Duffles are my second choice but they’re a little too bulky, depending on what I’m doing. Depending on where I’m going.
I’ve done this four times before, it’s nothing new.
I guess I just thought at some point, I’d have an entire house worth of belongings and wouldn’t need to think like this anymore.
Thirty-two years old, and nothing has changed.
Fifth time’s a charm, I guess.
With a sigh, I grab the stack of tank tops and tuck them inside the water-resistant canvas, pushing them to one end before I move to the next small pile of clothing. I repeat the action until I’ve cleared my bed. I move on to my drawing materials and the few books I’ve accumulated over the last two years until they’re packed up tight, too.
This is pathetic.
Planting my fists on my hips, I stare down into my bag, annoyed that this is still something I’m dealing with, especially when I wouldn’t be if things were different.
They were supposed to be different.
I lift my hand and finger the charm on my necklace, sliding it back and forth along the chain before I bring it to my lips.
Ihaddifferent. Ihadperfect.
I had the life I always dreamed of, the one I never thought would be more than that, and it ended just as soon as it began.
But that’s exactly why I’m shoving what’s left of my past life into a black canvas bag and hoping I won’t ever have to do this again.
Dropping my hands, I roll my neck, stretching it back and forth before raising my arms above my head until my spine cracks.
I might have fuck all to take with me, but the tension and stress packing causes always makes my body hurt. It’s like planning for a nightmare I don’t know will happen, but I have to prepare for anyway. And that sucks.
Then again, maybe that’s how I survived those first four trips out of hell.
I shake my head at the thought, even more annoyed at my line of thinking, then get my ass into gear.
I grab my burner phone and the backup from the desk, toss those along with the ancient laptop I bought in the bag then goback and look down at the two large envelopes and small box sitting there staring back at me.
The first has my new life sitting in it.
Birth certificate and social security card. Driver’s license. Registration and car insurance. Passport. Family and medical histories, school records and a diploma. There’s a title to my truck, one with my new name as well as job history, personal references, and a list of previous addresses. I’m pretty sure they included a loose story about Sparrow Manning, too. One that incorporated things that actually happened to me when I was a kid, like the time I was attacked by a foster family's dog, or fell out of a neighbor kid’s tree house while I was hiding from another. My fucking allergies are even listed, and every piece of paperwork in this envelope is so fucking good it’s impossible to tell they’re fake.
I knew Aisling said they were going to come up with a brand new identity for me, but I guess I didn’t realize how extensive it was going to be.
Fastening the clasp, I set that down and pick up the next, peeking inside to make sure all of my personal paperwork is in order. Myresearch.Not that it’s gotten me anywhere, not really, but it’s a starting point, and it’s enough for me to set out in search of the truth.
That’s what this is all about. Figuring out what exactly happened two years ago. Finding whoever is responsible for destroying everything I loved.
I seal that back up and set it on top of the other, then pick up the small handmade wooden music box and slowly lift the lid.
Chopin’sNocturne op. 9 No. 2.
It floods my senses as the song softly fills the room, a smile pulling at my lips as I close my eyes and let it take me back to the day I got it.
It feels like it was so long ago, centuries since that warm summer night. Stolen kisses, secret laughter. The first time any of us were able to properly convey how thankful we were to have each other. It was perfect and beautiful, and I don’t think I’ll ever forget the way I felt that night.
A tear slips down my cheek and I wipe it away as I open my eyes. I carefully take the velvet lining the lid between my fingers, slowly freeing one side to reveal the photos hidden inside.
Four scared kids who had nothing but each other, four happy adults who still had the same. A year and a half of freedom documented in a glossy finish, complete with joyful smiles and bright, hopeful eyes.
All gone.
