Free The Runaway by Aritri Gupta

morning – it was always pretty clear she was never welcome. She was all that they taught their daughters to not be in their Sunday school. She wasn’t complaining, but she tried her best to avoid trouble. That is what she was good at. For the past six years. Hiding, changing identities, running and waiting for the next danger signal. Normally she was the one who did the picking up from the Boot. She was not the type to be picked up by men – no it was Rachel. Wasn’t she the one that New Guy was fantasizing about when he accidentally grabbed her arm and pulled her out of the pub? She was so shocked that she forgot to complain or refute him. And then he was vomiting all over and could hardly stand. He looked so funny – with that cocky smile and green sick face, that she stayed back to laugh at him. When things got too much, she drove him back to Martha’s. Of course she knew where he stayed. Small town. Everyone knows everything.
    She screeched to a halt in front of the iron gates overlooking the small garden she had grown from scratch. Applecross was by far the only place she lived long enough for her to have a garden of her own.
    She wasn’t surprised by the sheriff’s car parked a little away on the dirt street leading to the gates. She locked hers and stopped by the orchids she had planted months ago. They bloomed lovingly – in all different shades.
    “Brooke! ” the sheriff nodded.
    “Ian!” She was getting exceedingly irritated by his frequent visits. She was doing fine, Paul was locked away. They could just leave her be. She had done a wonderful job of avoiding social contact, relationships, and friends in general. It was a two way thing here – she prevented any confrontation, and so did the others.
    “You didn’t come home last night!”
    “Crime, is it? To exercise rights of being an adult, a consenting adult?”
    She hated being rude. She hated his patience. She hated to lash out at him – but then he was the only person beside AFP and the Yard that she ever talked to. Erratic, spurious conversations with travellers or Rachel hardly made the list. She unlocked the front door and stood waiting.
    “I was just checking in kid. Go in and rest.”
    Yes, as she had so much to do and so little time to rest. She bit back the retort. It wasn’t worth it. He’d just look at her sadly and walk away. The townsfolk at least resented her openly. She had moved past feeling for people, or forming connections. They tended to become unshakeable liabilities when you have to leave without goodbyes or addresses. She heaved a sigh. There was no moving past that – of no one to bid farewell, or no one to miss once you are gone.
    She closed the curtains in her room, undressed and slid into her bed. She wasn’t exactly tired – frankly she was surprised about how well she slept in a stranger’s bed after six years. The fact that he didn’t even make a move to touch her, or do anything inappropriate , was bewildering enough. She was shocked at the physical contact of his hand grasping her thin arms and dragging her out. She hadn’t experienced that in a very long while. It was out of habit that she shirked away from human contact – which all the more made her seem weird to others. But he didn’t hesitate to just pull her along with him, and lean on her while he was busy being sick and not complain either when she drove him home. That’s his pickup style she guessed. She firmly closed her eyes and tried sleeping. She didn’t want the memory of sleeping in his bed stuck to her mind for a very long time. At long last when sleep finally claimed her, it was amidst murky visions of a cold sneer, damp walls and one open window that was just out of her reach.
    Richard was ravenously hungry the next morning – he had almost for saken food the previous day. He chose to be engulfed in the sense of uselessness and lost opportunity, he could sulk once in a while. After the ritualistic ablution of his worthlessness, he