Cave In

A Story by Xayah

Inspired by Owl City's song, "Cave In."

“Well?” he asked as he waited out on my roof. “Are you coming?”

He’d already thrown the knotted sheet rope out my window, over the small gradual slope of the roof in front of it, down the side of the house. It’d taken the better part of an hour and a dozen clean sheets (in addition to the ones that had been on my bed) to construct it. Twice we’d found out that it didn’t quite reach the ground, and every time we added a new sheet, he had to make sure it was secure and would hold our weight.

This had been our plan for the longest time. A theoretical plan, really. A fantasy. We’d indulge ourselves in it when things got bad, either on his end or mine. Don’t most couples do that though? Dream of running away together, never looking back?

The bruises are what finally decided it. He wasn’t going to allow me to be beat. He’d said it was bad enough that I wasn’t allowed to live out my dreams under this roof, that I was verbally abused each day. I’d told him it was a mistake, it wasn’t going to happen again. But once was enough.

So here he was, sitting on my roof, the full moon the only light on his face. I was stalling. I knew I was, and he knew it too. I’d been busying myself with finding every last dime I had to my name, the ones kept in jean pockets and shoe boxes and under my mattress - my college fund - and stuffing it into a duffle bag with a throw pillow, thin blanket, and some clothes. I’d double checked all of the places I’d put my funds. Triple checked. As if more money would suddenly appear. No, I knew what I was doing, and I knew why I was doing it. I was scared. I was scared, and I was trying my best to not show it.

I looked up at him. Took a deep breath. Nodded. He slipped out of sight, and I heard his feet hit the ground below. I ducked through my window, gave my room one last look, and shimmied down the sheet rope. As soon as my shoes touched the grass, he took my hand and led me to the street, where his bike sat. He pulled a helmet off the seat and handed it to me, then got his own from his duffle bag.

I’d never ridden on the back of a motorcycle before. He’d had other people ride with him, however, and I trusted him. He swung his leg over and mounted it, and I followed suit, leaning forward and wrapping my arms around his waist.

We took off into the night.

We had a plan, even if it wasn’t much of one. His best friend’s cousin’s aunt, something like that, was renting out her finished basement. She’d agreed to drop the price a bit until we could manage better. He’d gotten a job at the local department store, and I was making trinkets to sell online. We were going to save up enough money for an apartment, a real one. It was just down donning on me how many issues there would be with that. At least at this woman’s house, she wasn’t making us pay for electric, just rent. We could use her phone, as our cell phones were trackable. Mine sat on my bed at home, turned off. She lived relatively close to his job. All of this would go away at an apartment.

I trusted him, though. You know a person for seven years, call him your best friend for six, you learn to trust them.

The night seemed endless as we drove. The stars blazed overhead, the full moon lighting the road. A few lights were on in windows of houses we passed. I shut my eyes against it all, the exhilaration of finally leaving filling me up. I was out. I was free. If I wasn’t so terrified to be on a motorcycle for the first time, I would have leaned back and let out a yell. My emotions began to conflict, the yes-no argument of “was this a good idea.” I told them to shut up before my head imploded from the thoughts running rampant in my head.

We sailed through the night, not a word spoken over the whipping wind, towards the dream we were just beginning to realize.