A/N: I'm not dead! I am however, incredibly sorry for the long wait. Christmas break and getting my own laptop, these things take time. But now I can type these up whenever, I should be closer to consistent. I always love feedback, if you're happy to give it :3
"You'll be safe, right? Take a break every four hours. I don't care how many hotels you have to stay in, you just take your time, alright sweetheart?"
There are few times I've seen Charlie vocalize his worries. I don't like it. I reassure him that I'll be fine, I'll take photos to send when I'm taking a break from driving, I'll text him and mom every time I stop, if the truck makes funny noises I call the mechanics immediately. No hitchhikers, no disreputable motels, no running away into the sunset.
Running away is tempting. I've fantasized that many times about running far into the woods, bottle and blade in hand. Not coming back out again, ever. Somehow though, it's almost easier not to. I don't want to worry my parents, make them deal with that. And...I did promise. If not for him, I'll hold up as much as I can of that promise for Charlie.
I'm not entirely sure if I've broken that promise though. Between cutting and drinking, driving while drunk, drinking and taking meds, purposely overdosing to get to sleep, and barely eating surely there's not much more that I can do that is "reckless." I try not to dwell on that thought, just in case I get any bright ideas.
Charlie gives me an uncharacteristic hug before I climb into the cab, watches as I start the engine and pull out of the drive. I wipe away tears that are threatening to travel down my cheek. If I start crying I'll be in no fit state to drive...if you ignore the alcoholic daze I'm sitting in. I blast the horn and drive away. Charlie shrinks in my mirror, and when I turn the corner, he's gone. Goodbye, dad.
My hands shake on the steering wheel. I didn't think it would be this tough to turn away from a place I had learnt to call home. Even with all the horrible memories associated with it, all the haunted places that I can't walk anymore...this is still somewhere I want to be. I think I learnt to love the rain.
Fiddling with the new stereo that I bought after realizing how handy the last brief one was, I put on "If You Leave," by Daughter. I hit the edge of town by the time Smother comes on. Fumbling in the glove box for a bottle, I sing along.
I'm wasted, losing time
I'm a foolish, fragile spine
I want all that is not mine
I want him but we're not right
After four toilet stops, two packets of chips, five sticks of gum, and ten hours of driving, I turn into the Little River Motel. I'd hit the Montana state border not that long ago, and my ass is numb from all the driving.
I give Ol' Red a pat for behaving so nicely on the road, and slide out of the cab. Not trusting the jelly legs beneath me, I lean across the seat to grab my overnight bag. Bottles clink together and I hurriedly wrap them in my hoodie lest I get caught lugging them in. Half sure that I wouldn't be given away, I lumber inside, humming Youth by Foxes.