Breathe in, Breathe Out

Kellin's Point of View

It was today. I could feel it.
It was 3:57 AM and I was already awake. I had fallen asleep a little after two, after silently going through the bags in my closet for the last time. I couldn't take the anxiety anymore.
Using the dimmed light from my phone, I crept out of bed and walked towards the folded pile on top of my empty desk.
Everything inside was already carefully put away inside a dark green messenger bag, snuggled around my laptop and journals.
Pulling off the gray sweatpants I hadn't worn in the almost two years since I had been on the wrestling team, I got dressed in the black skinny jeans and t-shirt I had chosen last night. There was a red flannel slung over the back of the desk chair, but that was for later.
She said it shouldn't look like we left.
It was a Tuesday morning and when he woke up, it should look like we had just gone to school and work, like usual. She wanted that eight-hour head start.
There should still be posters on the walls, sheets on the bed, and stuff on the floor.
I didn't want to leave it behind though.
There was a poster next to my bed from an Alkaline Trio concert I went to with my friends last August. It was crumpled from the crowd, but signed by the band.
I couldn't leave it behind.
There was a guitar leaning against the wall that Justin had given me. I could play a couple chords, but he was still teaching me.
I couldn't leave it behind.
There was a dried boutonniere hanging near the door, from my first Homecoming Dance with Justin. It had been really awkward and we had decided we'd be better off as friends.
I couldn't leave it behind.
Sliding open the closet door, I pulled down a stack of papers from the top shelf. Mostly old projects and assignments I had been really proud of once. There were a few CD's (but no one used those anymore, did they?) and a stack of Alternative Press magazines.
I leafed through one; until I found a pull out poster big enough to replace the Alkaline Trio one on the wall.
There were a couple in there that I liked, so I slipped the magazines (and CD's) into the messenger bag.
There was a creak coming from down the hallway.
I shoved the rest of the stack back into the closet and closed the doors. Kicking my sweats under the desk, I climbed back into bed.
4:09 AM.
My bedroom door opened and I could feel my chest tighten.
"Kelli."
I strained to hear the whisper and let out a sigh of relief as my mother's silhouette stood in the doorway. Sitting up, I stared in her direction.
The relief quickly turned into a stomach-churning kind of dread as I realized my theory had been correct. It was today.
"Are we leaving?" I mouthed, afraid to make the tiniest of sounds.
"Ten minutes." she smiled nervously.
Getting out of bed, I slipped into the waiting flannel and a pair of black Vans. Pulling the packed suitcase from under the bed, I started panicking as I realized everything that was going to get left behind.
I ripped two more posters off the walls and brought down the dried out flower. I disconnected my iHome and grabbed the second, softer blanket off my bed. Somehow, I managed to find space between my three bags and quietly crept out of the house.
As my mother fit all our things into the trunk of the black Mazda, I ran back inside and looked around. I said a quiet goodbye to the things that would probably end up in the trash by the end of the week.
There wasn't much left with sentimental value.
Except for the guitar.
Sighing, I put it back inside the case and wondered if I could convince my mother to at least let me drop it off in front of Justin's house. I penned a quick goodbye on a sticky note and stuck it inside the case.
"Do you have everything?"
"Yeah." I nodded, still whispering.
It was almost 4:30 and the neighborhood was silent.
She looked down at the aged leather case in my hands; something Justin had scored at a thrift shop over two years ago. His parents had bought him a new one for his birthday and he had graciously handed this one to me, with a promise of teaching me.
"Kellin -" she started.
"Please." I begged, not daring to speak a decibel louder than this. "At least let me drop it off in front of Justin's house. It's on the way. I won't even knock on the door."
"Just bring it along." she sighed sadly.
I was saying goodbye to everything I had, and I could tell she felt bad for dragging me in the middle of this.

"Please, just leave." I had begged, my voice full of fear for my mother. The words sounded wrong rolling off my tongue; I loved her, for God's sake.
"It's not safe." she murmured, brushing a tendril of hair off my tear-stained face. "I couldn't imagine leaving you behind with him."
Him, being my father.
Or better yet, an alcoholic bastard of a parent.
"I'll be fine." I had promised, getting off the floor. I had curled up in the corner of my room when the yelling started, like always.
I was nine.
"Please." I repeated, pushing her towards the door.
She sighed, kissed my forehead with blood-stained lips, and walked out the front door with her purse in hand.
She was back the next morning.

