I Won't Say I'm in Love

I walked from the airport out into the freezing cold rain in only my dark wash jeans with a white t-shirt and white sneakers on. I had nothing else with me but $30—the remainder of the money I had saved up in order to one day run away from the hell hole I used to call a home. I had finally had enough. Tonight—well, last night; now it was two thirty in the morning—I couldn’t even get to sleep. I was up all night thinking about my poor mother in that stupid mental institution, probably in a straightjacket. I kept envisioning her in one of those padded, square rooms, the walls getting smaller and smaller until she finally couldn’t breathe, suffocated and died.

I jerked my eyes open. I had had this dream every night for the past twelve years. Then I had smelled my stupid brother’s pot smoke leaking in from the hallway under my door and up my nose, and heard my father giggling in the bedroom next door with some woman who wasn’t my mother. Some…nightwalker…whom he had paid to spend the night with him and make him “happy” again. What I didn’t understand was while he was selling all that cocaine and meth to people, why he didn’t just smoke that stuff himself? It would’ve given him the exact same kind of “happiness” he got from those disgusting women—no. I couldn’t bring myself to call them women. I knew them as homewreckers.

I heard my father in the next room giggling with his homewrecker-for-the-night and I had had it. I got out of bed, put on some clothes, grabbed my $603 saved up in a wooden chest under my bed and walked out. My dad’s bedroom door was closed and he was too distracted to hear me get out of bed and walk down the hall. And it was pitiful how easy it was to sneak by Brandon’s room. He was so jacked up on weed, he was too preoccupied with a spider to hear me walk down the hall. I walked down the stairs and through the living room. I opened the door and walked outside, letting the noise of Brooklyn, New York fill my ears and the cool wind hit my face. And now here I was.

Standing outside of an airport in Port Angeles, Washington, shivering because of how cold it was. I figured I needed a ride, but hardly anyone was here. I didn’t have my cell phone on me; it would’ve been too easy for Brandon to find me if I took it, if he ever started caring enough to look. I looked around and the only person I saw who could possibly give me a ride was some buff dude with wavy dark hair. He was sitting inside of his cherry red Jeep Wrangler, talking on his cell phone with somebody. I took a deep breath and walked up to his car. He didn’t notice me approach, so I had to knock on the driver side window.

He looked up and frowned at me. I saw him say, “Hold on, one moment,” without peeling his eyes off of mine. He then rolled down the window and said, “Can I help you?” He was obviously a little taken aback.

“Hi,” I started confidently. “Is there any way I can get a ride?” I asked. He blinked at me and then let his face relax a little.

“What the hell,” he said, starting to smile a little. “Get in,” he ordered. I smiled and walked over to the other side of the car and slid into the passenger seat. He held the phone back up to his ear and started talking to the person once again. “Carlisle, I think I’m gonna be home a little later than I thought,” he told the person on the other line. “Alright,” he said. “I’ll see you later.”

He then hung up his phone and smiled at me, and that was when I realized how stunningly beautiful he was. His teeth practically glowed in the dark and they were so straight, I was almost positive they had to be sharp. “Hi, there,” he said in a voice that was one of the most magnificently intriguing ones I had ever heard in my life.

“Hi,” I repeated. He started the car and we began driving out of the airport. As soon as we were on the road however, he began driving like a maniac. I was positive he was going more than twice the speed limit and was barely stopping at the red lights, but I didn’t say anything. I simply raised my eyebrows and watched the humble town pass.

“So where to, little lady?” he asked, looking away from the road to smile at me. I shrugged and looked at him.

“Take me as far as you can go,” I requested. He gave a mischievous smile.

“I know exactly where that is,” he replied. And with that, he punched the gas even harder than before, making me jerk back in my chair and stare with wide eyes at the road. He saw my expression and laughed, which I didn’t think was funny. I was starting to wish I had gotten in the car with someone I was less likely to die with.

“How do you pay for this car?” I asked him.

