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Once I’ve flopped back onto my bed and I stretch my body out, I pull the paper back out and I find the article once more. It’s still there, it hasn’t vanished into thin air as if I’ve imagined it, which I half expected it to do. But nope, it’s still there.
‘Stephen Jones, small time musician, found dead in local bar.’
No, it just can’t be. This can’t be possible. I reach across to the night stand and I grab Stephen’s pick which I roll between my fingers as I read. Maybe we only spent one night together and maybe he ditched me at the end of it, but I still feel like we shared something special. I still feel like we had some sort of connection that I really enjoyed. Now he’s just… gone. Dead. Vanished.
‘Barmaid of the Crown, Katie Miller, found the beaten body of Stephen Jones and was the one to contact the police. “I don’t know what happened,” she told us. “I locked up the night before and no one was in the bar, then the following morning I unlocked it to find him.”. She did not know Jones, but had seen him play at the Crown a few weeks before. “He seemed troubled, like he knew that he was in trouble.”’
I scrunch the paper between my fingers, growing angry with each passing word. Stephen certainly didn’t seem troubled to me. When we met, he seemed happy as anything, and that gig he played was absolutely amazing. There was no way he knew that he was in trouble. The only strange thing to happen was that he vanished in the middle of the night after we had sex and I didn’t seem him for the rest of the time that I was aboard, but that doesn’t mean anything… does it?
Not able to solely believe the words written in the paper, I click onto the Internet to try and find out more. Everyone knows that online journalists are much quicker than traditional ones, so I’m sure that if there’s any more information to be found, it will be online.
Nope, nothing. Absolutely nothing. This is madness!
After fifteen very frustrated minutes, the only info I can find is what I already know. I guess Stephen Jones just wasn’t an important enough person to warrant more news than that which is sad. He had a whole life, and he was murdered, and no one seems to care. Except me… and his family in New Zealand of course.
With a deep and sorrowful sigh, I fold the paper up and I tuck it away. I can’t look at the words anymore, they’re crushing me, making me feel ill. I didn’t have much with Stephen Jones, but with the shitty way that my life has been going recently this is just another thing that brings my mood even lower. It crushes me and makes me want to weep pathetically.
I can’t sta
y here, I think with a hot determination. Even more than before. I have to get away. There cannot be any more excuses. No tears, no sadness, just action.
I push myself off the bed and glance around my room. I don’t have much packed up because I didn’t want it to be obvious what I was doing, but I have the essentials. I have all I need even if I don’t have all that I want. I can just take all of that and leave right now. I can go and never look back. I can say goodbye to my murderous father, my pathetic mother and I can just become me… whoever the hell I am.
With that one thought in mind I stand up and move over to my wardrobe. I ignore all of my fancier clothes and go for some comfortable sweat pants instead. I don’t know how I know it with such clarity, but I just know that I need to get out the country if I want to really escape this… at least for the time being. Moving to another state won’t be far enough I need to be somewhere so far away that all of this is a distant memory.
Once I’m dressed I flick my laptop back open and I head towards the airline website. I figure I’ll pick somewhere on a whim, whatever flight is leaving today. I just need to get out before I succumb to the sobs and I spend another week on my bed crying. If I let the sadness of Stephen’s death to get the better of me then I don’t know how long it’ll be before I can escape. Maybe I didn’t know Stephen well, but I don’t think he’d want me to cave to depression.
I grip tightly to the pick as I run my eyes over the available flights, waiting for inspiration to hit, and soon it does. There’s one flight that stands out, that grabs my attention without me even trying. The only seat available is in economy class which isn’t what I’m used to and won’t be pleasant, but there’s something about it that still feels right. It’s a country that’s calling out to me, drawing me in.
New Zealand.
Maybe I can’t have the guy, but maybe that isn’t the reason he came into my life in the first place. Maybe I was always supposed to go to New Zealand. Without dwelling too much on the decision, I hit book and allow a flurry of excitement to wash over me. Then I grab my bag and I race down the stairs with the hint of a smile on my face. Everything still sucks I know that, but I feel good to be taking action. It’s pretty much the first time in my life that I’ve ever done something so productive.
“Mom,” I call out loudly. “I’m going.”
“Where are you going?” she replies, coming to join me in the hallway by the front door. “And why do you have that big rucksack?”
“I’m moving, Mom. I’m finally going.”
“Oh.” She looks understandable stunned. “Right, I see. Where are you going.”
The words roll off my tongue feeling so damn good. “New Zealand.”
Mom clutches her chest looking like she might throw up. “You can’t leave the country,” she gasps. “You can’t just go like that.”
“I’m an adult, Mom, I can do what I like.” I resist the urge to roll my eyes.
“Your father won’t like it.” She shakes her head rapidly. “He’ll stop giving you money. You’ll be stuck out there in a different country all by yourself.”
I think about the money that I already have in my bank account and shrug. I have more than enough to get me started, even without a steady influx, and I’ll just get a job when I’m out there. No problem. Actually, the idea of starting again all by myself with the pressure of having to do something with my life is nice. I feel like that’s exactly what I need right now.
“I know, Mom.” I shrug. “But this is what I have to do.”
With that I open the door and I scoot outside without looking back once. I know I’m making the right choice, it doesn’t matter what anyone else thinks. I need this. I need to go.
Chapter Twelve - Tia
One Month Later…
