--- Little bit of a story I wrote. Not got a name for it yet. More coming soonish. ---

I stand in the drizzling rain - the kind that's not all that heavy, but when you get inside you realise your soaked to the bone - with the will to cry, but no tears come.

I feel as if I'm no longer here; from the second he'd left, I felt as if he'd taken a huge chunk of me away, but left my body standing in the dimly lit bus station.

I don't know how long I've been here, it could have been minutes or hours. The happiness I'd felt earlier feels like a dream, or something I read in a book. This morning, I'd had a presence of joy about me.

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EIGHT HOURS EARLIER...

It was barely light out, and I could hear my father's drunken babble from across the hall. He'd been up all night, watching a twenty-four-hour sports channel, and shouting in victory whenever his team won a point. I was surprised he hadn't drunk himself to death.

He'd stumble into my room every hour or so and slur, "Where's your mother, Alyssa?"

"She's gone. Remember?" I'd reply.

My mother had left us a year come this summer. I just came home from school one day and she was gone, in her place was a quick hand written note saying she wasn't coming back, and that we'd better not try to look for her, either. We haven't heard from her since.

It was kind of a relief, actually. All my parents did was fight. I didn't have it in me to be upset that my mother was gone, I just felt angry, furious even, that she hadn't taken me with her, that she'd just left me behind. Where I'd never been close with my mother, I thought the mutual, negative feelings we shared for my father's tendency to drink into the early hours, were enough to make her understand that I didn't like being here any more than she did. Obviously, I was wrong.

I had just gotten off the phone with Haden. It was a peculiar conversation; he'd seemed...zealous almost. "Pack a bag," he'd said. "don't leave anything important behind."

I quizzed his strange attitude for a moment, then followed his orders, as he told me to meet him at the bus station. When I'd asked him where we were going, his only answer was, "Somewhere new. Far away. You've always said you want to get out of here, right?"

After a drunken conversation with my father, I was down the stairs and out the front door, backpack on back, hood pulled up tight against the harsh wind. I hadn't felt so excited in years. Haden and I were running away. Together. I wouldn't have to go through it alone; he'd protect me, make sure we had enough money to survive. Maybe we could get a little house? Or-
Stop, I thought. I was getting ahead of myself. Just wait and see what's going on when you meet him, I told myself.

The smile on my face grew bigger - and probably goofier - when I rounded the corner and saw him leaning against the wall.
Haden outstretched his hand, and pulled me towards a bus adjacent which had its door open.

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I should have noticed the absence of his luggage. I shouldn't have fallen for the smile that didn't quite reach his eyes, or the hesitant stance he took on as I kissed him first - which is foreign territory for me. I almost never make the first move, it's always Haden who does that part.

"Are you alright, dear?" I hear a far off voice queer. I focus my eyes and see a middle aged woman with a severe haircut, dressed in a business suit standing before me, a suspicious look on her face. She has a southern accent.

I realise now that my cheeks are wet with tears, and my arms are wrapped protectively around my torso, literally holding myself together.
"I...I..." I start, but I don't know what I am. It's so far from all right, I feel sort of numb. The woman looks at me suspiciously, and then wanders off, muttering something about kids these days.

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SIX HOURS EARLIER

"So. What's this all about?" I asked, leaning into Haden's strong side as the bus pulled out of the station.

"You've been different these past few weeks. Kinda down. After you finally admitted to me that you really weren't happy at home, I figured we should go someplace else," He replied, sliding his arm around me and squeezing tight.

It had all gotten too much for me last week. It had come to the point where my father was skipping work and locking himself in his room. I barely saw him for at least a month, and when I did, he was under the influence of alcohol. I had never told anyone, never mind Haden, about my father's 'problems'. Haden only knew that my mother wasn't around, no more questions asked. But when I'd started falling asleep in class and 'turning to skin and bone' - as he'd called it - Haden became worried and demanded I tell him what was wrong.

My opening up involved a lot of tears, tissues and hugs. I'd feared he'd view me different, look at me like I was a piece of scum, but he was extremely supportive, and knew where to draw the line on the question asking.