Chapter Five

Loria’s POV

I watched Andy’s car disappear down the street until the shimmer of his taillights blinked out behind the bend. The soft growl of his engine faded into a low hum and then into silence. For a moment, I stood rooted on the sidewalk in front of the school, my hands tucked deep into the pockets of my oversized hoodie, the strap of my backpack cutting diagonally across my chest. My body buzzed with nerves and cold resolve, the early morning air cool against my cheeks.

He was gone. And I was still here.

“You’re doing the right thing,” Zerina whispered softly in my mind.

The voice was a comfort—not quite a sound, but a presence, like breath moving just behind my ear.

“This will free her. And free us.”

I nodded almost imperceptibly and turned on my heel. I started walking.

The distance from the school to my house wasn’t far, but every footstep felt longer than it should’ve. Each familiar landmark along the way—the old mailbox with peeling green paint, the cracked sidewalk that buckled in winter, the fence where the neighbor’s dog barked too much—suddenly felt like pieces of a life I was already peeling away from.

My breath came in slow, deliberate pulls. I focused on the rhythm of my boots striking pavement and the thud in my chest that matched it. I didn’t want to think too far ahead yet. Not until I was home. Not until I was packed. Not until I had finally, officially left.

“You’re brave,” Zerina murmured. “Not because you want to run, but because you know you have to.”

“I don’t feel brave,” I whispered in my head.

“You don’t have to. Just keep moving.”

I reached the intersection by the gas station where Andy and I sometimes stopped for slushies on warm days. He always mixed cherry and cola, and I always teased him for it, saying it looked like dirty blood. He never stopped ordering it anyway.

A tightness gathered in my throat. I swallowed it down.

Andy. My best friend. The only person in this whole town who ever made me feel like I wasn’t a burden. A freak. A disappointment.

He deserved more than a voicemail.

But I couldn’t bear to say goodbye in person—not with his sad eyes, not with his endless questions, not with the way he’d try to talk me out of it. He’d offer to run with me, and I couldn’t allow that. He had a life here. People who accepted him, teachers who believed in him, a family that still worked.

He had roots. I had wings.

When I got home, I’d wait until I knew he was in class. Then I’d leave the message—tell him thank you, tell him he was the best part of this town. I’d promise to reach out again, eventually. Someday. If I found where I belonged.

If I found my people.

A knot formed in my chest. I pressed a hand over it, trying to keep myself together as my sneakers struck the sidewalk with more urgency. I didn’t want to cry yet. Not until it was done.

This wasn’t an impulse. I’d been thinking about it for weeks—since the first time my father looked at me like I was an unwanted stranger in my own kitchen.

Since the morning I heard him mutter monster under his breath when he thought I was still asleep.

My mom had stood frozen between us like someone balancing on a ledge.

And I had realized—my presence forced my mother into an impossible choice. One she couldn’t make.

“You’re not abandoning her,” Zerina said gently. “You’re giving her permission to keep breathing.”

“I just don’t want her to hate me,” I whispered. “I want her to know I’m okay.”

“Then write the letter with your heart open. She’ll feel it.”

I crossed the final street and turned onto my block. There was our house, the little blue one with the missing shingle and the cracked front step. The front yard needed mowing, but the magnolia tree was still blooming near the porch—white blossoms curled against green, like open hands.

I hesitated at the edge of the lawn. I half-expected the door to fling open. For my mom to be standing there, arms crossed, brows knit with worry. But it was quiet. Just a bird chirping from the rooftop. The hum of a far-off lawnmower.

I moved quickly up the walkway. My key slid into the lock, and the door creaked open on quiet hinges. I slipped inside, closing it gently behind me.

The house was still and dim. My father had already left for work. My mother wouldn’t be back until after five. I had hours.

The second I crossed into the hallway, my breath changed. Something inside my lungs shifted from fear to focus.

Today was the day.

I moved with purpose now, the hush of the house pressing around me like a warm, worn blanket. Not comforting exactly—but familiar. I stood for a long moment at the foot of the stairs, listening. Nothing but the soft tick of the hallway clock, the groan of the water heater cycling somewhere in the walls.

