I stared at the motorcycle in front of my house. Or... His house. Since, it wasn't technically mine anymore. It was my home, sure, but my house? No. Not anymore. That house was part of my past. I left everything in it, all I had were my necessities and the clothes I had on me.
My life, or my past, had always been something I hated to talk about. Bud, my 'dad' was... pretty much horrible. He used to abuse my mom, till she left him. She also left me. I used to lie to myself, tell myself she just forgot me, she'd be back soon. But she never came. It was extremely stupid, I know, but it was better than having no hope at all. Bud wasn't really my dad, just some guy my mom married when my actual father left. Got freaked by the thought of my mom pregnant, I guess. I wasn't big on those details. Bud mostly neglected me, even when my mom was there, he never really beat me, unless he was really heavily drunk. My scars usually came from myself, physical and sometimes emotional. I won't get into those details though, not now.
Right now, I was standing at the motorcycle, scared of making the next step. I was going to go to Bridgeport, the busiest town I knew. It's what I wanted. If people are too caught up in their own lives, they won't pay any attention to me. Plus, killer clubs. I chuckled. I make jokes when I don't feel the greatest. So, I guess I joke a lot.
I sighed and looked away. I didn't understand why making this decision was so difficult. I mean, my... old... life sucked. Why couldn't I move on then?
My apartment was paid for this month and the next one, which is plenty time to get a waitressing job. What? Surprised I'm not going for anything better? Well, I never went to university, finished high school and that was that. I stayed in this washed up town for too long, it was time to move on. I guess I was just scared of what would happen.
I started to think back to Bud. Everything he'd done to my mom. To me. I mean, my mom came out of there fucked up. But, then again, so did I. I was a smoker by 14 and loved my booze by the time I was 16. I wasn't an alcoholic though, I could never grow a dependence. I saw what it did to my dad, and... Just, no. I could never. Drinking half disgusted me, which was why I loved it. Messed up, I know. It's just who I am.
I thought about Bud right now. He was on the couch when I left, passed out from last night's drinking. It was usually the state I found him in, so not much surprise there. We never really spoke, I took care of myself ever since my mom was out the door. And today, I was doing the same. The exact same as her. Leaving my dad, leaving my home. However much I loathed them both, it still kind of hurt.
I swallowed my courage and walked towards the motorcycle. I had to move on, I had to. I got on it and gulped. Revved the engine, pressed the pedal and I was off. I thought back, half happy and half terrified. Happy I was leaving. Terrified I was leaving. Finally, leaving. The empty bottles lying around, the screaming, the old TV's familiar static noises, the cigarettes in plain sight because my dad couldn't care less, the confusion, the pain, the tears, the false hopes, the terror, the mess, the... the past.
I got to Bridgeport late in the evening. I walked into the crappy building and took the elevator. I was kind of scared it would break midway. This place was badly kept, but not as bad as the last place I lived in. I coughed. I pressed the button for my floor. I was at the top, of course. Last one they had, only one I could afford in city.
I opened the door with the key I had received in the mail and looked into my new, empty apartment. A box in the corner was probably left from the old owners. It was evening and it would be dark soon, but I had no bed or supper. I guess it was pizza and the floor. But come to think of it, I wasn't even hungry. I literally felt like lying on that floor and crying till I fell asleep.
I closed the door and rested on it, looking onto my new home. It wasn't really home yet, but it was bound to be. What frustrated me was the fact I wanted to go back. Go back to that shit of a life. The poor excuse I had for one. Did you know I was a stripper? Yeah, kinda left that out. It's not something I like to talk about. Especially what you do for some extra money. But that money got me this. That money got me my dream. The dream I no longer wanted. The dream, I, Chastity Lockhart, had prayed for but when faced with it, no longer wanted it. Wait, no. I no longer deserved this. With all the shit I did, shit you don't know half about, I don't deserve a fresh start.
And then a curious thought came to my mind. If Chastity didn't want this. If Chastity didn't deserve this. Then, would someone else want it? If I couldn't get through in life by being Chastity, could I just be someone else instead? If I got a new personality, would the old memories of fear and loathing just fade? I could be someone new.
I could get a new Archetype.
