Weaving through three lanes of stopped traffic, I sprinted through the steep dip of the ditch, my boots splashing in a small pool of standing water.

Down a less busy street.

Across a park.

Through someone’s backyard.

Down another residential street.

Stopping at a bus stop.

Bending over, I rested my hands on my knees and fought to catch my breath for a few seconds before collapsing onto the bench behind me.

My phone vibrated in the side pocket of my bag. I ignored it.

How did I get there? Less than twenty-four hours earlier, I was on Fisher’s bed. We were laughing.

Touching.

Kissing.

Existing only for each other.

He made me feel hopeful.

My phone kept vibrating, so I pulled it out of the pocket to shut it off.

It was Fisher.

And there were a string of texts from him too.

Where are you?

Answer your phone.

I’m sorry.

Please pick up your phone.

Don’t make me call Rory.

Or the police.

I was eighteen. He wasn’t going to call the police. And I didn’t believe he would call Rory either. Not yet.

When the bus stopped, I got on. And I spent the next three hours taking various bus routes around Denver.

Earbuds in.

Music playing.

My mind sorting through everything.

I just needed time.

After my dad died, family rushed to console me. Feed me. Fix me. So I ran away for twelve hours because I needed time. I took the bus that day too. A bus ride didn’t solve every problem, but it was cathartic. The passing miles. The passengers coming and going. Time to imagine that my life wasn’t any worse than anybody else’s life.

After grabbing a sandwich, I found the bus stop closest to the office and walked the rest of the way.

“Hey!” Hailey jumped out of her chair. “Where have you been? Fisher said you bolted this morning. He told me not to tell anyone, but I’ve been so worried.” She hugged me as I stood limp in her arms.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to make anyone worry.”

Except Fisher.

I wanted to make him worry. I wanted him to feel a little bit of my pain. My frustration.

“Where have you been?” She released me.

I set my backpack by Fisher’s desk. “I just needed time to think about stuff.”

“Reese …” She handed me a glass of water. I had a fair amount of sweat pooling along my forehead and running down my back from walking in the heat with my backpack.

“Can we not talk about it?” I gave her my best pleading glance.

With worry lining her face, she nibbled the inside of her cheek and nodded slowly. “Okay. But if you do want to talk, you can talk to me about absolutely anything. Okay?”

Plopping into Fisher’s chair, I nodded.