Stretching my arms above my head, I twist my back until there’s a satisfying pop. I’ve been on the road all morning, driving up from Baltimore in one straight shot. All this riding these last couple months, on top of sleeping my way through one lumpy motel bed after another, is taking a toll on my back.

As I wait for my tank to fill, I pull out my phone.

Three messages. One missed call. All from my parents.

It should probably bother me more. Hurt, even, that no one outside of my family has tried to get in touch with me. Not-a-fucking-one. Not since I left Philly.

But it’s not like I can blame them really. Between dropping out mid-semester and quitting football with no warning, and the fact I all but ignored their calls and texts for weeks in the wake of Zayne’s death, I guess it didn’t take much at all to burn what bridges were left.

There’s only so much time a person’s allowed to grieve before it becomes an inconvenience, I’ve come to learn. Before the clock speeds up, and the world goes on spinning without you, you either pull yourself out in time to catch up, or you get left behind. That’s just the way it goes.

And like I said, it should hurt. Sting a bit.

But it doesn’t.

If anything, I see it as just one less thing tying me to the city I once loved.

One less thing tying me to the person I was before.

It’s lonely, but...freeing.

Loneliness is freeing.

How fucking sad is that?

I thumb out a quick response to my mom, telling her I decided to take a last-minute detour, and I’m not sure when I’ll be back. If I’m going back. But I don’t tell her that. Yet. Not waiting for a response, I turn my phone to silent before shoving it in my tail bag.

I had every intention of returning to Philly today. With school starting back up in a couple weeks—another thing I had every intention of getting back to—my parents wanted to spend some time together before they took off on their sixty-day cruise in the South Pacific. A trip I insisted they not cancel after months and months of their worrying and hovering. Even when miles and miles apart.

But with just a single glance at the skyline I once called home, popping up over the horizon like little shiny beacons under the rising sun, I knew I couldn’t do it.

Couldn’t go back there. Not yet. Please don’t make me.

So when the time came to choose, I didn’t think. Didn’t second-guess. I just kept driving. Following signs for towns I never gave much thought to, putting as much distance as I could between Philly and me.