The Heartthrob Won't Leave

Chapter Twenty-Five (New Chapters)

She sat on the roof, staring up at the stars of the night. In life, she often found herself pushing the depression to the back of her mind, going amongst her days pretending it didn't affect her as much as it did. But sometimes in moments when drastic actions took place, everything that she had been hiding hit her full force in waves, nearly knocking her off her feet. This was one of those moments. When she questioned where her life was going, was she even worth having one? Was her soul becoming flesh just a cosmic mistake? A mix-up in exchange for a person actually deserving to be here?

It was those times when she had to grieve, get away from her life, and the people in it. The house, the school, the physical manifestation. So, she leaned up slightly, glancing behind her at the bedroom window and making sure she had closed it. She grabbed the backpack laying on the shingles next to her, pulling the straps over her shoulders. She struggled walking across the slanted roof and just as she had done multiple times before, jumped down to the lawn out front. She hit her shoulder hard, rolling over against the cold dew and leaning to her feet. She held her backpack straps tightly in clenched hands, looking at the shadow of the house she loved so much. Blake wasn't much for regrets, she felt them pointless. But, for some reason, walking away from the house that night and down the street, further from her home, she suspected she would regret it.

She knew exactly where she was going, after all, it was the same place she always went when she had to get away. She knew every turn, alleyway, every crosswalk. She used to walk them as a child on her way to school, her father wasn't one very keen on dropping her off or guiding her there. She was always with her brother, he made sure she got there safely, even though his school was in the opposite direction. She could almost see it, the silhouette of her younger self in the shadows from the streetlights. The world looked so much bigger back then, not so chokingly constricted. The cars drove past, the other people acting out their lives without a care. It made her grateful that they were strangers.

When she arrived she just took a moment, standing under the street lamp at the corner, staring at the urban road ahead. Houses lined both sides, with broken windows, tinted doors, lopsided shingles, and grass with yellow holes. Graffiti painted the walls and the fences, tags, random scribbles, and artful designs. It didn't use to be like this. In fact, when she was a toddler, this was the ideal neighborhood to raise a family. Staring at the wilted scenery, it was almost as if she could turn back the clock in her mind. The trees, bare and dead, pulled up and grew their bright green leaves. The fences devoid of the paint that now littered them. The houses repaired of their damage and painted lively colors that caught the eyes. She walked the street, trying not to trip over her feet in the dark. A few years before, someone had stolen all the lightbulbs from their street light housing, and the city hadn't replaced them, probably didn't feel a need.

This place was for squatters now, those that had nowhere else to go, hidden from the eyes of society. Drugs, alcohol, mental and physical disability. She could notice through the broken windows as she walked by, the moving of flashlights or maybe a lamp. People taking shelter from the cold air. She stopped, turning to face the reason she came. The house still had the same bones as it used to, the small metal fence was barely holding up, and the grass wilted. Someone had nailed a piece of wood across the front window, which had been smashed. She walked up the broken steps, remembering when they weren't as so. The door was open, all she had to do was push against it. It creaked in agonizing pain, revealing to her the torn-up carpet of the living room, the water damage dripping and sliding down the walls, pooling on the floor. She moved up the uneven steps, just as she had done before as a child. She lifted her head, reaching up for the small white cord with the little hook that hung from the roof. She pulled on it, watching the roof form, sliding down the ladder to the attic. She smiled, grateful that no one had mucked with the fixes she had made the last time she was there. She stepped up the ladder, reaching up for the small string she knew hung above her. Once she got ahold of it, she pulled, lighting up the darkness that once lingered. She got up on the splintered wooden floor, pulling back the attic ladder, to secure herself in case anyone else came wandering into the house. She got on her knees, nearly hitting her head on the low ceiling. She pulled her bag off, glancing around at the space she had created for herself. It consisted of the lamp lighting her sight, a blue tub against the far wall, where she had a few changes of clothes, and a small mattress without a sheet or a blanket. But, it was better than nothing, even better than the back-breaking cots she was forced to stay in between homes. She sighed, lying down on the mattress, staring up at the wooden beams across the ceiling. Her own little escape, in the house that had once trapped her. She thought it ironic. She settled into sleep, holding her coat close as a sort of makeshift blanket, and escaped to dreamland.

She only slept for a few hours, and was fully intending on going back before anyone woke up. And she did so, tidying her small space and exiting the attic, stepping carefully down the steps and dusting her clothes off. The sun hadn't even risen, and that was exactly what she wanted. She would go home before they even knew she had left to begin with, not that they thought they'd be worried about her. Despite occasionally running from life's problems in her own way, she always knew there was no choice but to go back, and that was never in dispute inside her mind. 

Call it religion, but before she left she always looked around the main floor, remembering what it used to look like. And, she couldn't help but wonder what it would have looked like if things had gone differently. What would the house look like if her mother had never died? Had her father never had a violent mental breakdown from being without her? What would the house look like if they had stayed a family, would she be doing her homework at the wooden table by the kitchen that now was in splintered, dusty pieces. Would her father have been helping her, as her mother cooked dinner. She didn't remember much from the time that her mother was alive, but the sense she did was the aromas that always lingered about every room, when Mother was cooking was when she was the most happiest, at least that's what Clay said. The love that once filled these walls was long gone, her family hadn't even made their mark, as if they never existed within these rooms in the first place. 

But, watching these fictional people, she couldn't even imagine what her mother looked like. It was as if she appeared in front of her eyes as nothing but a shapeless ghost. She wanted to do things that Mothers did with their daughters, talked about their lives and the ridiculous things that happened within them. More often than not, there were just things that a foster kid wouldn't tell a foster parent, despite how much she felt like she belonged. Karl was the best person she had ever known, but despite how much she wanted to lean on him, he wasn't her true parent. But, there was no use in dwelling about things in life that could never be changed, it will only make you miserable. 

So, she took a shaky breath into her lungs, and opened the door, walking away from where she had stayed in her effort to escape for even just a few moments. She pulled her phone from her pocket, with the intention to check the time, but realized it must have been dead, because the screen stayed off even when she attempted to press the buttons. It wasn't long before she was walking up the street of her cul de sac, but surprised when she turned the corner, slightly blinded by the flashing lights, especially the red ones, flashing life out of her eyes. 

Her mouth fell slightly, eyes wide at the sight of the police cars on the sides of the road, there were three, two parked in front of her house and one across the street. She just walked towards them, her grip on her backpack straps tightening on instinct. It was those same lights that nearly blinded her that night when the cops surrounded her house when the incident happened. 

The neighbors had called the cops, hearing the yelling coming from the house, and it was all she could hear when she was moving in and out of unconsciousness and unable to move on the ground. her brother bleeding profusely on the living room floor from her father's hand. She wanted to run away, just the sight of them made her ill in the pit of her stomach. The visions of fake smiles, stares of pity, the smell that lingered on her clothes from the garbage bag she carried them in because she didn't have a bag to carry her belongings. 

The devastation of watching her brother disappear, seemingly moving on with his life without her, as if she was just a burden. She knew she had been ridiculous, Clay had hardly been able to care for himself let alone her as well, he had done what he thought was the best for her. But, it still ached in her gut sometimes thinking about it. Three people were standing by the car on the driveway, two dressed officers with their back to her, and Karl, who they appeared to be talking to rather seriously. She didn't know what was happening, when she had left everything had been fine, and no one seemed to be in any distress. But now, it looked serious. She noticed the moment Karl lifted his head, his forehead sweaty and eyes wide when they fell upon her from between the two officers facing him.