The air in the room disappeared, and Lucas gasped for breath like he was drowning.

She's gone.

He ran to the window. It was open, and no one was on the fire escape. There was a piece of paper with his name on it tied to one of the rails.

Lucas, it read.

I know I'd be wasting time telling you not to look for me, because I know that you will. I know that when you look for me, you're going to be able to find me. But I also know that no matter how many times you find me, I'm going to manage to get lost again.

I'm sorry that I kissed you. It was a stupid mistake and I wish it hadn't happened.

Thank you,

Maya

Lucas packed his stuff in two minutes and left.

She was finally doing it.

She was finally doing the right thing.

All of the colors looked brighter, the air was crisper, everyone on the street seemed happier. She walked past all of her favorite places on the way to the bus stop and said goodbye. She said goodbye to college. She had to support herself now. She said goodbye to her house. She said goodbye to the diner, and to John Quincy Adams Middle School. When she got to the bus station, she picked a random town in Maine. She bought a hot dog and got on the bus and fell asleep.

She dreamed about finding Lucas in his room, dead. There was a dark red stain on his chest. She stepped closer, thinking it was blood. But it wasn't. It was wine. She could smell it. The smell grew stronger and stronger until it blocked her nostrils and her throat, and she blacked out.

When she woke up, they were out of the city. She laid her head against the window of the bus, watching the trees pass by until they blurred into a wall of green. She drifted between awake and asleep into the night and into the next day. She could've been happy if she had never had to move again, if she could fall asleep and not ever have to get back up. She could melt into the seats and she wouldn't even care.

Once during the ride, Riley called her. Maya let it go to voicemail and then didn't listen to the voicemail. Then she realized that Lucas hadn't tried to call her. Not even once. Maybe her letter had worked, but if it had then she was very wrong about him.

She got to Raidville, Maine and made herself get off the bus. She could taste the salt in the air when she breathed in. Seagulls flew lazily overhead. She walked around. She had gone down every street by the time an hour had passed. She picked a small restaurant on the wharf, went inside, and asked for a job. She was hired as a waitress and told that she could start the next day. Then she went to the cheapest hotel and paid for a room.

Every day was pretty much the same. She got up, got dressed, brushed her teeth, and went to work. She worked all day, and then at night she went down to the beach and sat for two hours and looked at the ocean. Then she went back to the hotel room, paid the clerk for another night, then went to bed. She made just enough money to pay for the hotel room, and the owner let her eat the food that they couldn't keep for too long.

A few people tried to strike up conversations with her. The cook at the restaurant, the bellhop, the homeless man on the beach. She answered briefly and politely, then went on with her routine. She wasn't happy and she wasn't sad.

She wasn't anything anymore, but at least she was independent.

Please review. It makes me happy. :)