That started the story of our lives.
She returned to him clean-shaven and sober. He apologized. He found a new job. He picked up a habit of smoking cigarettes.
Everything was almost perfect for another few years.
"Get in the car!"
The flustered words shook me out of my daydream, taking me back to present time. It was October. I was in Michigan. I was seventeen.
I stared at the windows of the dark house as my mother crept out of the driveway and detoured into the bank parking lot.
"I'll be right back." she promised, signaling towards the ATM machine.
I'll be right back.
As much as I would tell her to leave, I had been constantly plagued with the thought that she would never come back.
Three years ago, things changed.

The yelling had started up again.
At first it was over the cigarettes. "Don't smoke in the house" went to "Don't smoke near Kellin" to "Don't smoke at all."
"Stop being such a controlling my bitch." my dad would sneer, flicking a half-lit cigarette butt towards the floor.
There were smoke stains and burn marks all over the house.
Then it was because dinner wasn't up to par.
"Why the fuck are you trying to feed me dog shit." he'd demand, picking up clumps of overcooked noodles and sauce.
My mother, thankfully, never admitted I had made dinner.
I was fourteen.
I had signed up for Intro to Culinary Arts and had gotten overexcited about recreating the homemade tomato sauce from class, I forgot to lower the heat.
"You are so fucking useless to me." he'd yell, literally tossing the plate aside. "What kind of wife doesn't know how to prepare a decent meal for the man of the house?"
"Make it yourself then."
It was the first time she fought back.
It was the last time.
Anger flashed in his eyes as he stood from his seat. I could remember every detail from that night as clearly as if it were happening in front of me.
"I have had enough of your bullshit." he told her, staring her down. "I have put up with your constant excuses and your pathetic son. The least you can do is respect me, but if you won't, then I won't. I have let you get away with so much, but it's about time you've learned who makes the rules."
She didn't say a word.
"Come here, Kellin." he motioned, his voice soft. "Come look at your mother's eyes and see the way they learn respect."
It made no sense, but I complied.
Suddenly, he had her pinned against the wall, his hand tightening around her throat. She coughed slightly and kicked, but he punched her stomach in response.
"Watch!" he ordered me.
Her eyes were pleading with him, filling with tears. They seemed to darken almost, and suddenly everything hit me.
"Stop!" I yelled, watching as she stopped kicking. As she stopped fighting.
She was growing limp in his grasp, and her eyes changed from fear to remorse. She looked my way and her expression changed.
She fell to the floor.
"Mom!" I cried, running to her side and helping her sit up.
She was coughing, she was breathing.
"Did you see that, Kelli?" my dad almost laughed. "That was respect."
"What is wrong with you!" I yelled, standing up.
"Did you not learn anything?" he growled, shoving me into the kitchen table. "Get your ass upstairs before you do something you regret."
I complied.
Collapsing into the corner of my room, I let the tears fall.
"You could have died." I choked out. "That's not how you're supposed to leave me."

"Hey, breathe kid."
"Wh-what?" I stuttered, looking around me.
It was daylight, and we were traveling along the freeway.
"You doing okay?" she asked, side-glancing at me. It was almost eight. We had been in the car for nearly four hours and I don't even remember leaving the bank.
"Y-yeah."
"You were asleep when I got back to the car." she explained. "I'm sorry we had to leave so early, but it wouldn't be safe to wait any longer."
"I know."
"How about we listen to some music?" she suggested. "Did you bring anything good?"
I nodded.
Reaching into the messenger bag on my lap, I pulled out the small stack of CD's. Thank fuck I brought them with me.
"Good Charlotte?" I asked, picking up The Young and the Hopeless.
"Sure."