“Huh?” he muttered.

“I mean what with all the tickets you must get and all,” I taunted, now looking at the boy.

“I’ve only been stopped three times,” he said matter-of-factly. “And all three times, I’ve managed to charm my way out of trouble,” he said. I shrugged. It wasn’t too hard to believe.

“All female officers?” I asked.

He gave a naughty smirk and said, “One male.”

I laughed a little at that, and he winked at me. I rolled my eyes and looked out the window once again. “So what’s your name, beautiful?” he asked.

“Calypso,” I answered. He raised his eyebrows, impressed.

“Like Calypso from The Odyssey?” he questioned.

“The same,” I smirked.

“Sexy…” he purred jokingly. I laughed.

“What about you?” I inquired.

“Emmett,” he answered. I nodded and gave a big yawn. “Oh!” he said, grinning at me. “Little kitten’s tired, huh?” I leaned my head against my hand, closed my eyes and nodded. “Oh,” he said, now sounding almost sorry. “Well, we’re almost there,” he promised. I had just realized that we weren’t in Port Angeles anymore.

“Where are we?” I asked him as I marveled at the quiet little town.

“Forks, Washington. One of the rainiest places in the country,” he answered grinning.

“Mmm! Great…” I said sarcastically. He tilted his head back and laughed, making me laugh as well.

“You reminded me of Bella just then,” he muttered to himself.

“Who?” I asked.

“Oh, no one,” he insisted, now talking clearly. “So where did you come from?” he asked. My heart seemed to twist in my chest a little as he asked that question.

“I’d rather not talk about it,” I told him honestly. He nodded.

“I understand,” he said. “What about just yourself in general? Like…what’s your favorite color?” he asked in a rather friendly manner.

“Yellow,” I told him.

“Yellow?” he repeated. He scrunched up his face and stuck out his tongue, gagging a little.

“Everybody does that!” I giggled.

“Why?” he laughed.

“Yellow represents optimism. Hope. I need some of that in my life,” I explained. He nodded.

“Okay. What’s your favorite food?” he now asked. I frowned.

“Uh…Kraft Mac and Cheese,” I said.

“What?” Emmett gasped. “That’s the worst favorite food ever!” I laughed. “C’mon, for real though. Like, baked chicken? Peach cobbler? Tacos?” I shook my head.

“I haven’t had too many home-cooked meals in my life.” He looked over at me and scrutinized my profile as I looked out the rainy windshield.

“You’re a runaway,” he stated, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. I didn’t really react.

“Yeah. So?” I challenged, afraid he was going to turn me in to the town police or something.

“Rebel, huh?” he grinned as he looked back at the road. I chuckled.

“Yeah, except not really,” I teased. He slammed to a stop in the middle of the road, quite suddenly. “Where are we?” I asked him as I looked out the window.

“The end of Forks and the beginning of the La Push Reservation. The border,” he said, staring mutinously into the distant darkness.

“You can’t go onto the Reservation?” I asked his profile. “Why not?”

“Family reasons…” he answered vaguely. He then peeled his eyes away from whatever he seemed to be staring at. He turned to look at me and sighed. “Well, I guess this is ‘See ya later’,” he said. I nodded. Then, I didn’t know what had really come over me, but I leaned over and hugged him tight. He seemed to be a little hesitant at first, but then he wrapped his arms around me and hugged me back. Nobody had shown me kindness like this in a long, long time. I couldn’t actually remember the last time I had really hugged someone. I thought it was about three years ago, the last time I had seen Brandon not high.

Choking back my tears, I whispered, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” he whispered back.

We both sat there, hugging each other for a minute, until I said, “You’re really cold.” And I wasn’t exaggerating. Hugging him reminded me of hugging a big marble sculpture. He laughed. Squeezing each other once more before we let go, we released each other and smiled. “See ya later,” I said.

