54. FIFTY-FOUR
FIFTY-FOUR
Bedsheets rustle as Finn climbs out, and with him goes a piece of my heart. Every second moves by so agonizingly slow. Waiting, waiting, waiting… When is it too early? When is it too soon?
The fridge opens, but I don’t move. He yawns and turns on the stove, but I still can’t bring myself to move. Only when I hear the clack of an egg splitting in two do I finally roll over and off the bed.
Every move I make needs to be slow, but not too slow. If I’m too loud, it’s over. But if I take too long? Same thing. Who knows what he’ll do if he catches me? He might finally snap and make sure I can’t ever escape again.
His bedroom carpet is littered with unwashed clothes, but I force myself to trudge through until I reach the door. My legs are already hurting, I really don’t have the upper body strength for this.
My fingertips graze the grungy wood, slow motions pushing it open inch by inch by horrifying inch. If I’m too fast, it might creak or hit the wall. I can’t have him coming over to see what I’m doing. I just can’t.
Every time I pull myself forward my body feels a little weaker. All I have on my feet are fuzzy green socks, but the rest of me is even worse. Fleece pajama pants and a long sleeve shirt that I’m basically swimming in.
This plan fucking sucks. If I don’t get found in time, I’ll probably freeze to death.
But that’s a risk I’m willing to take. It’s no different than slowly dying here with Finn. Either way, I’ll die. At least one is on my own terms, like I had planned on originally.
I drag myself across the hardwood as quickly as I can, and with more effort than I’ve ever used before I put both hands on the back door’s knob. My escape comes in the form of shiny fake gold.
Hoisting myself up, my body hits the window with a thud. This is too loud. It’s all too loud. Shaky hands open it, and I fall outside into the cold winter morning. My hands scrape against the stone, and I can’t stop myself from hissing out in pain.
One, two, one, two. An internal rhythm keeps me going as I pull myself off the worn stone path up the hill in his backyard. My pajamas become soaked almost instantly, my body half submerged in fresh snow.
A teardrop rolls down my cheek, which is funny because I really didn’t want to cry. This is so pathetic, isn’t it? What would anyone think if they saw me this way? They’d probably think the worst of me.
Behind me is a warm house with someone who loves me more than love itself. Breakfast, a comfy bed, and all the attention I could ever ask for. Yet I still wasn’t satisfied. Why am I never satisfied? What could possibly be enough for someone as selfish as I am?
Huffing, I stare out into the forest trail. Trees seemingly lean in on both sides, creating a narrow and very unwelcoming path for me to follow. I can’t do this. I can’t do this. The fuck was I thinking?
Am I insane? I’m not any better than Finn if I thought I was going to power my way to freedom. My legs are broken. I doubt they’ll ever work again, because even though they’re “healing” they definitely aren’t healing right.
Any pressure makes me see white, and this little adventure has effectively killed my pain receptors. Of course said pain is still there, ever present and burning, but I have to ignore it. I have to. I have to keep going.
But I’m tired…
Then a snowflake falls on the tip of my nose, and I finally break. Tears run down my cheeks like an endless faucet of despair, my head hung low in shame as the sniffles turn to ugly sobs.
Pathetic. Pathetic. Pathetic. You’re no less pathetic than you were when you ran away from your family, Duncan. Couldn’t do it then, and I can’t do it now.
I can’t do anything.
In a feeble attempt to push onwards, I raise my hand and then let it fall into the snow. The wet coolness encompasses it entirely, numbing it of anything other than an icy sting.
Snow continues to fall, and there’s no doubt in my mind that it’ll bury me soon. It’s almost ironic how I got what I wanted in the end, just not at all how I thought it’d be.
I guess that’s how a lot of things go though, don’t they? I wanted to be loved, and to love back—and I got it, but I got it wrong. Unless it’s not wrong? Finn’s love is intense, and not at all like what I thought it would be, but it’s still love.
Does that make it bad? Does that make it worth any less? Maybe he never ruined anything. Maybe I don’t hate him. Maybe I ruined everything, and I hate myself. God, I really do. Nobody hates me more than me. Nobody even fucking cares about me.
Except him.
Finn loves me. He loves me more than I do. More than anyone else, and it still wasn’t enough. I still threw it away like nothing. I need him. Oh, god, I need him. With a violent breath, my body begins trembling even faster than it already was.
It’s really cold. I think I’m going to die. This is worse than being plunged into freezing waters, because I’m very aware of the ground beneath me. It’s my body that won’t move, my body that won’t listen. Nobody ever listens. Nobody ever listened except Finn.
My legs hurt more than they ever have in my time at Finn’s house, which only makes me cry harder. I’m never going to heal. I’m never going to be myself again. I’m never going to know anything other than agony.
Then I hear footsteps.
Crunch, crunch, crunch.
Boots sinking into snow and then doing it all over again. Distant, and then close. He makes quick work of the path that took me so long to get through. I know he’s there, standing over me. What kind of face is he wearing? Anger? Worry? Indifference?
It’s not like I could turn if I wanted to, but then I feel it—his gloved hand flipping me onto my back so our eyes can meet. He’s scared, with thick brows pushed together and a trembling lower lip.
I would’ve expected anger. Screaming, crying, something to let me know he was pissed. But instead he tilts his head down at me, eyes wide and devoid of anything other than panic.
Finn’s grip on each wrist is tight, pinning me down against the dirt as snow melts underneath us. This is it, isn’t it? I’ve done it now. He’s going to kill me just like he killed his dad. He’s going to do what he should’ve done back when I was down in that awful basement.
“Come inside, Duncan.”