“You know, this is why Mom hates you, because you’re so freaking worthless!” Valerie yelled at me. “You can’t just do anything right at all.”

I already knew that.

“This house would be so much happier if you just disappeared.” She barked.

I knew that too.

“Why don’t you just leave?” She spit.

I clenched my fists at my sides as I responded. “You know, Val, that’s a great idea. As a matter of fact, I’ll be gone by the end of the week.” I said calmly as I marched back into my room and closed the door behind me, locking the door and furiously running towards my dresser.

That argument happens pretty much weekly, if not more. This time, it was at six in the morning because she decided to wake me up early again, two days in a row, yelling my name through the hallways of the house. She was yelling at me for taking a pair of her shoes, which I didn’t do, but she wouldn’t believe me because she’s so stupid. They were apparently eight inch pumps, so I don’t know why she thought I’d take them, I would never wear shoes like that, I’d be risking some serious brain damage when I fall on my face. But she was really mad because, apparently, they were the only pair of shoes that would go with her Chanel dress that she wanted to wear tonight to a club with her friends, so now she has to wear the Betsy Johnson dress with the black stilettos. What a tough time this must be for her.

I honestly didn’t know what I was doing in this house. Valerie was right when she said that nobody wants me here, I don’t even want to be here, so why was I here? To please people that didn’t even care about me? To keep up expectations that were impossible to meet? I was unhappy, everyone was unhappy, so I’ll just… leave. It’s not like I haven’t thought about running away, but I always just chicken out.  

Of course, I couldn’t just pack up and leave, I had to plan things out. If I ever did leave, I’d have to think things through and be smart about it or I’d starve or get lost or get caught and have to return to this hell hole, and I don’t want that.

I spent the rest of my morning pacing back and forth in my room. I figured that my intentions to run away would wear off as my anger towards my sister wore off, but it didn’t. I still wanted to leave, even when ten o’clock rolled by and I was sitting in my history class. Everything could work out, really, if I planned it all out right. I truly believe that if I really tried, I could run and I could be happy somewhere, without my mother or sister or this stupid fashion industry that I despise.

As I spent the rest of the morning in school planning out my escape and survival plans, the more excited I got about the plan. Even though most of me knew that I would never go through with actually running away from my house and my sucky life, and if I did- I’d be back within a week- but it was still fun to plan. What hotels to go to, how I’d have to save up money. Normal people doodle when they’re bored in school, but I just plan my escape route. I’m so weird.

The excitement got the best of me at lunch, so I decided to call it a day early and head home at lunch instead of going to my afternoon classes. I didn’t really care about my grades. I mean, they were good because I am smart and I test really well, but I figure that if my future is already planned for me, why should I even try?

Once I got home, I packed a suitcase of stuff that I knew I would never actually use, but it would be fun to just have in my trunk. For comfort, I suppose.

Clothes, shower stuff, hygiene stuff, my three favorite novels (I’m quite the book worm), my phone and laptop with both chargers,  maps of every state in the U.S., non-perishable food, a tent and camping gear (just in case), and a huge- and I mean huge- wad of cash. Most of it was from my job, but I also got a lot of it out of the bank.  I even got a fake ID from a guy that always comes into the café. I’ve had it for a while, but I don’t use it. It says that my name is Carol Anne Brown and that I’m nineteen. Old enough to get a hotel room if I need one or something like that, but not old enough to get alcohol, because I didn’t want that kind of stuff.

All of those items were stuffed into the trunk of my small pink Bug and I was technically ready to go. Of course, I’d have to wait. I had to wait to make sure that I really wasn’t going to change my mind, which I was most likely to do, and I had to make sure everything was actually planned out and I wasn’t crazy for thinking that I wouldn’t be found if I did decide to stay gone, which again, was not likely.

When everything was stuffed into the trunk, it was time for work. I figured working would be a good way to calm down and think things through for real instead of only working off of the anger I was feeling towards my bratty sister. Maybe once I really calmed down, I’d understand that running away was totally implausible and stupid.

I mean, sure, I’ve thought about it multiple times before. I dream about it all the time. I’ve thought out multiple ways of escaping and I’ve drawn out road maps of the smartest ways to travel and where to go. Food plans, gas plans, playlists for hours in the car, I even have a cozy blanket and pillow under my back seat just in case I run out of money and have to stay in my car. I’ve had these thoughts in my head for years, I’ve never had the guts to go through with it and I’m slightly positive that I don’t have the guts now. But I was just so mad at my sister and fed up with my mother and her plans for my stupid future that planning it out and packing once again helped me blow of some steam.

Because there was no real way that I would actually run away, I just couldn’t do it.