Everyone tries to run from something in their past. That little secret that your dying to forget and hoping that no one else remembers.
You know what they say, let you past make you better; not bitter.
Ironic how the people try to run from their past are the people who tell you to stop running from your problems.
Ah, the irony.
What would you do if your past grew claws and held you until it left marks?
Scars, they say.
Battle wounds, they call it.
The most painful are those unseen.
So what do you do?
Running from a person is easy. Running from your parents are okay, but running from a whole gang who have people all over the country?
Scratch that, the world?
Not so much.
Especially when you have a reputation in gangs and such. Yeah, that's hard. So here I am, making my way to New York.
Why New York you think, isn't she stupid?
No, I'm not stupid you asswipe. The more people the better, easier to blend in. Easier to be looked over, but I'm not the kind of person to be easily ignored, even if you look in a crowd.
In a small town everyone knows each other, know their backgrounds; their family and their story.
See? That won't work for me. I need to hide and lay low until I finish University, and that's going to take awhile seeing that I'm only 18 going on 19. Somehow, I made it into NYU and hopefully will be there for the next 4 years.
I rubbed the dark, gooey mixture on my hair and smiled bitterly. Today marks the 3 year anniversary of running.
Whoop dee doo.
Raking my gloved covered hand through my hair, spreading the dye evenly; I moved on to my face.
Taking out my nose piercing and numerous cartilage rings, I set them aside and wiped off the basic makeup I had on my face.
Sitting back, I looked in the mirror. Looking back was a girl who spent her life with pain and hurt. A girl who looked behind her back everywhere since she was 15, living on the streets.
A girl with no blood relative she acknowledges.
A girl whose been alone for too long.
Been suffering for too long.
Shaking my head of those thoughts, I looked at myself. Black dye smeared on my tee short and jean shorts.
Ugh, I need to get rid of those soon. I did a quick check-over on my body.
Long toned legs from hours of painful training, tanned to a golden bronze; freckles dotted here and there.
Flat stomach and an average or above chest that has got too much wrong attention over the years.
And finally my face. Its those kind of faces that you can never look away from, and when you do.
I'm not beautiful, I'm not ugly. My face is flawless, tanned and a handful of freckles across my nose.
Its the eyes.
Eyes described as ice, Stormy grey and blue. Eyes that have seen too much, I thought bitterly.
Eyes that you will never forget. Quickly putting on brown color contacts, I stripped and headed to the showers.
After rubbing off the dirt and grim of the day, I dried my newly dyed hair. Looking in the mirror, I cursed as I realized I wore color contacts to the shower. Carefully taking them out before they melt under the heat.
Drying my hair, I stepped into a fresh set of clothes I brought with me. An off the shoulder tee and a pair of skinny jeans with strategically place rips to keep the imagination going.
My newly dyed ink black hair fell in natural waves around my face. So much for being blonde, I thought dryly.
My original hair color is blonde, but over the years every time I 'move camp' I have to change my look. But I finally died it back to its original color when I was in L.A. and that was the worst mistake I have made yet.
I found their boys in front of my apartment. So headed for the hills, switching ID and vehicles, I headed to New York.
Apparently 'Cassie Johnson' applied for NYU and was accepted. Don't get me wrong, these a my grades.. Just different people..?
Throwing away the brown color contacts, I opted for hazel.
Satisfied, I left my old clothes,used fake ID and used contacts on the table. Grabbing my bag and few of my processions not in the car. I made my way to the motel room's kitchen, turning the gas stove to a high and the oven as well. I left a match burning on the side, in 3 brisk steps I was out the door.
Making my way to my motorcycle, zooming away as the motel burned in flames behind me. But not before noticing a boy, staring intently at me as I rode past. A flash of recognition, I flipped him the bird and left the place before the police got there.