𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 / 𝐈𝐕.

III.

last flight out

IT'S EARLY, the late summer sun is hidden from my view as I shower and get ready. My outfit is hanging from my desk chair as I blow dry out my hair. Below my feet on the first floor, I can hear Charlie and Mom moving about but Bella is still snoring when I pass by her room.

With one quick look at the jeans I'd set aside, my body seems to groan from bloating. Anxiety has hit me hard and I feel like a rabid squirrel resisting the urge to run in the road. Fuck, it's not even 7 AM and I'm already tired of the day. Yoga pants will do just fine.

It's depressing to look down at the two suitcases and backpack. All my life packed away into luggage and boxes in the attic, most of it I'll never see again. I mourn for my guitar, running my thumb down the strings that I'll never play again. And though Edward has promised to buy me a new one and replace everything I can't bring, it's not the same.

Zipping up my backpack after making sure my ID and wallet were safely secured, I take a long look over the room. Bare walls with old nails and one sad sting of lights, my stomach twists again as I look at everything and try not to linger.

I force myself to leave the room and walk down the stairs, joining Charlie and Mom in the kitchen. He greets me, but Mom seems to already be biting back tears as she makes her breakfast.

"You made sure the suitcases were under fifty pounds?" Charlie finally breaks the silence as I pour a cup of coffee, letting the dark contents swirl around in the stained mug.

"Yes sir." I nod, glancing over at Mom who sniffles when I catch her eye. "Mom, it's only 7."

"I know, I know." She wipes her eyes and puts her plate of food down on the table. "You've got your ID? What about your camera?"

"Yes ma'am, I've got it all packed where I can get to it," I promise her, sitting down at the breakfast table next to them. Rubbing at my eyes, I stare down my coffee mug as they silently eat breakfast almost as if they know they're driving me to my own funeral. A silent death march plays in the back of my mind through the morning, my stomach sick with anticipation.

Charlie loads my suitcases into the trunk of the cruiser, and Bella stands on the bottom front step in her sweatpants as I put my backpack in the back of the car behind the bars.

"Send postcards, and call whenever you can." Bella sniffles when I come to hug her goodbye. This is the most emotional I've ever seen her in the years I've known her. She didn't even cry like this when she finished reading the Outsiders.

"I will, you'll have to email me and tell me all about school and your relationships too," I say, letting my arms fall to the side after our awkward embrace. "I'll see you at Christmas."