Chapter Text
I wasn't home for what felt like four whole days.
Actually, it was only twenty-four hours, but when you were out on the
lonely streets of Tulsa, Oklahoma, just tryin' to act normal...
Time flies.
My eyes were still puffy from the night before, and every blink made the
bruise around my eye ache a little more. It felt heavy, like somebody
had tied a weight to my face. I kept my head down whenever somebody
drove by. Nobody looked twice at a Greaser anyway, but I wasn't exactly
eager for anybody to ask questions.
I remember my dad, James, came home the night before drunker than
he'd ever been. The smell of liquor filled the whole house before he
even opened his mouth. I tried to run off to my room, which wasn't
much of a room at all. It just held an old sleeping bag Dally gave me
when he saw where I lived and realized I didn't have much of anything.
I was trying to escape through the tiny window.
Before I knew it, though, I was caught between my mother and him
fighting right on top of me.
I dropped down and ducked repeatedly while they screamed at each
other. Their voices bounced off the walls so loud my ears started
ringing. Then my mom shoved me out of the way and threw a plate at
my dad.
Well, I don't call them Mom and Dad to the gang.
They're just Patricia and James to me.
No parents of mine.
I sat down beside a glaring stop sign a few blocks away from the DX,
where Steve and Sodapop-two people in the gang, thick as thieves-
worked.
Hiding by the cupboards, since they were right in front of my door, I
made a break for it. That's when I got the bruise.
My mom flew out of the way and my dad, as Dally would say,
"roundhoused" me in the face.
That's how I got that giant mark around my eye.
I don't know why God does this to me.
Beats me up in every way possible.
Guess I deserve it.
I am a Greaser.
Trust me, I believe in Him. I really do. I pray every night, and I go to Mass
every Sunday. It's just hard sometimes when you're getting beaten
repeatedly and nobody seems to notice except the people who aren't
even your family.
Sometimes I wonder if God can hear me at all.
Or maybe He does hear me, and He's just waiting for me to become
somebody worth saving.
I looked over at the gas station, seeing Steve yell at a customer outside,
waving his hands around while Sodapop laughed beside him. The sight
almost made me smile. Then my eyes drifted farther down the sidewalk
leading straight toward the Curtis boys' house.
Funny how a house that wasn't mine always felt more like home than
the one I'd grown up in.
The Curtis house was loud. Somebody was always talking, laughing, or
arguing over something stupid. The television was usually running in
the background, and there was always food around somewhere if you
looked hard enough. It wasn't perfect, but it was warm. Warm in a way
my house never was.
I looked at the DX again and get some food, but I didn't have any money
on me. But I knew that Soda and Steve gave me free food again they'd
be in trouble with Mr. Kines.
I struggled to get up, but I finally made it by clinging onto the stop sign.
My knee has given me problems since I was young. My dad dislocated it
years ago, and they just never had the money-or the care-to take me
to a doctor. Every now and then it'd give out on me without warning. It
was one of those dull aches you learned to live with because
complaining didn't change anything.
I brushed the dirt off my jeans and started limping toward the Curtis
house.
The sun was beginning to rise higher in the sky, turning everything a soft
gold color for just a moment.
I stared at it longer than I probably should've.
It was something beautiful.
Something rare.
Something worth protecting.
Maybe that was why Ponyboy liked sunsets so much.
I just didn't know how.
So I walked.
And walked.
Every rich car that passed by-especially the blue ones-made me
flinch.
It wasn't even something I thought about anymore.
My body just did it.
My shoulders tensed, my breath caught in my throat, and my hands
curled into fists before I could stop them.
I kept expecting a door to fly open.
Kept expecting footsteps behind me.
Kept expecting somebody to yell my name.
That night replayed in my head over and over again.
The sound of their laughter.
The sound of my own breathing when they chased me down.
The feeling of being completely alone.
I still had bruises from that night.
Dark purple ones scattered across my ribs and arms that hurt whenever
I moved too fast.
But somehow, those weren't the worst part.
The worst part was knowing that even after it was over, my body hadn't
figured that out yet.
Every passing car still felt dangerous.
Every loud voice made me jump.
Every pair of headlights made my stomach twist itself into knots.
Sometimes I wondered if I'd always be like this.
Always waiting for the next hit.
Always waiting for somebody to remind me where I belonged.