I took the steps two at a time.

My bedroom door creaked faintly as it opened. Sunlight streamed across my bed in a wide golden swath. Everything was still in its place—my sketchbook on the nightstand, my hoodie from yesterday slung over the back of the chair. The white duffle bag I used for weekend trips lay coiled like a sleeping animal in the corner.

I pulled it out and unzipped it with a slow, steady breath.

First, clothes. I grabbed two pairs of jeans, my favorite black leggings, and several soft t-shirts—the ones that didn’t wrinkle easily and made me feel strong in my skin. A zip-up sweatshirt followed, along with two sports bras, seven pairs of underwear, and enough socks to get me through two weeks if I stretched them. A pair of thermal leggings went in too, just in case the nights got cold.

Then, towels. I picked the smaller of the two blue ones hanging behind the bathroom door, then another from the closet—both old but clean. Shampoo, conditioner, body wash, deodorant. I paused and added the half-full bottle of the good shampoo—the expensive one my mom bought me last Christmas when she said it helped my curls stay soft longer.

Toothbrush. Toothpaste. The unopened box of tampons I’d tucked away for travel. I packed them all tightly into one of the inner mesh compartments.

“Don’t forget the brush,” Zerina reminded gently.

I nodded and turned back, grabbing my wide-toothed comb and the strong elastic hair ties I always kept wrapped around the doorknob. I tucked them carefully inside the side pocket.

The room felt smaller now. Like it was watching me leave.

I moved to the small wooden box I kept hidden behind my books. Inside was a stack of birthday cards folded around cash—some from my mother, some from my grandmother, a few from my uncle who never called but always sent money. Each one felt heavier than the paper should allow.

I peeled the bills out one by one, careful fingers counting aloud in a whisper. Tens, twenties, fifties—layer after layer until they sat in a single neat stack in my palm.

Three thousand, five hundred and twelve dollars.

More than I’d hoped for.

I slid it into a waterproof zip pouch, the kind meant for camping trips—clear plastic with a thick blue seal across the top. The cash sat flat and silent inside.

I hesitated, then crossed to my dresser.

At the very back of the bottom drawer, nestled in a pair of old sweatpants, lay the Amulet.

My fingers tingled when I touched it—like something ancient and wild had just opened its eyes beneath my skin. The stone pulsed faintly, deep red and warm as a heartbeat. I sat down on the edge of my bed and cradled it in my palm.

“Are you sure you’re ready for this?” Zerina asked, quieter now.

“I don’t know if ready matters,” I murmured. “I just know I can’t stay.”

Zerina didn’t argue.

I reached for the envelope with the note that was left with me as a baby tucked inside. Written on thick cream stationery, folded three times. I had sealed it the day I realized that this would eventually become real.

I slipped the Amulet in next to the cash, nestled into the same waterproof pouch.

“Keep it close. Always,” Zerina’s tone was firm now. “No matter what happens.”

I zipped the pouch shut and tucked it into the inside sleeve of the duffle bag, underneath my clothes. Not at the top where it might fall out. Not at the bottom where it might get crushed. Just close enough that I could reach it when I needed to.

A flicker of nerves rippled through my belly. My throat tightened again.

I moved back to the mirror and studied my reflection—not for vanity, but for finality. This was the last time this version of me would exist. The girl with the purple-painted walls and the glow-in-the-dark stars. The girl who waited for her mother to come home and prayed every night her father wouldn’t be the one who did instead.

I had to go before any of it made me hesitate.

“You’re not wrong for leaving,” Zerina said gently. “Don’t let guilt make you forget that.”

“I’m not,” I responded. “I’m not wrong.”

I turned from the mirror and zipped the duffle closed in one long motion. The sound was sharp and clean. Final.

One last pass through the room. I picked up my little travel pack of granola bars and stuck it into the front pocket, along with a roll of mints, some hair oil, and the pepper spray Andy had given me two years ago “just in case.”

