Runaway Scars

Vic sunk to the floor with his back pressed against the door and knotted his hands in his hair, trying to do something—anything to distract himself from the argument his parents were partaking in downstairs. He reached out for his iPod, grabbing the ear buds and shoving them into his ears, then turning up the volume as loud as it could possibly go before pressing play.

The arrangement with his parents was taking its toll on him, more so than it seemed to be his younger brother, who had friends that were willing to put him up for the night so that he didn’t have to listen to the fact that his parents hated each other. Vic had no one. So he had to listen to his parents yelling, throwing things at each other, until they finally sold their house, and then Vic and Mike would go to a new house with their mother, and their father would go his own way. Their separation was necessary; they definitely didn’t love each other, and being together made them unhappy, but the fact that they didn’t have enough money to physically separate until the house was sold made the arrangement unpractical and tough on the elder Fuentes brother, who had no escape from the sounds that emitted up his staircase.

With his hands clamped firmly over his ears, his iPod blasting loud music into his brain, Vic let himself cry. He always tried not to cry, and to remain composed at all time, but it was so hard when he just felt like screaming all the time. As he sat there, crying over the love lost in his family, he thought about what he was going to do. He couldn’t keep dealing with his parent’s divorce the way he was; taking it out on his arm with an old razor, so he had to settle for a healthier solution. Not that what he was considering was healthy at all, but he was desperate.

He was going to run away. He knew it sounded childish and pathetic, but he had a bit of money stashed away from his part time job down at the coffee shop, and he knew how to look after himself, and there was no better solution, he was sure of it. So he stood up, his mind working on autopilot, and grabbed his backpack from the side of his desk, where he had thrown it earlier that afternoon when he arrived home from school. He tipped the contents out onto his bed, watching as notebooks and pens sprawled out onto the comforter. Rushing now, eager to fulfil his plan before he realised how truly foolish it was to consider running away at seventeen years old, he grabbed all the clothes that he could fit into his backpack, which in reality was not much; a couple of pairs of jeans, a few shirts and some underwear, but it would do. He could always clean them as he went along. Deciding to save space in his bag, he grabbed his thick hoodie from the closet, and shoved it over his head; it was too warm to wear it usually, but it would be just fine during the night, and he had no idea where he was running away too; he might need it if he ended up in a cold town.

Vic grabbed the shoebox from its hiding place under his bed, and sat down on the mattress with it on his lap. It was a stupid place to keep money and he knew it, but he didn’t have to think about that now. He grabbed the bundle, which he knew to contain at least $900, on his last count a couple of months ago, and shoved it to the bottom of his backpack, where he was sure it wouldn’t get lost. He looked at the other contents of the box, and carefully picked up the small razor that he so wished he had the strength to leave behind, but knew that he did not, and pushed it into the side pocket with a pair of socks.

He stood up, hoisting his backpack onto his shoulder and stood there for a moment. Removing one headphone, he could hear that his parents were still arguing, his mother screaming hatred towards his father, and he knew that they wouldn’t even realise that he was gone until the morning, when he wasn’t there to be woken up for school. He sighed, thinking about the panic his mother would be filled with, but shook his head; he was going to end up dead if he stayed in this home, and he knew it. So, he grabbed one of his discarded notepads, figuring it would at least be decent of him to leave a note, and scrawled down a quick note. He was unspecific and vague in details, for he himself did not know where he was going, how long he would be gone for, or if he was going to return at all, but he hoped his note would at least assure his parents that he knew what he was doing, and he would be okay. He folded the note and placed it on top of his pillow, where he was sure his mom would find it first thing in the morning, and then took one last look around the room he had made his own.

Pulling his hood up over his head, he opened the window silently, and hoisted himself out onto the sill easily. He remembered sneaking out to parties with Mike by following the same route he was currently taking, and it saddened him that he wasn’t still the same happy kid that he’d been four months ago before all of this mess began. Taking it carefully, Vic placed his fingers firmly around the sill, and after a deep breath, allowed his legs to swing off of the side, so that he was dangling off of the window ledge. He counted to three in his head, and then let go, landing with a soft thud on the grassy floor.

One last look at the house, and then he was gone. He reached into his pocket, pulling out his phone and switching it off; if his parents just so happened to notice that he was gone before the morning, and called Vic while he was still within distance of the house, he was sure that he would turn back and apologise for being so stupid, and adding stress to them during their difficult time. He would turn it back on when he was so far away it would be impossible for his parents to come out and drag him back home. He couldn’t go back now, not when he was so sure that he was doing the right thing. He was getting out of a situation that was killing him, and he refused to believe that running away from it was the wrong thing, no matter how many times he had been told to face his problems head on.

Vic walked for twenty minutes, until he found himself at the bus stop that would ultimately decide where he was going to spend the foreseeable future. He had money, a fake ID in his wallet, and a barely formed plan, and that was all, but he was sure that it would be enough to allow him to survive until he turned eighteen and had no obligation to be tied to his parents. Only three months, and he would no longer be classed as a runaway.

“Where to?” A woman behind the desk asked in a disinterested voice, popping her gum and leaning her chin on her hand as she regarded the small Mexican, who just looked scared and unsure.

Vic cleared his throat and composed himself, squaring his shoulders slightly; he still didn’t know where he was going, “Wherever the next bus out of here is going, as long as it’s far away.”

The woman frowned, but nodded and typed something into her computer. Vic hadn’t expected it to be so easy; he had expected her to ask him for ID, or to question his motives, but then he supposed it didn’t really matter to her what some scrawny seventeen year old was doing in a bus station at 11pm on a Thursday night; she got paid either way. She handed the ticket over, informing Vic that he had fifteen minutes before the bus left, and he exchanged it for the bit of money he had in his pocket, rather than the stash he had in his bag.

Vic still didn’t look at his destination, only the gate he needed to be at to be on the right bus. He didn’t need to know where he was going; either way it was going to be home for him until he found somewhere better to settle.

That was the only thought in Vic’s mind as he reached the vehicle that would deliver him unto his fate, and he climbed the steps timidly. After showing the driver his ticket, he shuffled down the centre isle as if he might break if someone so much as touched him, and sunk into place on the back row next to the window. Five minutes, and he’d be so far away from home. He wondered if anyone knew that he was gone yet, or if they still thought he was upstairs, doing homework or sleeping. He wondered if they’d miss him when they figured out he was gone, or if they’d be too wrapped up in their own heartbreak to notice that their eldest son was too mentally exhausted to function anymore.