129. Waiting to Exhale

I assume we’re just going to pack up our things and leave Solitary as planned. But life is never that simple.

Things are put on hold because of the whole pastor-trying-to-kill-us situation, which has left not just Solitary but the country mesmerized. I see reports on the evening news where reporters are talking in front of the burnt church or in downtown Solitary. People keep trying to interview Mom and me, but Mom thankfully keeps them away. I have to get rid of my Facebook page because of all the requests and comments.

All of this happens while Mom plans Uncle Robert’s funeral. Dad is driving down and will be here soon. I ask her if she really needs to have a funeral, considering everything, and she answers a big-time yes by ignoring my question.

Kelsey is back home, dealing with the same thing—a world knocking on her door after hearing that she was involved with Marsh and Staunch. The good thing is that she and I are both seventeen, so there are certain laws protecting our privacy.

So we keep going, and we start to …

You know what?

Enough.

All of that stuff, that outside stuff, that noise in the background—none of it matters.

I could go on and on about it, but it doesn’t matter a bit.

I unplug the headphones so I don’t hear any of it.

I turn down the volume and focus on Mom and Kelsey.

My mother just lost her brother and almost lost her son.

This girl who’s crazy about me finally discovered why I was a little worried about her hanging around with me. Yet she still doesn’t remember anything about her abduction.

The news makes for exciting headlines, but the reality is that I don’t want to be a story. I don’t want to be the face of a victim or the figure in the middle of it all.

I just count the seconds until I’m away from this place. Part of me keeps waiting for Staunch to break out of jail and come knocking on my door with some random object in his hand ready to strike out and kill.

The outside still seems to be hostile and threatening. It’s like a wild animal waiting for its moment, holding its breath in the darkness.

I won’t exhale until I’m finally gone.