Because after a while, getting hurt stops surprising you.
You stop asking, "Why me?"
You start asking, "Who's gonna do it next?"
I reached the house and saw Darrel outside working on his dad's old
truck.
His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, grease covering his hands
while he leaned over the engine. Every now and then, he'd wipe his
forehead with the back of his wrist before going right back to work.
Mr. Darrel Curtis and Mrs. Karen were always nicer to me than my own
folks ever were.
Not that it was hard to be.
Sometimes all it took was a smile or somebody remembering to ask if
I'd eaten that day.
It was funny how strangers could make you feel more loved than the
people who were supposed to love you first.
I stuffed my hands into my pockets and fiddled with an unlit cigarette
that had gotten bent from sitting there all night.
I rolled it between my fingers over and over again, careful not to break
it.
I just stood there on the edge of the street.
Too afraid to speak.
Too afraid to scare Darrel.
Too afraid to interrupt him.
Truth was, I was always afraid of bothering people.
Even the Curtis boys.
I knew they'd never tell me to leave.
But years of being yelled at for every little thing had a way of sinking
into your bones until you started believing your existence was an
inconvenience.
So I stayed quiet.
The morning air was cool, but I could still feel yesterday's bruises
throbbing underneath my jacket. My eye ached every time I blinked,
and my knee was beginning to complain from all the walking I'd done.
I shifted my weight onto my other leg.
The one that didn't hurt as much.
I wished I could've lit my cigarette.
Not because I wanted to smoke it.
I just liked having something to do with my hands.
Something to distract me.
Something to keep me from thinking.
I didn't have a lighter on me, though.
Dally usually carried one.
The thought made my chest ache a little.
He was in jail right now.
Probably raising hell in there, too.
I almost smiled thinking about it.
Almost.
Then the smile disappeared just as quickly.
Funny how you could miss somebody so much, even when they weren't
gone forever.
Funny how I could stand ten feet away from a house full of people who
cared about me and still feel like the loneliest person in Tulsa.
I stared at the Curtis house for a minute longer.
The paint was chipped in some places, and one of the porch steps
leaned slightly to one side. It wasn't a perfect house by any means, but
somehow it always looked nicer than mine.
Maybe because people laughed there.
Maybe because nobody screamed.
Maybe because nobody had to hide.
I gazed at it until something startled me.
Darry had started walking toward me, wiping his hands on a pale yellow
and black rag.
I immediately looked down at his shoes and jeans.
By looking down, you learn a lot about a person you might not already
know.
Like how Darrel got new shoes.
His old pair used to have a hole near the toe. I remembered seeing it a
few weeks ago when we'd all been sitting outside. Now they looked
newer, but not brand-new. The kind somebody bought because they
needed them, not because they wanted them.
His jeans had grease stains on them, too.
Darry always looked tired.
Not old.
Just tired.
Like he carried a hundred things around with him every day and
somehow never dropped any of them.
I wanted to say something about the shoes, but he beat me to it.
"You eat today?" he questioned.
His voice reminded me a lot of his dad.
He looked like him, toо.
The gang always said Darry looked exactly like his father but had the
complete opposite personality.
I never saw him that way.
He always reminded me of his dad.
The way he talked.
The way he stood.
The way he looked after everybody without making a big deal about it.
I opened my mouth, trying to say yes even though I hadn't, but nothing
came out.
So I just shrugged.
When my shoulders fell back down, they felt heavier somehow.
Like I had added another brick onto a pile I was already carrying.
I always felt that way after I lied.
I always felt guilty when I sinned.
Maybe more guilty than most people.
I went to confession every other Sunday, or whenever my parents would
let me walk to Holy Family Cathedral.
I always said the same things.
I lied.
I had bad thoughts.
I got angry.
I wasn't grateful enough.
I never knew if God got tired of hearing my voice.
Sometimes I wondered if He already knew what I was going to say
before I walked inside.
Maybe He sighed every time He saw me coming.
I looked back up and saw Darry shaking his head.
Not angry.
Not disappointed.
Just like he already knew the answer before he asked.
Then he motioned for me to come inside.
"That's what I thought."
Everyone said Soda had a charm for making people do what he said,
but I always believed Darry could do it better.
Soda could talk anybody into anything.
Darry didn't have to.
People just listened.
Maybe because when Darry said something, it sounded important.