"Please, leave."
"Kelli -"
"No! I can't stand to see you get hurt like this. Either tell somebody, or leave!" I started yelling, tears staining my cheeks.
"I can't leave you behind with him."
"I'm sixteen." I reminded her. "I can take care of myself."
"I'll be back."
She had packed a small suitcase and kissed my forehead with blood-stained lips. I shuddered as the deja vu washed over me.
"I'll be back."
She wasn't back the next morning.
Or the next one.
She was gone for almost three months. I could only hope she was doing okay.
I had been dreaming of her coming back.
She would have started a new life somewhere else. She would have had a new job and a new apartment and there would be a room just for me.
I could take the guitar and show her all of our favorite songs.
That didn't happen.
When she left, she took my father's self-control with him.
She would have been proud that a week later, he smoked his last cigarette.
I thought.
He picked up a bottle of whiskey instead.
"It's all your damn fault!" he would yell. "She never loved you. She never loved us. She's nothing but a selfish, entitled whore."
He took a final drag of his cigarette before putting it out on the inside of my wrist. There's a faint scar now.
He didn't smoke again.
Sometimes, when he was really angry he would push me around. Drop me on my knees, or slam my head against the wall.
I could handle it.
Better me than my mother.
"I know how to get her back." he snickered one day.
I was turning seventeen in a week.
Justin was coming over to work on a presentation for American History together. We had voted on it at the beginning of the year instead of taking a final.
Ignoring him, I carried on upstairs.
The bed was unmade and laundry had to be done.
Before I could reach the top, I felt something yank the back of my shirt. I felt panic arise as the ground disappeared and I was pulled backwards.
Then, I felt nothing.

"Where did you want to stop for breakfast?"
"Hmm?" I asked, looking around.
We had merged off the freeway about fifteen minutes ago, and were currently cruising throw the strip of Indianapolis.
It was a little after 8:30, and we were running low on gas.
"Something local?" I asked, spotting a cozy looking diner with beige colored walls and green umbrella-clad tables.
We were settled in a booth, black mugs of coffee set in front of us.
I had used up all the cream and sugar on the table, but it made my coffee taste like daydreams and it made me happy.
"You guys ready to order?" a pretty waitress asked.
Her hair was in a wispy ponytail and she had a song lyric tattooed on her wrist.
"Alkaline Trio?" I asked, reading the words.
"Yeah."
We ordered pancakes and hash browns, a sense of calamity washing over us.
I was in the middle of drowning my breakfast in blueberry syrup, when I finally dared to ask the question that's been plaguing me.
"Where are we going?"
"Somewhere new." she answered simply.
My heart sank.
I was hoping we were heading towards that new life I had been dreaming about when I was still sixteen. Somewhere that was already settled in, with furniture in the rooms and picture frames in the walls.
There was no plan.
"Where?" I pressed, drawing swirls in the purple syrup.
"We could flip a coin." she said, a glint in her eye. "Heads and we'll go to Washington, Tails and we'll go to...California."
"Seriously?"
She shrugged, pulling a quarter out of her wallet.
"I emptied out my bank account." she murmured. "$475.25 - this is that lucky quarter that's going to buy as a new life."
"Oh."
She tossed it in the air, and placed her hand over the coin.
"Well?" she asked.
"Fine." I agreed, crossing my fingers for Washington. I adored the snow and was hoping for a picturesque home with a fireplace and frosted windows.
"Tails."
California.
"Now what?" I asked, everything felt strange.
As if this were all a dream and I'd wake up back home in Michigan with my bags still packed and shattered glass on the floor.
"We'll figure it out when we get there."

