Runaway

Me and my friends all have drunk names. Randi, Candi, Valentine, Silver, Amy, and Indie.

My name is Maisy. Short for Maze Runner. I run away. Isn't it said that what you do when you're drunk is as honest as it can get? 

I've figured everything out. I'd hop on my bike. If I tell my mom I'm going to a friends house, it'll give me a couple hours to get a head start. I could bike to the bank. Take out all the money I have. I could bike to a friend's house in another town. Stay in her loft, unnoticed by her parents. Just for a couple days. Then, I'd move on. I could go anywhere. On my own. I make the rules. I decide who to hang out with. Where I go. What I do. I could shut off my cell phone, make it stop ringing. I could lie alone, in the dark. I could make my own life. I could be happy again. 

But I don't want to leave my family. I would hate for the people I love to think it was them that drove me away. A letter wouldn't suffice. I couldn't just leave a note saying, "Don't look for me, I love you. It wasn't your fault," and think that was enough to ease their minds. 

Running away would be too hard.

But it sounds so perfect, doesn't it?