Maybe because he always sounded like he cared.
So I followed him.
The screen door squeaked behind us.
I secretly liked that sound.
It was always the same.
No matter what happened at school.
No matter what happened at home.
No matter how bad things got.
That door always made the same noise.
Like some things in the world could still be counted on.
When I got inside, I sat on the couch.
It was still warm, so I knew somebody had slept there earlier.
Probably Steve.
His dad was bad too.
The television was on low in the background, and somewhere in the
kitchen I could hear the refrigerator humming.
The whole house felt alive.
I don't know how to explain it.
It wasn't quiet the way my house was.
The quiet at my house felt empty.
This quiet felt safe.
There was a difference.
I rested my hands in my lap and stared down at my fingers.
My knuckles were scraped up from catching myself when I fell the night
before.
I traced one of the cuts with my thumb.
I always felt weird sitting there.
Not because they didn't want me around.
But because they did.
I wasn't used to that.
Being wanted.
Darry came back into the living room carrying a slice of chocolate cake
and a glass of water.
I blinked a couple times.
Nobody at home would have noticed if I hadn't eaten for a day.
Sometimes they didn't notice if I was there at all.
But somehow Darry always knew.
I wasn't sure if that made me happy or sad.
I talked with my hands and mumbled to Darry, "You didn't have to do
that."
He chuckled and handed me the plate.
"I wanted to, kid."
I looked down at the chocolate cake for a second.
There were only two people in the world I let call me kid.
Dallas and Darry.
I hated when people talked about how young I looked.
I was actually sixteen, but most folks said I looked thirteen or fourteen.
Sometimes even younger.
I never knew if it was because I was small or because I was always
scared.
Maybe fear shrunk a person.
Maybe being afraid all the time made people stop growing.
I didn't know.
I just knew I hated it.
People saw a little kid.
They didn't see someone who was trying every day just to make it
home.
I took a bite of the cake.
It was soft and sweet, and I almost forgot what it tasted like to eat
something made because somebody wanted me to have it.
At my house, nobody made things for each other.
Nobody asked if you were hungry.
Nobody noticed if you ate.
Nobody noticed if you cried.
Sometimes I wondered if I could disappear for a week and if Patricia and
James would realize it.
Maybe they would.
Maybe they wouldn't.
I wasn't sure which answer hurt worse.
I swallowed hard and took another bite.
The room was warm around me.
The television hummed quietly in the background, and somewhere
upstairs, a floorboard creaked.
I liked those noises.
They reminded me there were people here.
People that existed together.
People that cared if somebody got hurt.
I didn't know what that felt like all the time.
I only knew what it felt like when I was here.
I don't think people realize how much they save other people by being
ordinary.
The Curtis boys never did anything extraordinary.
Darry worked.
Soda joked around.
Ponyboy read books.
And somehow that was enough.
It was enough to make me forget, for a little while, that I was afraid to go
home.
I stared at the plate in my hands.
Then I smiled a little.
Then suddenly the front door blasted open.
Steve barreled inside, breathing hard.
"We heard Pony scream help!" he yelled. "Sodapop's already there! We
gotta go!"
For a second, I just stared at him.
People always thought Steve didn't like Ponyboy.
Maybe because he rolled his eyes whenever Pony talked too much.
Maybe because he'd call him a pest.
Or tell him to quit tagging along.
But I knew better.
Steve liked Ponyboy a whole lot more than he let on.
You don't sprint into a house looking terrified over somebody you don't
care about.
You don't drop everything because somebody yelled your friend's
name.
Steve never said things out loud.
He wasn't much for that.
But I noticed things.
I always did.
I'd catch him checking to see if Ponyboy made it home.
I'd catch him asking Soda if Pony had eaten.
He'd complain every time Ponyboy followed us around, but if Ponyboy
wasn't there, Steve would ask where he'd gone.
Sometimes people loved in strange ways.
Sometimes they loved by teasing.
Sometimes they loved by pretending they didn't.
And sometimes, the people who looked the meanest were the ones who
worried the most.
I think Steve was one of those people.
My heart dropped so fast it felt like it hit my stomach.
The room that had felt warm a second ago suddenly didn't.
My hands tightened around the plate.
For one horrible second, every memory came rushing back.
Blue Mustangs.
Footsteps.
Laughter.
Running.
Not being fast enough.
