She walked out the door, not even sparing the wild looking woman screaming from inside the house. Her cheek stung from the blow she just received. Her pace was steady and strong as her legs moved her down the dark streets. She could not concentrate, her mind flipped back and forth from the scene she had just taken apart of and the trees zooming past her. She did not know where she was going; she just knew that it was far away from her so-called family. Her sight was getting blurry as the fresh tears fell, landing on her white shirt. People called out to her, people she knew well, but they were ignored. She would not stop now; her legs would not allow her to stop. She was still too close to the evil that was inside of her house.
"Jane!" they would yell, "Jane, go home, it's getting late!"
She wouldn't listen, there was too much that they didn't know. Too much that they would never know. Her bruises and scars would tell the story that her tears and choked out sobs couldn't express, but they wouldn't understand it, even if they tried. Her legs slowed, but still would not cease. The adrenaline was still pumping through her veins and would not stop until she was able to fully understand what had taken place.
Her eyes turned to the west, the pinks and oranges dancing in her view. She wished she could live among the clouds, and die among the stars. Her hopes would be the thing that would light up the sky, and her actualities would be the night sky, the dark after the light. Her legs had stopped. She was in a field, alone, with the sun setting beside her. Her tears started falling faster. She hated sun sets, she understood that beginnings were always so much better than the end.
Her heart ached for home, but she knew she could not return. There were too many enemies in that horrid place. Enemies that would trap her and hurt her more with their lies and cruel words.
"Woah, slow down there fatty! Save some for the rest of the world!" Her mother would shout.
"Yeah, geez, it's like you're trying to become obese." Her father would laugh.
There was no getting away from it. At 13 she had an eating disorder, and she cut herself, but nobody knew. Her best kept secrets were the ones that were killing her. She was now 17, and had slowly begun trying to help herself. She had begun to eat more and had stopped caring so much to what she looked like, but it was often still not enough as she was still not as comfortable with herself as she should be.
The razor still stung that pretty skin. No matter where she went, it was there. The blade that would someday stop the pain she held so close to her heart.