(Don't) Leave Me Alone •twenty one pilots-Tyler Joseph•

forty//and here's the part when i started to make my own damn decisions

||Charlotte Robin Dun|| First Person||

I'm running fast, too fast. My feet are slapping against the concrete with every extended step I take forward, and I can imagine my heels burning the pavement and shooting up sparks in my trail as I run as far away from Newport Academy as possible. My breathing is jagged and irregular, my throat burning as I gasp and my lungs dry from lack of inhalation. I glance behind me, and from my point, I can't see Newport. I can't see the security detail that was following after me after my rash escape. I can't see anybody coming after me, but I can imagine the search for me is growing. Soon this entire area will be filled with people looking for me.

Because I ran away.

I did it. I actually somehow managed to run away and escape the prison sentence that was cleverly disguised as treatment. I managed to get out of there and take my freedom back because it was obvious that they weren't going to hand it back to me until the fifteenth of December. It is so obvious at this time that it's utterly pointless to even try to get my mom to let me leave early because she's been reading those brochures. And one important part on the brochure is addressing parents that their kids will want to leave, but to not give in to them. They've brainwashed my mom into thinking that this toxic environment is actually going to heal me and my mental illnesses for some strange and far off reason. She genuinely believes that I'm being treated right here.

Or maybe she's just trying to believe that.

I turn to look forward, but I'm only met with a chest that I slam straight into. A scream gets caught in my throat, and whoever I hit felt the impact just as much as I did as we both hit the ground. I yelp in shock, staring straight up into the bright blue sky looming overhead for a short moment before I snap back to my senses. I sit up quickly, looking over to the lanky body sitting in front of me with a more than annoyed look on their face. It's a boy, at least I think it is. "What the hell?" He groans, rubbing his face with a large hand, brushing his brown hair away from his forehead.

"I-I-I'm sorry," I blurt out, scrambling to my feet, but I find that they hurt badly the second I'm standing up. He pushes himself up to stand as well, rubbing his eyes tiredly before raising his eyebrows.

"What are you running from at 9 in the morning?" He questions me, rhetorically of course. He isn't looking for an actual answer from me, but it spills out of my mouth before I can control it.

"I ran away from Newport." I say quickly, thinning my lips into a straight line. He chokes on a laugh at that, holding a hand to his mouth to calm himself down.

"Newport? You mean the rehab up the street?" He asks for clarification, and I nod. Once he realizes that I'm telling him the truth and not just saying that for shits and giggles, he swears under his breath. "Are you crazy?"

"Kinda," I shrug my shoulders.

"I'm Jordan." He says anyways, holding his hand out for me to shake. I tentatively take his hand in my own trembling one, letting him shake ours together. When I pull back, I cross my arms over the red bear logo from Mark's company on my chest.

"Robin," I tell him shortly.

"Are you okay, though?" He asks me. "You look like hell."

"Been through it," I retort, instinctively running a hand through my mostly dry hair.

"Yikes," he winces slightly, chewing thoughtfully on his bottom lip. "God, my ass hurts." He says, referring to how I ran right into him moments earlier. I blush in embarrassment, looking down at my feet jammed into my black Toms.

"Sorry about that," I say awkwardly. Jordan glances over my shoulder, something catching his attention for a second, before he looks back at me.

"Look, I was just about to go to Starbucks- do you want to come with?" He asks me hopefully, rubbing the back of his neck. I turn around and see the chain coffee shop right across the street from us. Something inside my chest is screaming at me to go with him, to befriend this person, but I can't help but think about how much Jordan reminds me of Ryan within the first few minutes of us knowing each other. I chew on my bottom lip and decide- I have money and I'm starving. I might as well go with someone that knows this area, because I sure as hell don't know where I'm going or where I even am.