"No, we can't." 

          There's no way we can. Not now, not ever.

          We walk, great distances away from the house yet again, neither speeding up nor stopping, just walking and walking and walking, towards the farthest place our feet can hopefully take us. And hopefully, it's a good place to be.

          "Can we go back?" She asked, again.

          "Uh, no, I... I don't think we should," I answered, my breath heavy from walking.

          She then held my hand, her fingers sweaty but cold. Shaking, but tight. I assumed she was about to say something, but she didn't. We continued, stayed silent as we walked, the same way we'd been. Except for the times she'd asked.

          Chilly winds and dark skies were all there was as we went through the roads we've passed. We walked some more. 

          She asked again, same question as before. I answered, same as before. 

          The night grew colder, deeper and darker, almost dissolving everything around into one tiny spot that is us. The chilly winds were mildly stronger now, going against us, almost as if signaling us to halt. That there'll be nothing waiting for us even after this. 

          Fuck this, I would've taken another route of action if this wasn't the only way. 

          And if I had more time. 

          If there is indeed another way, then this is a start. If we'd stayed, that's how it would all end. Walk away now, and we have a chance.

          In this dark part of day we would've been sleeping, there, in our bed, like all people do. But today, it's only them, not us. If sleeping's to be done with the knowledge of things ending right there and then, I would rather not. Staying in bed with an endless wake full of nightmares and not making it to daylight is more than I could probably bear.

          Better escape what's to come rather than accept it.

          All we needed to do was walk. Not really needing the destination, just the distance is fine. Trusting there will continuously be a road every time we stepped. 

          Trusting I'd be able to do this. For her.

          For me.

          Our feet hurting, our steps dusty, our hearts heavy. And for sensible reasons.

          We got ourselves a skeleton inside the wall of my house. A human one, of course, wouldn't be mentioning that if 'twas of a butterfly's, would I? Although I still... might, depending on how beautiful that might be if there actually was one. Might've been safer to see and not get arrested for having it. Now I'm wondering.

          Anyway, we found it just this noon. I was walking about in my house when it hit me. I mean nothing really, actually, physically hit me, alright. Not even the skeleton. My soul will jump if it freaking moved an inch on its own.

          But a thought hit me. "Why don't I renovate the walls?"

          Look at those walls mate, they look like shit. Stained whites, cracks forming from the inside of this living room wall, and an odd, bubbling, freaking cancer bump on the wall's paint. Maybe because of leaks, it's been raining a lot lately too.

          Shit.

          "Get to the nearest tree. Go." 

          Just as I turned to her and said this, rain began to fall, its impacts instantaneous and strong. With warnings of its fall disregarded, it covered every inch of us and around us in itself. 

          We hastened our pace going to the nearest tree, hand in hand, hovering our unoccupied hands above our heads by instinct, as if doing so would  be enough to keep the rain out from our heads and bodies. Our clothes, hair, and whole body soaking wet, we stood under the shade of the closest tree we could get to. I've thought of getting to that other tree with a wider shade, but that's too far. Won't be too worth the risk.

          How could I forget. A house or a store or any infrastructure with a more reliable shade could've been around here somewhere by now if I had issued a faster walk away from the house. It's around this time that rainfall would be at its worst. Happened every day of this week, and I hadn't remembered it today because of a fucking skeleton.

          Dead of night. 

          Our escape's last light.

          Now arm in arm, spattered upon by drops slipping in between the leaves, still heavy, and soaked, we watched the vast view of night succumb to the rain, making everything blurry with its scattered, transparent wall of obscurity. She hugged my arm tighter, looking deep into my eyes despite the effort caused by water splashing into hers, and asked me. Again.

          But a different one this time. Something that made my heart tremble. Shook the certainty of the matters I've planned, just for tonight.

          It's barely possible to look at a person, eye to eye, be absorbed in her eyes, and eventually tear up inside at the sight, while in the rain–all at once. 

          And yet, I felt it that night. When she asked me that same, different question then.

          "You really love me, don't you?"

          Fucking bitch. 

          I've always loved you, all my life. Never, for even once, did my love for you wither. But you used me. All throughout... this. A relationship kept out of love to me, a fancy pastime charade to you. You used me. You've always fucking used me.

          Every single time you came to me, it was out of a need. A need to stay away from the lovers you've played besides me. A need for a haven. For someone to attend to your needs. For someone to cover for your misdemeanors. Someone to take the hits.

          A need to have the violent, abusive, manipulative lover killed.

          Taking the hits, and only your thank yous and presence the prize. I was ready to do anything just to get the bits. Endure everything - the punches, the stabs, the pain - just for a small slice of the pie. Just your presence. And attention. That no day will pass, forever, that I will feel burdened, hurt, used. That was what I wanted. I did not want to... feel.

          You never bothered to give back. I didn't care.

          But I was finally able to feel it. All of it. It... hurts. It fucking hurts. I feel it all, piling up in my chest, getting heavier and heavier each passing day like a bunch of replicating boulders, little by little tearing up my insides with their weights that only get worse. I feel it now. 

          I don't want to be used anymore. I never could've thought...

          So this is how it's like to feel.

          You were hurting me, you... 

          You always played me, looking at me with those eyes like you really loved me. And for the whole week you were here, they were getting more convincing, those eyes. Getting more... true.

          You think I'm an idiot? After all these years, you think I'd fall for it? It's your fault I forgot which wall the body was in. You understand?

          You. 

          Distract. 

          Me.

          But I can't let you anymore. That's why you need to go. Don't do this to me, please. Don't make my resolve blur in front of me. And inside my head. I love you. I need you... I need to be free. I-I told you, I...

          "I... told you this is the last time, didn't I?"

          Fuck. I said it out loud this time again, huh. And now I'm crying.

          I always needed you. Only sometimes did you need me. 

          You always complain. You always ask.

          This life a prison. The house a grave. A grave for a body that rotted to bones. A grave for a crime that cost it. For my conscience, unattended.

          A grave for the person that was me. Before I decided on this. To break free.

          The house will no longer be a grave for anything anymore. The trees will take it. The night will hide it.

          And it's you I'm helping them take.

          And I said it out loud, again, as I have things in my head before.

          Guess I have no choice.

          She knew what I meant. She heard what I said. She knew what she needed to do next.

          "Go. Get to the nearest tree."

          Hasten your pace. You can run faster. We're both free now. You're free. Only, I'm after you.

          Faster. Go on. Don't look back. I'm not going to take a hit for you again. I'm giving the hits now. I told you, this is the last time. And, this being last,

          I'd so want your dying eyes.

          We run, great distances away from the house yet again, neither slowing down nor stopping, just running and running and running, her towards the farthest place her feet will hopefully take her; me towards her, the shackles I so desire to get rid of.

          And where we'd end up, hopefully, 

          it's a good place to be.