Running Away

chapter two: stupid, conniving, hippie bastards

"Dev," I whined. "You know exactly why. I've been trapped in this goddamn house for the better part of sixteen years, and I'm sick of it. You do realize how shitty it is to be stuck inside the same four walls for your whole life, right?"

He sighed, and I knew I'd swayed him in my direction. "Don't pull the guilt card on me." He mumbled childishly, and I laughed.

Shrugging my shoulders even though I knew he couldn't see me, I muttered, "That's all I've got. Janelle, Paul, and Is are going to some gala in New York on the twentieth. They won't be back until Sunday, and they're not leaving me with a babysitter, so—"

"Wait, the twentieth?" Devon cut me off brusquely, his voice suddenly hard with contempt. "That's your seventeenth birthday." He announced the fact with an air of authority, like it was actually something remotely important, and I felt gratitude swell inside of me. I didn't interrupt him, though, and he didn't let me. "That's so unfair. How can they just leave you like that?"

He stopped there, but I didn't reply for a minute or so, the reality of his statements hitting me right where it hurt. He was telling the truth, after all, and the truth was painful more times than not, but it still wasn't easy to hear. I didn't utter another word until he said my name.

"I'm used to it." I lied, and I knew he didn't believe me, but he thankfully let it slide. "But anyway, I'm done with them. I know it's a big thing to ask, but can I—can I crash at your place for a while?"

Devon scoffed. "Out of all that, I'm what you're worried about? Of course you can live here. I'll just figure out—"

His sentence was cut short by a muffled oomph. Cuss words sliced through the previous silence, and I strained to understand what was happening.

"Devon?"

"Yeah, sorry about that. Derek—my idiotic ass of a best friend—decided to chuck a pillow at my face." He fumed finally, and I snorted.

"You deserve it for blabbing on the phone at two in the damn morning! Even the stupid, conniving, hippie bastards, the Lionels, aren't up yet, and you know they get up at the crack of dawn."

My eyes widened at Derek's exclamation, and I felt the heat of a blush flood through my cheeks. "I—I'm really sorry—I didn't mean to disturb you, or anything." I stuttered.

"Don't worry about it. Derek's just got the patience and brain capacity of an infant." Devon reassured me. "Forget about him, though. When will you get here?"

"I'll leave sometime early on Friday, and it takes about seven hours to get to San Francisco from Seattle, so..." I paused as I did the calculations. "I'll probably get there around eight."

"Shoot," Devon moaned.  "I have to go to dinner with my parents that night, and there's no way in hell I'll get out of that."

My stomach plummeted at his news, and I searched frantically for some sort of solution. "I can just wait outside of your apartment?" I offered desperately.

He didn't answer for a few moments, but I could picture the wheels in his brain turning. "I've got it." He said after another handful of seconds, oddly malicious. "Can Derek meet you?"

"Derek?" I echoed, feeling the name on my tongue. "Your—your friend?"

"He's nice, I promise. And he hates commitment, so this is the perfect revenge for that damn cushion I took to the nose." Devon explained, the smirk on his face seeping into his voice.

"I guess," I complied, albeit reluctantly.

"Perfect," Devon confirmed. "I'll see you soon, then?"

I beamed at the wall opposite me, almost too giddy to respond. "Yeah."

Before I could thank him again, Devon hung up, and I got the distinct feeling that he and Derek would be hurling insults at each other until sunrise. But I was too happy to care that I was the reason for their argument. Spreading out onto my bed, I stared up at the ceiling above me; there were sixteen glow-in-the-dark stars pasted there, one for each year that I'd been hidden. It was a kind of ritual for me—every birthday that I was still in the house, unknown to the world, I glued another plastic star to the ceiling. But this time around, there wouldn't be a seventeenth.

A knock sounded on the door, and I jumped when I realized that whoever was there could have heard my entire conversation with Devon. Preparing myself for the worst, I said, "Come in."

Isabella stepped through tentatively, her face painted yellow from the dim lighting in my room. Crossing to where I was sprawled out on the mattress, she smiled weakly at me. "Can I sit with you?"

"Sure." I nodded, rolling onto my side so that she had space.

"Is it true, then?" She asked quietly.

Rather than pretending to be oblivious to her question, I just whispered, "Yes."

"You're running away." Is said sadly, more to herself than to me.

"You won't tell Janelle and Paul, will you?"

She laughed humorlessly, dragging a shaky hand through her blonde hair, and it struck me that she looked abnormally pale. "Of course not. I just want to wish you good luck. I know this room has been like a prison cell for you. I want you to be happier."

 "Thanks."