I could almost hear it all over again.
Darry looked over at me.
He didn't say anything.
He just gave me that look.
The one that asked if I wanted to go.
The one that never forced me to do anything.
The one that always reminded me I had a choice.
Nobody at home ever gave me choices.
Things just happened to me.
I nodded.
Pony was my bud, after all.
I set the plate down so quickly the fork rattled against it.
Darry was already grabbing his jacket.
Steve was halfway back out the door.
I stood up too fast and my knee protested immediately.
The pain shot up my leg, but I ignored it.
Ponyboy needed us.
That was all I could think about.
The three of us hurried outside, Darry leading the way while Steve muttered things under his breath.
I couldn't make out half of them.
My heartbeat was too loud.
Every step felt heavier than the last.
Then I heard it.
Ponyboy's voice.
It wasn't a scream anymore.
It sounded scared.
My stomach twisted.
Suddenly, I wasn't there anymore.
I was back in that empty lot months ago.
Back when they got me.
I could still see the blue Mustang.
I remembered hearing tires crunch against gravel before four Socs climbed out.
I remembered backing away.
I remembered trying to act brave.
It didn't work.
One of them shoved me so hard I stumbled backward.
Then another one laughed.
I hated that laugh.
It was worse than getting hit.
It was the kind of laugh that made you feel small.
Like you weren't even a person anymore.
I remembered trying to run.
I remembered hands grabbing my jacket.
I remembered hitting the ground.
My cheek scraped against the pavement.
Somebody kicked dirt toward my face while another one held my shoulders down.
I couldn't breathe right.
I couldn't move.
All I could hear was my own heartbeat and their voices talking over each other.
I don't remember every word.
I think my brain threw some of it away.
But I remember how scared I was.
I remember thinking I wasn't getting back up.
I remember wishing somebody would come.
Anybody.
Then nobody did.
Eventually they left.
Like it was nothing.
Like they hadn't changed me forever.
I still had bruises from that night.
But bruises weren't the worst part.
The worst part was what stayed afterward.
The fear.
The jumping every time a car passed.
The way my hands shook.
The way my chest tightened whenever somebody yelled.
The way I looked over my shoulder every few seconds.
I hated that they still had that much control over me.
I hated it.
My eyes started burning.
I blinked hard.
I wasn't gonna cry.
Not now.
Not here.
Not when Ponyboy needed me.
I swallowed and wiped my hands against my jeans.
Then we turned the corner.
I saw him.
Ponyboy was standing there, his shoulders hunched, his hair a mess, his eyes wide.
Sodapop was already beside him.
The sight made my chest ache.
He looked exactly how I must've looked that night.
Scared.
Alone.
Trying not to show it.
Something inside me broke a little.
Because I knew that feeling.
I knew it too well.
Nobody should know that feeling.
Especially not Ponyboy.
My throat tightened.
I held my breath for a second because I could feel tears threatening to come out.
I pushed them back down.
I always did.
Then I walked faster.
Because if there was one thing I knew for sure, it was this:
Nobody was going to make Ponyboy feel the way they made me feel.
Not if I could stop it.
Not while I was still standing.
I barely remember when Steve found me.
Everything after that feels blurry.
I remember hearing him before I actually saw him.
He was crying.
Hard.
Harder than I'd ever heard before.
Steve Randle wasn't somebody who cried much.
He yelled.
He got irritated.
He rolled his eyes.
But he didn't cry.
Not like that.
The sound made my stomach twist.
Darry took off running the second he saw Ponyboy.
I just stayed where I was.
My feet felt glued to the sidewalk.
I couldn't move.
No matter how hard I begged myself to.
I couldn't.
It was like my body forgot how.
My hands started shaking instead.
I kept staring at Ponyboy.
At his face.
At the fear in his eyes.
At the way Soda was standing beside him.
I couldn't stop thinking about how easily that could've been me again.
How easily that had been me before.
My chest felt tight all of a sudden.
Like somebody had wrapped a rope around it and kept pulling.
I wanted to run over there.
I wanted to ask if he was okay.
I wanted to do something.
Anything.
But I couldn't.
I just stood there.
I always hated when fear did that to me.
It made me feel small.
Smaller than I already was.
Like I wasn't sixteen anymore.
Like I was a little kid all over again.
The kind that froze whenever people started yelling.