"Kellin?"
I was floating. It's like I was slowly being submerged in warm water and could feel my worries swimming away from me.
It was dark, but it was warm. I was comfortable.
"Come on, Kellin."
The water was covering my face now, and I held my breath.
I was trying to swim back to the surface, but I couldn't feel my legs.
I couldn't feel anything.
There was an ache in my lungs, and it made my head feel heavy.
I was beginning to get desperate for air, but I couldn't find any. There was only dark.
"Kellin!"
There was a voice above me.
It was desperate and pleading, but it sounded familiar.
"Just breathe already, Jesus Christ." it demanded. "Why the fuck are you holding your breathe? You're going to pass out."
Haphazardly, I took in a deep breath and realized I wasn't drowning anymore.
"Open your eyes."
I did, and regretted it instantly as the white light flashed in my face. I blinked against it, dark spots in my vision.
"Thank fuck." the voice repeated, and a face loomed in front of me.
"Justin?" I croaked out.
As things started coming back, so did my body.
I could curl my toes and move my head. I could extend my arms and feel the slight tug of something.
Looking down, I stared in wonder at the thin plastic tube wrapped around the sheets in front of me. It seemed to disappear against the inside of my wrist.
"How are you feeling?"
"Fi-." I meant to say, but stopped as I took his question into consideration.
How was I feeling?
There was an ache where the tubing stopped, but nothing else stood out.
"Fine?" I questioned.
"It's probably all the pain meds." Justin laughed, lightly tapping the source of the plastic tubing; a plastic bag full of clear liquid.
It started to come back in pieces.
"Who are you?" Justin asked, the laughter leaving his voice.
"Kellin." I answered.
"Kellin?"
"Kellin Bostwick. I'm sixteen and I live in Michigan." I clarified, anticipating his next questions. He nodded in relief.
"Do you know where you are?"
"A hospital?" I asked, getting a little annoyed with the formalities.
I was fine.
"Kells? You fell down the stairs."
"What?"
I didn't remember falling any stairs. I was walking upstairs to clean my room when I felt something pull me back.
Then I woke up here, with Justin at my side.
It was kinda nice.
Made the whole "I have no one left." thing a little more bearable.
"I went to your house so we could work on our project for history, and your dad was flipping his shit. He said you tripped down the stairs and knocked yourself out."
Huh.
"He had to leave for work and couldn't leave you alone, or miss work. He said your mom walked out on you weeks ago, and you had no one."
I nodded.
"Why didn't you tell me? About your mom, I mean." he clarified, looking at me with sad eyes. "You could have talked to me."
Except she didn't walk out of our lives; and I didn't fall down the stairs.
I couldn't say that though.
"She's here now." Justin mentioned.
"What?"
"Your dad finally got a hold of her and she came back."
He kept talking, but all I could hear were the words my dad had contemplated earlier, in his drunken bitter state.
"I know how to get her back."
She wasn't safe here. He was angrier than ever.

"Please, can we stop now."
"Kellin, we were just at a rest stop."
"Mom, that was literally three hours ago." I groaned, watching the city lights pass by as we continued down the freeway.
We had been in the car for over twelve fucking hours; having only stopped two other times for snacks and a bathroom break.
It was after 10 already, and I had listened to that Good Charlotte album enough times to make me want to throw it out the window.
We had settled on a radio station about four hours back, just to have the signal go out almost forty minutes ago.
"That just means we've reached the next state." she explained, as we conveniently passed the giant 'Welcome to Colorado' sign.
"I know." I muttered, attempting to stretch. "You said that when we reached Kansas."
"Well, I don't think we're in Kansas anymore."
"Mom!"
This was not time for a Wizards of Oz reference.
"Alright, alright!" she laughed, finally relaxing a little. "We'll find a hotel to stay at tonight."
"Thank fuck."
"Language."
"Thank frick?" I asked, cracking a smile.
"Better."
We drove for another ten minutes before she took an exit ramp for a place called Burlington, and pulled into the first motel parking lot she saw.
"Home Sweet Home." I mumbled, a little sarcastically when she opened the creaky door to our motel room.
It wasn't awful, at least.
There were two twin beds, with a nightstand separating them and an old-school TV on top of the off-white dresser.
"Dibs on bathroom." I called, dropping my messenger bag on top of one of the beds and rushing to the door on the other end of the room.
"That's fine." my mom teased. "I wanted to sleep on the bed anyway."
I went to the bathroom and stared at my reflection as I washed my hands with the strangely scented hotel soap.
Almost like artificial lemon.
My hair was looking rumpled and messy from being in the car all day and there were bags under my eyes from the lack of decent sleep.
I looked gross.
In fact, I felt gross all over and decided a shower was in order.

