong enough to run for a long while so after a few minutes, my lungs were unable to completely take in a healthy amount of air.
I heard her voice fade away as I made it into an alleyway, and I sat down on the worn out concrete of this alleyway, with dead rats, and flies buzzing everywhere. I was officially free, yet on the run. Had it been worth it?