It had been two weeks. Two weeks since we'd run away. Since my parents had caught us together. Two weeks since I had been due. We didn't have much money. We were young. Fools in love. I was a fool, that much I was certain of. He'd insisted we pool our resources, but I'd kept a little back – just in case. Of course, I loved him. I just didn't trust him. For him, I'd given up everything. My life, my friends, my parents – my world. All had drifted into a memory without so much as a blink as we'd driven – he'd driven – god knows how long and far. I'd fallen asleep in the passenger seat and woken up to him still there, shifting grimly into gear and pressing forward to the horizon.

“We need to get out of here,” “They're just angry – they'll come around.” “No. We're leaving. Now.”

The memory stung. It's not true what they say – sticks and stones can break your bones, but words can destroy lives. And now this. I'd spent my last notes, wasted my last ticket home. Perhaps there was always a part of myself that knew I was going to end up like this – lost and alone. My single hope was that he would still love me.

I kissed him when we returned to our home – some abandoned place his father had owned. He had promised me a scenic woodland retreat by the lake. I got a shed with a mattress and a bathroom with no shower. The wooden walls were rotted, and bugs were free to come and go as they pleased. The romantic image of the garden of Eden playing amongst us was spoiled by the grim reality of finding ants competing for your last loaf of bread. His eyes were tired, and he barely moved to kiss me back. He looked defeated – dejected. He was always so closed – so reluctant to speak. I wondered in that moment how he would react – would he be happy? I couldn't imagine it. Would he be sad? What more did we have to lose? Would he be defensive? Would he be angry? Would... he be violent? I shook the thoughts as I mumbled some excuse and headed to the bathroom. At least the door still had a working lock.