Wrapping a clean towel around my waist, I stared at the steamed-up mirror again.
This time my hair was stuck to my face and water droplets trickled down my neck. It was dark and shiny and contrasted against my pale skin.
I suppose I would consider myself attractive, but I still looked too sleep-deprived to look decent right now.
I mean, there are guys who are into the whole disheveled, sleep-deprived look right? They find it kind of hot and dangerous?
Girls too?
To be honest, I didn't care who I was attracted to.
Love is love, and there's no reason for me to be afraid of who I wanted.
Sigh.
As much as I was okay with my sexuality, I know there are people who won't be. I might stand up for what I believe in, but I'm short as fuck.
I'll get the shit kicked out of me.
After dealing with my father, that was something I was desperately hoping to avoid when I started my new life somewhere in California.
Maybe I would learn how to surf?
I could hang out at the beach all day and ride the waves with some really cool California kids and sit around bonfires and stuff?
Friends.
There's a chance I wasn't the best at social interaction.
If there are too many people giving me their attention, the room starts to get warm. The walls seem to close in on me and my palms get all sweaty.
Not to mention I stutter like a fucking idiot.
I didn't know how I was going to make friends in a place where I didn't have a home. There was nothing in California for us.
There was no distant cousin who owned a beach-house she resided in only during the summer. There was no aunt with a spare bedroom.
There were no friends.
Justin.
It was almost midnight, changing the date from a Tuesday to Wednesday.
Justin would be wondering why I didn't show up to school. He would have texted me, then called me when class was over.
I didn't have a phone anymore.
It would go straight to voicemail and he would leave a message.
He'd probably show up at my house tomorrow after school when I didn't show up again, only to be notified that we had run away.
He would be so fucking pissed and upset that his best friend didn't say anything to him. It was safer for him.
The less he knew, the better it was.
I could feel my chest tightening at the thought that he would be angry with me. What if he didn't want to speak to me again.
Unlocking my iPod, I cursed whatever higher being was up there when I learned the motel's wifi required a password and I didn't have it.
First chance I had, I was going to explain everything.
"He's better off without you."
"You'll only hurt him."
"Don't drag him into this, Kellin."
The thoughts swarmed through my head, leaving me confused.
I gripped the edge of the bathroom counter and tried to focus on taking a deep breath, but my chest felt tight and there wasn't enough oxygen in my lungs.
"Breathe." I forced out, focusing on the pattern of the bathroom tiles.
It's not like I could do anything about it right now.
I had no idea where I was headed.
I had no idea when I'd have a phone again.
I had no idea when I would talk to my friends again.
"Just breathe." I reminded myself.
Slipping back into the t-shirt and boxers I had been wearing, I cleared my head of all thoughts and exited the bathroom.
I would sleep on it for a few days.

--
"Kellin, will you have some real breakfast?"
"Thish ish breakfasht." I mumbled, through mouthfuls of Lucky Charms.
It was morning, and we were taking advantage of the continental breakfast the motel offered in the lobby.
My mother peered at me over her coffee.
She had gotten two slices of toast and a banana for breakfast, whereas I had opted for a giant bowl of Lucky Charms.
She shook her hand again, muttering something about choosing a vegetarian restaurant for dinner tonight.

"Do you have food?"
"We've probably got enough food for a week." I laughed, giving her another hug.
"Not to mention water for days." Justin added.
It was mid-June.
We were just about to leave on a mini-road trip towards the outdoor venue where this year's Warped Tour was going to be held.
I was stoked.
After I had ended up in the hospital (with a mild concussion and a bruised wrist), my mom had returned for good.
"I will never leave you again." she promised.
To say my dad was furious, was an understatement.
I couldn't do anything but watch as he manhandled her and shoved her to the ground. He yelled in her face and I cringed when he slapped her.
He was still drinking, and you couldn't walk around the house barefoot in fear of stepping on broken glass.
I held the railing as tightly as possible whenever I went up or downstairs.
The bruise around my wrist wouldn't disappear, because he kept grabbing it and threatening to do far worse if I told anyone.
I stopped inviting friends.
Eventually, I stopped talking to my friends.
By September, Jack and Jesse weren't really giving me much attention.
Justin kept coddling me though.
"Are you okay?" he would constantly ask.
"Did you want to practice today?" and I'd only shake my head.
Homecoming was weeks away and he brought it up.
"Did you want to go?" he asked.
I stared at him.
"Not as dates." he clarified, remembering last years' dance. "Maybe we could find dates? Sort of like a double-date? Or just go as friends."
"I guess."
"I heard Katelynne's into you." he mentioned, invoking the name of a fair-skinned girl from my math class.
"Oh?"
She was okay, I guess.
I mean, she was super pretty, but I wasn't really interested in talking to anyone, let alone start dating right now.
"There's this new vegetarian restaurant that just opened in the town over." Justin continued. "I was thinking we could go there for dinner?"
"Yeah."