I looked around, taking stock.

It was done.

The room would still be here tomorrow, but I wouldn’t.

I sat cross-legged on the floor by my bed, the duffle bag resting heavy beside me. I traced absent circles on the worn carpet, my mind swirling with possibilities—and uncertainties.

“Where should we go first?” I asked aloud, though the only answer was the quiet breath of the house.

Zerina’s voice slid into my thoughts, calm but uncertain.

 “I don’t know. I never thought this far ahead.”

The admission caught my breath. I had counted on Zerina being a guide, a steady light. But now I realized the path was mine to carve alone.

“We can’t wait until tonight,” I decided, my voice steadier than I felt. “We have to leave this house for the last time before Mom or Dad get home.”

I glanced at the clock on my dresser—2:45. Plenty of time if I moved quickly.

Zerina’s agreement was immediate.

 “That makes sense.”

We talked then—slowly, carefully—about the plans ahead.

“Woods,” Zerina suggested. “Somewhere we can disappear. Streams to bathe in. Clean water. Quiet places. We can find a dark quiet place and sleep during the day only or you could sleep in my head at night while I run. During the day I can sleep in your head while you walk.”

I nodded. “I was thinking the same. If we find the right spot, I can pack some simple foods—things that don’t need to be refrigerated. We can fish if we have to.”

“I can carry the bag in my mouth when we shift,” Zerina added. “That will make it easier.”

A small smile lifted the corner of my mouth. The thought of running on all fours, wild and free, gave me strength.

“But what if we need to go into a town?” I wondered aloud.

“You have money,” Zerina reminded me gently. “It’s in the bag.”

I felt the weight of it—more than money, a lifeline.

“We’ll have to be careful with it,” I said. “Stretch it out as long as possible.”

We spent the next hour laying out every detail. How to travel quietly, when to rest, what to carry. Zerina’s practical instincts mingled with my deep-rooted desire for freedom and safety.

“We’ll find your people,” Zerina promised. “The ones who belong with you.”

I let the hope settle like sunlight in my chest.

When the hour slipped away, I stood and stretched, feeling the cool air brush my skin through the open window. This was real now.

No turning back.

The quiet of the afternoon pressed around me as I sat at the small desk by my bedroom window.

The pen hovered over the paper. I have no idea what to write. 

Mom,

I am so sorry that I caused all of the problems with you and dad. So now I am taking matters into my own hands. I won’t make you choose between me and him anymore. You chose me when i showed up on your doorstep. Now it is my turn to choose your happiness. 

I promise that I will be okay, I just don’t feel like I belong here anymore. Please don’t hate me for this kind of goodbye. You will always be my mom even though you didn’t give birth to me. It is time I find my people. The people I belong with. 

Love Always,

Your Loria.

The tears slide down my cheek as I fold the note. Hastily I wipe them away. 

Not now Loria. There will be plenty of time for that later. 

“We have got this,” Zerina says sadly in my head. 

“How can you be so sure,” I ask. 

“I can feel it the same way you can we are doing the right thing, and for the right reasons.”]

Looking at the clock it is almost 4:00 Andy would be released from his after school activities in about thirty minutes.

Grabbing the almost full duffle bag and the note for my mom, I walked out of my bedroom. 

The kitchen is quiet and dark, not bothering to turn the light on. I lay the note on the counter. I need to be gone before Andy listens to the voicemail I am about to leave him. Taking a deep breath as my finger hovers over his name. 

I hit the call button. 

Ring.

Ring.

Then the voicemail picks up. 

“Andy, I am sorry.” my voice cracks slightly, “I know i said i would call you later and it is later. Mom is at work and so is dad. Now is my chance. I am running away. I need to find people I fit in with. When I find them I will contact you to let you know that I am safe. I will be okay. Zerina will make sure nothing happens to me. You are my best friend Andrew Marks, I wish you the best and know that I love you.”

Hanging up the phone I swipe the tear from my cheek. I place my phone on top of the envelope. 

“Alright Zerina,” I say in my head. “Let's get this show on the road.”