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Just before I climb back onto my bike, I decide to take a peek at my phone.  I realize my mistake as soon as the screen lights up.  Sixteen missed phone calls, thirteen of which are from Scott.  He would have gotten home about four hours ago, and is likely freaking out about now.  I listen to the voicemails, one being from one of the lead supervisors at work, begging me to call her and talk to her about what is going on.

The other six messages are all Scott, angry about where I am and demanding that I bring home something for supper so he doesn’t have to wait for me to cook it.  Looks like Scott will be waiting quite a while for supper tonight.  

Asshole.

I delete each message and power off my phone, tossing it into one of the saddlebags.  I can’t think of a single person I want to hear from right now, and the only thing keeping me from smashing it on the ground is the fact that it would come in handy in case of an emergency.

Climbing onto my bike, I secure the chin strap on my helmet and start it up.  I pull back onto the highway and keep moving, heading down the highway that runs straight through Canada, and in the direction of my hometown, wanting more than anything to be back in my father’s house; to feel that connection with him.  It takes me another five hours to make it to Saskatoon, and when I do, I am exhausted.

I check into a tiny little room, dragging in everything I have brought with me to restart my life and dropping it on the small table in the corner of the room.  I take a long, hot shower and brush my teeth. An old rerun of the Big Bang Theory plays on the television.  I’m almost asleep when I decide that it’s only fair of me to give Scott a call and tell him that I won’t be home.  He has to be worried by now.  I don’t need him calling the police.

I crawl out of bed and dig out my phone, waiting while it powers on.  Voicemail alerts and texts pop up on my screen one after another, all of them, once again, from Scott.  I don’t even bother listening to them as I try to calm my racing heart and pull up his name on the touch screen.  My frayed nerves make my body tremble as I try to prepare myself for what I know is not going to be a pleasant conversation.

“Holly?  Is that you?”

The panic in his voice sends a pain through my chest.  I don’t want to hurt him, and in a way, I still love Scott.  We’d been through so much together, but I know in my heart that this time, loving him isn’t enough.  I’m not in love with him.  Maybe I was once, but that love has been squashed by years of his cruel words, contempt, and selfishness.

“Hi,” I say softly.

“Holly, where the hell are you?  I’ve been worried fuckin’ sick!”

“Saskatoon.”

Silence follows my quiet admission.  I can hear Scott’s heavy breathing and I know that those five words have taken him from worried to enraged.  “Why the fuck are you in Saskatoon?”

“I’m leaving you, Scott.”  I grip the phone with both hands, my chest aching as I try to regulate my breathing.

“Leaving me?  What do you mean you’re leaving me?  Holly, what is going on?”

“I can’t do this anymore, Scott.  I can’t live the life we’ve been living, knowing that I am wasting my best years in a relationship that feels like a death sentence.”

I hear a crash from the other end of the phone line and shudder to think of what Scott had just thrown against the wall.  “That’s bullshit and you know it.  I don’t know what the hell is going through your head right now, Holly, but you need to get your ass home.  How the hell did you get all the way to Saskatoon anyway?  Your car is in the driveway.”

“I bought a motorcycle.”

“You bought a what?  Jesus, Holly!  You need to get your ass home right now.  I’m not fuckin’ around.”

“I’m not coming home, Scott.”

He growls angrily and there’s another crash.  “So what?  This is it?  There’s someone else isn’t there?  You stupid bitch.  You met some other guy!”

I shake my head and swallow down the giant lump in my throat.  “There’s nobody else, Scott.  I’m leaving because no man that loves me like I want him to would ever call me a stupid bitch.”

“Ah, fuck you, Ho—”

“Goodbye, Scott,” I whisper and disconnect the call.

I quickly power off my phone, sticking it back inside of my bag in case I need it again, but I won’t be turning it on if I don’t have to.  Tears fill my eyes and emotion chokes me as I try to hold them back.

I don’t regret my decision to leave, but I hate that I’m hurting Scott.  I hate that I have to start my life all over again at thirty-five years old, and I hate that it took sixteen years and my dead father’s will to make me see that I have been selling myself short all along.

I will go home to my father’s house, set it up the way I like it, write the stories I’ve always dreamed of writing, and finally live the life I’ve always wanted but never believed in myself enough to have.  I’m going to take my life back.