The kind that learned a long time ago that staying still sometimes hurt less than fighting back.
I swallowed hard.
My eyes burned a little.
I blinked a few times before anybody could notice.
Then I looked down at my hands.
They were shaking.
I shoved them into my pockets before anybody could see.
I hated when people saw me scared.
Mostly because I was scared all the time.
And after a while, you get tired of people feeling sorry for you.
So I stood there.
Trying to breathe.
Trying not to think.
Trying not to remember.
Trying not to cry.
Because if I started, I wasn't sure I'd know how to stop.
Then Dal' tapped my shoulder.
It wasn't a hard tap.
Just enough to pull me back to reality.
I blinked a few times and realized tears had been running down my bruised cheeks for who knows how long.
I hadn't even noticed.
I guess that happens when you think too much.
I quickly wiped them away with the sleeve of my jacket.
I didn't want anybody seeing me cry.
Especially not Dally.
Not because he'd make fun of me.
Truth was, he probably wouldn't.
I just hated people seeing me like that.
Crying always made me feel exposed somehow.
Like somebody could suddenly see every scared thought I'd been trying to hide.
Dally was like an older brother to me.
He'd probably hate hearing me say that.
Sure, he was a criminal.
Sure, he could be mean.
He could be loud, impatient, and sometimes he'd snap at people before they even finished talking.
But people only saw those parts of him.
I knew there was another side.
The side that gave me an old sleeping bag when he saw what my room looked like.
The side that made sure I had a jacket when it got cold.
The side that quietly stood closer whenever he noticed I was nervous.
He never announced he was helping.
He just did.
When I got jumped by those Socs wearing rings, he was one of the first people to care.
Other than Steve.
Everybody else was angry.
Dally was, too.
But underneath all that anger, there was something else.
I remember him crouching down in front of me while I sat there shaking.
I remember him looking at my bruises and getting quiet.
That dangerous kind of quiet.
The kind that meant he was trying very hard not to explode.
He never said, "Are you okay?"
Nobody in our gang really talked like that.
Instead he said things that meant the same thing.
Things like:
"Can you stand?"
Or,
"How bad is it?"
Or,
"Lemme see."
And somehow, hearing those things felt even better.
Because it meant he noticed.
He noticed I was hurting.
At home, nobody ever noticed.
Or maybe they did and just didn't care.
I wasn't sure which one was worse.
I looked over at Dally for a second.
His hair was messy like always, and there was that familiar annoyed expression on his face.
The one he wore when he was worried but didn't want anybody to know.
I almost smiled.
Sometimes the people who loved you the most were the worst at saying it out loud.
Dally was definitely one of those people.
I walked back to the house with Dally, not saying much.
He mostly boasted about getting out of jail early.
Man, I wish I could talk like that.
Confident.
Like he knew exactly who he was.
Like nothing in the world could touch him.
I wasn't sure if Dally was actually fearless or if he'd just gotten so used to being hurt that he stopped showing it.
Either way, I envied him.
We stood outside by the truck. The hood was still open from earlier, and I quietly hid behind Soda.
He was tall and pretty, so I figured nobody would notice me.
Or at least I hoped they wouldn't notice how red and puffy my eyes still were.
Darry was bugging Ponyboy about the movie he went to see while Steve was getting on him for being smart.
I didn't listen much.
Their voices sort of blended together after a while.
Sometimes I'd tune everybody out and just listen to the sounds around me instead.
The rumble of cars passing by.
The truck cooling off.
The porch creaking every now and then.
Those noises felt safer somehow.
I didn't really start listening again until Dally said,
"Hey, Johnny."
I looked up, trying to act all tuff.
I know it didn't work.
It never really did.
So to save myself, I blurted out, my voice cracking ever so slightly,
"Things would go a lot better if the Socs stayed on the west side of town."
Steve looked over at me.
"Now don't you worry about that, Johnny. We're gonna have it out with 'em sooner or later."
Sodapop jumped in.
"They sure as hell—"
I hated that word.
Hell.
It reminded me of the dark side of the world.
Sometimes I wondered if I'd end up there.
I hoped not.
I didn't listen to the rest of what Soda was saying.
Instead, I started counting my steps by twos.
Two.
Four.
Six.
Eight.
It helped me calm down.
Dally taught me that when I was younger.
He said it gave my brain something else to think about.
