Until We Die

I zip my bag, my chest rising and falling too fast, like I can’t quite get enough air. The sound feels way too loud in the quiet house, like it might echo down the hallway and wake someone up. I swing my tote over my shoulder, then grab the shaggy old backpack I dug out from the back of my closet—the only one big enough to carry everything I thought I might need. Or maybe everything I’m too scared to leave behind.

My mom’s asleep. Her door sits right across the hall, barely closed, a thin line of darkness peeking through the crack. I pause for a second, just staring at it. Part of me waits—like she’s gonna open it, catch me, say something that makes me stop. But nothing happens. Just silence.

So I move.

I push my window up slowly, wincing at the faint creak, and carefully pop the screen out. The night air hits me instantly—cold, sharp, real. It makes everything feel more serious, like this isn’t just a thought anymore. I drop my bags first, watching them land with a dull thud on the grass below. Then I sit on the edge of the window, heart pounding so hard it feels like it might give me away.

For a second, I hesitate.

Not because I don’t want to go—but because I know once I do, there’s no pretending this was just a “what if.” This is real.

I swing my legs over and drop.

The ground hits harder than I expect, sending a quick shock up my legs, but I barely react. I just grab my bags, glancing back up at my window. It looks smaller from down here. Further away.

I swallow, tightening my grip on the straps.

Then I turn and start walking, fast at first—like if I slow down, I might stop. Like if I look back one more time, I might run right back inside.

And I can’t do that.

Not tonight.

I walk down the dimly lit street, the lights barely doing anything, just weak yellow glows that don’t reach far enough. Shadows stretch across the pavement, long and uneven, like they’re following me.

My skateboard hangs loosely from my hand at first, the grip tape rough against my fingers. After a second, I drop it to the ground and step on, pushing off hard. The sound of the wheels rolling over the pavement cuts through the silence, steady and low.

It’s louder than walking—but somehow it feels better. Faster. Like I’m actually getting somewhere.

The houses I pass are dark, windows blacked out, everyone inside asleep like nothing’s happening. Like I’m not out here, leaving everything behind. It’s weird… how normal everything still looks.

Cold air hits my face as I push again, harder this time, picking up speed. My hoodie flutters slightly, my bag bouncing against my back with every crack in the sidewalk.

For a second, I think about turning back.

The thought slips in out of nowhere. Go home. Climb back through the window. Pretend none of this ever happened.

My foot hesitates mid-push.

But then I press down anyway, harder than before, wheels rattling as I keep moving forward, pulling my hoodie over my head along with my Beats. I blast “Misery” as I let off one more powerful push and go down the hill.

Where am I even going?

I don’t know.

I don’t know.

I step off the board, grabbing it before it rolls too far. My hands are shaking. I don’t even realize it at first until the board slips a little in my grip.

Calm down.

Just—

A car.

Headlights cut across the street.

I freeze.

Not normal—why do I feel like this? My stomach drops out of nowhere, my hands turn clammy, and a thin layer of sweat gathers across my forehead like something’s about to go wrong.

Police.

The word hits before I even fully process it. My chest tightens instantly, like all the air just got sucked out.

Why are they out here?

Are they looking for me?

No—no, they can’t be. It’s too soon. Right?

But what if my mom woke up. What if she checked. What if she already knows.

The car slows.

I turn away fast, pulling my hood lower over my face, gripping my board tighter like that’s going to make me invisible.

Don’t look suspicious.

Don’t run.

Running makes it worse.

I round the corner and spot Jacob D’s house—my best friend, the one person who knows me better than I let on—waiting at the end of the street.

I rest the tail of my board against the curb for a second, rolling my shoulders, trying to shake off the edge still clinging to me. It doesn’t really work.

My chest is still tight.

My head’s still loud.

But this is the closest thing I’ve got to somewhere safe.

I walk up, quieter now, like the night might still be listening. His window’s the same—slightly cracked, curtain pulled halfway like always. I tap on the glass. Light. Then again, a little harder.

“Jacob,” I say under my breath. “Yo.”

Nothing.

I wait. Count a few seconds. Tap again.

The curtain shifts.

There he is—half-awake, squinting, looking at my shadow in the dimly lit yard.

His expression changes when he does.

He slides the window open. “the fuck are you doing here?” he whispers, brows knitted.

''remember when i talked about ditching the house?''I ask, looking up at him. He exhales, already knowing where this is going, then steps aside and nods me in.

I climb through, dropping my bag beside his desk. My shoulders feel heavier the second I stop moving, like everything I’ve been holding up finally settles all at once.

He shuts the window behind me, locking it.

We just stand there for a second.

He looks at me. Really looks this time. Hoodie, bag, the way I can’t quite stay still.

“…Alright,” he says finally. “I mean, I always told you—do what you want. He pauses, shaking his head a little. “Just don’t do anything stupid. Know what you’re doing… what you’re getting into.”

The room feels the same. Posters. Clothes everywhere. Controller on the floor. his old guitar in the corner of the room that he hasn't touched in a while.

He runs a hand through his hair, exhaling slow. “You hungry?”

I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. “Yeah.”

He walks back in a minute later, a grilled cheese balanced on a plate and a drink in the other hand.

He tosses me a hoodie and sweats from his dresser. “Change. You look like your fucking homeless.”

I let out a short breath through my nose—almost a laugh, as i catch the clothes. The fabric’s warm from being in his room, soft in a way mine isn’t right now.

“You good?” he asks finally.

I pause.

That question feels too big.

“Not really,” I say.

He nods. No surprise. No pressure.

“Yeah,” he says. “Figured.”

“You’re really set on this, huh?” he asks, voice lower now.

I hesitate, the grilled cheese halfway to my mouth.

He nods once, like he’s already heard the answer in my silence. “Alright. Just—don’t disappear on me, yeah?”

i nod.

He stands, grabbing a hoodie off his chair. “I’m coming with you for a minute.”

I pause. “Where?”

“Outside,” he says like it’s obvious. “You’re acting like the walls are closing in. Go breathe or whatever.”

I hesitate again, but my body’s already moving. I shove my shoes back on, grab my board, and follow him out the window.

We walk down the side of the house, staying low, footsteps soft against the grass.

And then I see it.

My stomach drops instantly.

A car parked halfway down the street. Engine running low. Headlights off—but not empty.

Another one further up.

Slow. Controlled. Watching.

Police.

“They’re still out,” I whisper without meaning to.

Jacob follows my gaze, jaw tightening slightly. “Yeah.”