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The blue haze of the sky peeking inside the tall glass wall greets her as she tiredly walks in. Empty bottles of water, empty rooms, and an even emptier heart. The rectangular piece of paper she purchased feels light in her hand, and it’s a reminder of how easy it would be to go back.
There’s a mocking voice that tells her she’s overreacting, but miles away from home in an unforgiving city, she learns to tune it out. Away from the glass wall, there’s a few blankets haphazardly thrown together forming a makeshift bed, and a small suitcase filled with unopened dreams and frayed beginnings. She drapes her jacket on it and leans against the wall, knees hugging her chest. The landscape of the city swims into view.
As merciless as it is, it looked just as beautiful. The little flashes of cars on the colorful roads, strings of bright blue, red, orange, decorating tall buildings and adorning the streets. The blue stands out against the dark of the sky.
There are noises that momentarily distract her; the drunken yelling of a man downstairs, the never-ending chatter of vehicles, and the thumping of her heart as it constricts.
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It’s odd, she thinks, that she feels so at home yet so far away at the same time. The city makes her feel small as she looks out, but there’s a comfort in knowing there’s a bustling life around her even if she’s alone.
It was a stupid idea, running away. She supposed you couldn’t even call it running away once you’re 18, but it felt as thrilling as it did cowardly. She’s far, far away and has made too many mistakes for anyone to be looking for her. This feels different than being alone in the confines of a bedroom. In some ways, it feels worse, because the money she has will only last her so long, and she knows that, knows there needs to be a plan. There has to be a plan, but she’s a little too tired and a little too lost looking outside into illusions to care at the moment.
The view inside isn’t as appealing. She muses this place must have been an old office of some sort, judging by the worn out wooden flooring and the lone desk across the expanse of the room. It’s closed off, and the glass wall she’s staring out of definitely seems like it belongs in an office. That, or someone was seriously into voyeurism. Not that she was one to judge; there’s not much you can judge about someone as a teenage runaway.
Runaway.
It felt surreal hearing the word out loud. It’s a bit embarrassing, considering she had no real reason except she felt suffocated, and even that seems bleak next to the reality of being alone in an uninhabited building. She’s pretty sure it’s illegal, and the thought comes with mild worry that disappears easily.
It makes her laugh a little. It’s ironic, after trying to hold herself together for so long, she’s doing something illegal. A few months ago, just the thought would’ve made her uneasy enough to pretend the idea never existed. To fall into smiles that didn’t reach her eyes and promises that were never intended to be kept. She used to lock away all those absurd ideas until they caught up to her and channeled themselves into a carrier and soft footsteps outside a heavy door.
A large sign in front of a restaurant distracts her, mouth watering at the thought of savory food. That’s another problem; she had enough food for a few days but it never is enough to satisfy anything. She debated begging, but the furry jacket, black jeans, and black Converse sneakers aren’t exactly the ideal get-up. And who is she kidding; she’d start crying before someone gave her a single coin. It’s still an option though, maybe in the future if she still doesn’t have a plan and things get too desperate.
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The mocking voice is back, taunting her for leaving a perfectly cozy life behind for whatever this is. For leaving for almost no reason, while some people get kicked out, and some don’t have a home to begin with. It makes her feel miserable, as miserable as it did when she’d think about it in the silence of her room late into the night. She’s insane, she knows, for even considering for one second taking the nearest train to the farthest city would solve anything, but it feels better than doing nothing.
As empty as she felt now, with only a view to comfort her, being in that house made her blood boil. It took up so much of her energy, holding up the same image every day for no guarantee of relief. She knows people have it worse, but she doesn’t know how they make it out unscathed.
She breaks away from the view and takes a look at the paper in her hand, rereading the date, time and destination over and over again. The words are teasing, and offer a solace from the loneliness of the room she’s in. It gives her all the more reason to fold it and put it away in her pocket where she can’t see it anymore; where it can’t ask her to come home.
Her eyelids fall heavy as memories of loud cursing and sharp words that feel cold and unrecognisable play out. She falls asleep with uneasy breaths and the feeling of cool glass against her cheek.