I still used it whenever I got scared.
Dally suddenly stopped walking and looked at me.
"Are those the same guys that got you?"
I hated that question.
Not because they cared.
Most of the time it wasn't the guys.
Not the Madras and not the rings.
I hated it because it reminded me that it happened at all.
I looked around, trying to find the words.
"Nah… it was some… some other guys."
Dally's jaw tightened.
Then he pointed at me.
The sudden movement made me flinch before I could stop myself.
He immediately lowered his hand.
"I'm gonna make it my business to find the guys who did that to your face."
I swallowed.
Nobody had ever said something like that before.
Nobody had ever talked about protecting me.
Two-Bit started joking around with Ponyboy.
He always did that.
He did it with me, too.
I think he knew laughter could save people.
Then Steve mentioned Sylvia.
Dally's girlfriend.
Or ex-girlfriend.
Judging by the look on his face, I figured she wasn't his girlfriend anymore.
"I wanna go!" Ponyboy pleaded.
"No, we're taking Evie and Sandy—"
Sodapop got interrupted.
"Which means no kids allowed!" Steve said, grinning.
"Big deal…" Ponyboy mumbled.
Dally smirked.
His dangerous smirk.
The one that always made me smile.
"No, no, no. I'm gonna hunt some action. Little kids are allowed."
Man, I got excited anytime Dally wanted to do something.
"We'll go with ya! Won't we, Pony?"
Ponyboy immediately started making excuses.
I knew they were true.
But Pony always tried to get out of things with Dally.
I think he was a little scared of him sometimes.
Not in a bad way.
Just in a Dally-is-unpredictable kind of way.
I looked between the two of them while Pony talked about the court splitting them up if he got in trouble with the fuzz.
Dally patted my back.
He smiled, showing those razor-sharp canines.
"Who said anything about police trouble, man? I just wanna see a movie like the good ol' days. Right, Johnny?"
"Yeah, man!"
I smiled at Ponyboy.
I liked hanging out with them.
It took my mind off things.
The bruises.
My house.
The yelling.
The fear.
They made all of that disappear for a little while.
I don't know if they realized it, but they were the closest thing I had to a family.
Two-Bit looked at Ponyboy.
"Do you guys wanna give me a push start?"
Ponyboy groaned.
"Not really, but we will."
I joined in because I knew Two-Bit needed help.
And because Ponyboy was doing it.
"A'ight. Let's go."
We pushed until the car sputtered to life.
Then I headed over to Dally.
He was standing there smoking.
Immediately I noticed the ring and my Saint Christopher medal hanging around his neck again.
I smiled.
"I see you got your Christopher back, Dal'."
He opened the gate and slammed it behind him.
"Yeah. Little broad was two-timing me while I was in jail, man."
He sighed.
"It's cool."
I nodded.
I knew it probably wasn't.
Dally always said things were cool when they weren't.
Then he turned around.
"I'll see ya later."
"Alright."
"See you later, Dal'."
The screen door squeaked open.
Darry's voice came from inside.
"Hey, Ponyboy. You got homework."
I looked at Ponyboy and gave him a small smile.
He nodded.
"You going home, Johnny Cade?"
I looked out into the empty street.
I hadn't thought about home yet.
Truth was, I tried not to.
Home wasn't exactly a place I looked forward to seeing.
So I shrugged.
"I don't know."
Suddenly, the scar on my cheek from when I got jumped started burning again.
It always did when I got nervous.
Or sad.
Or when I thought too much.
"See you around…" Ponyboy mumbled before heading inside.
"A'ight."
I stood there for a second longer.
Everybody was disappearing into the house now.
The television was turning on.
I could hear Soda laughing.
The screen door squeaked shut again.
Then it got quiet.
I always hated this part.
The part where everybody went home.
Because I never knew if I had one to go back to.
Maybe tonight I'd go home.
If my parents didn't lock my bedroom window again.
If they weren't yelling.
If my dad wasn't drunk.
If my mom pretended I existed.
I kicked a piece of scrap metal down the sidewalk.
It clattered into the street.
Then I shoved my hands into my pockets and started walking.
The Curtis house got smaller behind me with every step.
I hated that.
Because every time I left that house, it felt like I was leaving the safest place I'd ever known.
And every time I walked away, I had the same thought.
I wished I could stay a little longer.