“See ya later,” he repeated. Then, with one last smile, I slid out of the car and began walking down the road. I saw Emmett’s headlights still on, and I knew he was still there. Then, I heard his door open and he shouted, “Hey Calypso!” I turned around and brushed a soft piece of hair behind my ear. “Be careful,” he said. “And that’s an order.” I smiled and saluted him.

“Aye, aye, Cap’n,” I promised. He saluted me as well before he closed his door and drove off. I looked toward the woods and stared at it as I felt the raindrops pounding heavily on my head. My black, wavy hair was once again plastered to my chocolate brown face and I was soaked through to my underwear. I started toward the woods when I heard a wolf howl. Stopping in my tracks, I turned and looked at the full moon.

I gulped. “Lara Croft would do it,” I said. Lara Croft was a poorly proportioned but kick ass video game heroine from my favorite video game, Tomb Raider. I took a deep breath and proceeded into the thick, unfamiliar woods.



I was scratched and scathed and had deeply cut my leg in my back calf wandering through this damn forest. I had to take off my jacket and wrap it tight around the wound, though I still seemed to be losing a lot of blood. The only good choice about deciding to go marching through the woods like Peter Pan and the Lost Boys was the fact that the thick foliage provided shelter from the ever-falling rain. The only thing that had kept me going was the fact that anywhere—even here—was better than “home.” After I had been hiking for a couple of hours, I leaned against a tree to rest.

I swear I've seen this tree before...

I plunked my head against the trunk again and whispered, “This was stupid.” So I got up, and started to wander again. After another hour and a half, I was extremely exhausted and starting to feel a little dizzy and faint and…nauseous. I felt my jaw begin to tighten and my stomach begin to gurgle and twist and turn like a professional acrobat. I started to gag. “No, Calypso. Hold it back. You can do it. You can do it…” I quietly murmured to myself.

I then felt a little vomit try to rise out of my mouth, which I swallowed back down, but even that was too much. “I can’t do it, I can’t do it,” I said in a normal speaking voice now, shaking my head. I began to run, looking for some place to throw up. When I finally couldn’t hold it in anymore, I leaned over a fallen log and puked to my heart’s content. “Ugh,” I muttered. The smell was wretched and I had to wipe my mouth with the back of my hand. I couldn’t help but glance at it. I gagged again. “Gross,” I groaned, wiping it on my pants. I then started off once more.

After about fifty more minutes, I felt just about ready to die. I shouldn’t really have expected much though. I hadn’t had food or water in the past fifteen hours, I was operating on three hours of sleep and I was the coldest I had ever been in my life. Just then, I tripped over some rock. I grunted as I went down and fell in a puddle of mud…but I didn’t get up. I lay there, my eyes closed, my leg bleeding profusely now that my jacket had fallen off and I figured this was my dying place. There was just one more thing I had to do before I left this world forever.

“Smile, when your heart is aching…” I began to sing softly, my eyes still closed. This was the song my mother used to sing to me whenever I was sad. I would sit in her lap and listen to her heartbeat and feel the hum of her chest as she sang and stroked my hair.

“Smile, even though it’s breaking. Though there are clouds in the sky. You’ll get by…” We weren’t quite sure where we’d learned the song from. We just knew it was the best at making our tears stop, our minds clearer and our hearts lighter.

“If you smile through your pain and sorrow. Smile, and maybe tomorrow you’ll see the sun come shining through for you…”

I began to cry as I went on. “Light up your face with gladness. Hide every trace of sadness. Although a tear may be ever so near…”

Now I was sobbing, my tears running tracks through the dirt on my cheeks before they seeped into the moist forest ground.

“That’s the time you must keep on trying. Smile; what’s the use of crying? You’ll find that life is still worthwhile…” I let out one last heart-breaking sob before finishing.

“If you just smile.”

I was done. I had finished the song. “I tried, Mama,” I sobbed pathetically, my nose running and everywhere on me hurting. “But it’s so hard to smile when your heart is broken.”

And then everything blacked out.