Waiting On The Other Side

TW: Abuse, Alcohol and Mentions of Depression.

Some decisions seem right at the time but are regretted not long after.

This one could be one of them.

My heart raced as the train started to move along the rails. I laid my cheek against the window as tears streamed down my face. The train was loud but the only sound I heard was my intense breathing. I glanced out the window, admiring the beauties of nature as we passed by. I had been running for so long that I hadn't noticed my surroundings. Flowers were evenly lined up along the fields of bright green grass. The clouds arranged in clumped groups as they faded into the sky. Something about the sights really struck a feeling, one I hadn't felt in a long time. A feeling that mixed with hope for my life and relief of my escape. There was no turning back. Despite the struggles of getting away, I managed to sneak onto the train before Dad caught up to me. If I can even call him that anymore. With the way things turned out between us, I might as well stick with a first name basis and call him Mike. Me and Mike have lived together since I was still in my mother's stomach. Meaning that I've lived with him long enough to know how he'll handle this. He'll get upset, drive home angry and go 10km over the speed limit, call the cops in order to settle in a search party and then patiently wait for the investigation to complete itself as he sits on the couch with a bottle of Vodka. Which is obviously a dumb decision since his drinking is the reason I ran in the first place. Sometimes, I seem to think that it's my mother's fault. If she hadn't left him and me, stranded on the side of the road next to our trailer then we wouldn't be here. Mike wouldn't have gotten diagnosed with depression and start coping with it using Alcohol if it wasn't for that. Her leaving caused him so much pain, more than she can ever imagine.

Flashbacks came to me again. Days I used to walk home from school and find him sleeping on the couch. Black bags surrounded his eyes and dried tissues surrounded the area. I used to quietly tip toe around the trailer and clean things so he would have less to worry about in the morning. The kind gesture became more of a chore as time went by. Mike was just beginning his drinking addiction. He'd sit quietly on his bed, a bottle of whiskey clutched tight in his hands, held in front of his black dead eyes. He wasn't much of a drinker at the time. He always avoided alcohol the most he could, for the sake of my mom and me. Of course, he felt this was his only shot at feeling something besides numb emotional pain. One drink turned into two, then four . Before I knew it, he was drinking 10 bottles of Wine a day. It messed with his brain alot and that's how he became a lot more aggressive toward me.

It was simple at first. A slap in the face or a shove every once in a while. But the more angry he got overtime, the more severe it got. I looked out the train window again, rubbing my finger over the bruise on the back of my aching palm. The beauty outside started to look pale the more the bruise hurt. Suddenly, I got an aching feeling that this runaway wasn't such a good idea. Dad was the least of my worries now. I'm hundreds of miles away, driving to a new city he'll never find me in. But I'm only a 15 year old girl without a job. How will I even survive? I guess I never planned anything ahead besides the train tickets and the escape plan. Where will I stay? Is food cheap here? How am I going to continue my education? I ran away in the middle of second term, which was a stupid choice. But I had reached my limit with him and there was no way I could face him for the next three years. Then I remembered my friends. They don't know about my situation. Hiding bruises is easy with just long-sleeved thick sweaters and some makeup. My best friend, Skylar, thinks my dad's a saint. This impression came from when I had Skylar over for the first time in our backyard. We were taking selfies and picking the best ones for our snapchat stories. Skylar was prettier than me in all of them. Her hair was a light sparkling blonde colour that normally draped all the way to her thighs. But in public, she tied them up into two messy buns that made her look extremely cute. Meanwhile I had short, flaky black hair that only reached to my earrings. I didn't expect my dad to walk in on us that day since he’s usually locked in his room bingeing TV on Friday afternoons. Thank God he wasn't drunk the day he did, otherwise Skylar would have trauma she'd never forget. He was really kind and friendly to us that day, even offered to make us a steaming steak barbeque for lunch. Skylar bragged about it at school the next day. She also told me my dad had really nice dirty blonde hair that made him look like a member of Nirvana.

My heart jumped when the train came to a complete halt. I hadn't realized how much time went by. People were crowding along the aisles, rushing to the front like it was elementary all over again. I patiently got up and shoved my hands into my blue hoodie. My confidence slowly started to build up again. I'm sure I could find myself a refugee camp or orphanage to stay in. If they say my situations not serious enough, I'll lie. I've got 500 bucks in total in my bag, which could afford me food for the month or two. That's enough time to find a part time job to also earn money with. The aisle started to clear out and I happily made my way to the exit. Each step down felt like a weight lifted off my shoulders. I jumped off the train at ease and looked around the area. The cold wind breeze hit my face and it felt amazing. I started walking backwards, admiring all the new sights of the city. Buildings were flashing colourful lights, rivers were flowing so nicely and the sky started to change colour into mesmerising sights of ombre blue and pink. It seems that I was so caught up in the sightseeing that I bumped into someone behind me, hard. I felt the person tumble a little but still stay put. I turned around to sincerely apologise to whoever it was.

I froze.

The Kurt Cobain haircut, the same deadly black eyes I used to dread seeing every single day. His body matched up to 5,9 while I was still short below that. I wanted to run and cry and hide away but I couldn't. Years and years of fear and pain caused my legs to freeze. My body shivered and swelled up in a way I never felt before. He stood there, a plastic smile spread across his face in the most threatening way I could ever imagine

"Found you."