It's been two weeks. Two weeks since I left. Two weeks since I crushed his heart. Two weeks since I decided to go. Two weeks since I couldn't stand to look at him in that pain for a moment longer. And now; I'm on the run. From the police. From him. From my friends. From my family. They're all after me. I wrecked their lives. And now; there's not much I can do. Not many places I can go without being recognised. I'm going to have to leave the country. And even that's going to be hell to do. The only way I can do that is to find someone I can trust entirely. Or they'll find me. Shit! I'm on the news! I have to leave! Now!
'Oh my God that's her!' someone cried
I stood and ran out of the café leaving ten dollars on the table which I had placed there earlier in case something like this happened. I ran down the street hearing police sirens behind me. I knew how to escape. I'd planned these things in advance and I knew the weaknesses of the police departments. I knew if I ran for long enough then they'd have to stop or leave for petrol but this could last for any amount of time. I had to stay in non-crowded areas where there weren't people. That way I wouldn't be stopped. I had to keep running. They couldn't catch up with me that way. I had my backpack with me and it was all I had other than my gun. I had to keep the bullets for emergencies only. I had to stay in small areas that cars couldn't fit down. I had to fight them off at all costs. I had to get away. If I didn't I'd be taken. And I would never see the light of day again. I kept looking over my shoulder and didn't look in front of me. I bumped into someone. I looked at them. I found I recognised them.
