Chapter 1: On The Run

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Hey everyone!

Chapter 1! Holy crap cannot believe I am doing this.

Song of the chapter is "Rolling in The Deep" by the great Queen Adele.

Remember to comment and vote!

Hope you enjoy:)

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I am done.

I am so done with this mask of a life that I have been chasing down a rabbit hole for longer than my brain would like to remember.

It's over. It's done, and I am never going back to that man.

I looked back into the rearview window, it's just me on the road. Me and this beat up single cab Ford F-150 that I bought by trading in my shiny silver Mercedes that he bought for me.

He bought so many things for me that eventually it seemed like every inch of my body was bought. The diamond earrings in my cup holder were an anniversary gift that he bought for me. The tennis bracelet that was burning a hole in a pocket of my purse was a birthday gift from him. Even my fantastically fake french manicure and blonde hair still smelling of bleach were all things that he bought for me.

From the dirty rearview mirror, I could see the pain all over my face. The bruise on my lip from where he punched me. The swollen left eye that had turned an angry black and blue from where his other fist met me. My cheek had a slice, angry red and puffy, from where I fell onto a dresser when he tripped me.

And that was just my face– my body was even more broken in more ways than what met the eye.

I would not go back to him. Ever.

He came home angry. He always came home angry these days, unless he wanted to have sex. Then he was sweet, caring, and apologetic.

"I'm so sorry baby, I didn't mean it."

"Baby, you know you push my buttons, don't you? But you're right, I'm sorry, babe."

Lies.

The day I decided to leave him was the day I started living again, and now on this open road when I was supposed to feel free, I still felt caged.

Because I knew he would come.

I couldn't let him find me. He could never find me, because if he did, I would certainly die.

We lived in Malibu. The home of blondes, fake boobs, fake tans, ridiculously large houses, and Instagram perfect lives. It all seemed so surreal at first for me; a small town girl from a city outside of Portland. The newness and the rollercoaster that was that lifestyle kept me so blinded to the bleaching; the bleaching of my own identity that is.

 I had looked at a map for days, a map that I burned over a burner on my stove so there would be no evidence. I had thought about every possibility and the likelihood of me being able to actually get there. So many were tempting, yet I found flaws in all. So at the end of the day, I started driving.

I had been driving, for two days now, only sleeping for around an hour at a rest stop along the way. I had been on I-5 for what seemed like forever now, I had decided to go to Alaska.

I knew no one in Alaska. Absolutely no one. It was perfect. I could disappear in a little cabin somewhere in the woods. I could grow a garden, a big garden like my mother used to have before she got sick. I could get a job, I could work at a small town store, or I could do whatever the hell I wanted without fear of repercussion.

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