"Welcome to the City of Sin."
I sat up, trying to get a better view of all the lights.
It had been another long day of driving with sporadic rest stops. We were reaching the main strip of Las Vegas, Nevada.
There were crowds of people walking down the street and music blaring from the various bars and casinos on the Sunset.
"This is pretty cool." I admitted, hearing some Kiss blaring out of an open doorway.
We checked into another tiny hotel.
"I'm gonna go exploring." my mom said, coming out of the bathroom.
She had touched up her hair and make-up, and had changed into a short black dress and some flashy heels.
"Yeah?"
"Don't wait up." she called over her shoulder, gabbing her purse.
There was only a single bed in this room, but there was a nicer TV and the internet password had been scribbled on the back of the key card.
Turning my laptop on, I toyed with the idea of messaging Justin.
Instead, I opened up YouTube and looked up an instrumental piano cover of my favorite song. It was called Iris, by the Goo Goo Dolls.
I had taught myself the song on piano, and singing along always calmed me down.
"And I'd give up forever to touch you," I hummed. "Cause I know that you feel me somehow. You're the closest to heaven, that I'll ever be.
And I don't wanna go home right now. All I can taste is this moment..."
Trailing off, I searched something else.
It was a guitar cover of the song. I didn't have the guitar with me, but I held an imaginary one in my hands and mentally adjusted the strings and strummed the chord.
I started to get confused when the dude in the video mentioned the chord pattern along every other fret, and gave up.
Maybe I could find a music shop in California and take lessons.
--

"Listen to me, Kelli."
She was holding my chin, forcing me to look at her.
There was blood trickling from her lip and a purple bruise along the bottom of her eye. I didn't want to look at her.
Closing my eyes, I focused on the aches on my body.
He had shoved me out of the way again, stepping on my hand on his way back towards the living room.
I had dropped a plate in the kitchen, distracting him from his televised football game.
"Please, leave."
It was pathetic, but I would say it every time this happened.
"I am not leaving without you." she repeated firmly. "Not after what happened the last time I left you alone."
"Then take me with you."
"I can't afford that." she whispered, tears filling her eyes. "We will soon, though. Here's what you're gonna do, all right?"
I nodded.
"You're gonna slowly pack your things. I don't want it to look like you're leaving, but enough that you could be out that door forever in less than ten minutes, alright?"
I nodded again.
"One of these days, we're going to get the fuck out of here."
She kissed my forehead with bloodstained lips.
It was becoming a theme.
Everything was always stained red these days.
Let love bleed red, I guess.
"Where?"
"I don't know, but we will." she promised. "You can't tell anyone about this okay? Not a single person. When we leave, we'll leave in the middle of the night."
Again, I nodded.
It was September, and I had just started my junior year of high school.
I was working part-time after school as a busboy at a restaurant just a few blocks from Jesse's house. It wasn't too bad.
I was thinking about doing wrestling again.
Justin kept pressing me to practice the guitar, and every now and then I would bring it over to his house on the weekends.
It just made me sad, though.
Eventually, I was going to leave him and he didn't even know.

"It's a new day, but it feels old." we sung together. "It's a good life, that's what I'm told. But everything, it just feels the same!"
It was nearing afternoon and we were entering California.
Good Charlotte was playing again and this time we were singing along.
Everything was different.
This dream was almost tangible and the excitement was building.
Sure, nothing was planned out, but getting there was already half the journey.
Mom came back to the hotel room at around 2AM last night, happy on life and tequila shots. The extra $600 in her pocket were just a bonus.
"How about we head to a San?"
"San?" I asked, reading the passing exit signs aloud.
"Yeah. San Francisco?"
"Too crowded.
"San Bernardino?"
"Too dusty and it smells like horses."
"You've never been to San Bernardino, Kellin." my mom laughed.
"I've seen pictures."
"Santa Maria? Santa Ana? Santa Barbara?"
"Those aren't San's."
"Technically."
"What about San Diego?" I asked, reading a sign for it.
"Yeah?"
"This is a really awful way to pick a place to live." I muttered, feeling the anxiety creep up on me. It had been fun for a little bit, but now that there was another important decision to be made, it felt crippling.
A few hours later, we were taking an exit ramp towards San Diego.
"Welcome home." my mother joked.
I tried to smile, but the anxiety was making me sick.
We had nothing here.
For a second, I was expecting a house to loom into view, or an apartment complex with that distant cousin living in it.
Instead, we pulled into another one of those cheap $60's a night motels for the third night this week and got out.
"This is going to be the last one." she promised. "Tomorrow, we'll have a home."
Suddenly, I wasn't happy anymore.
Thirty-four hours in the car from Michigan to California might be over, but the real story was about to begin.
I wasn't ready for it.