Quite the Fall

Owen’s strong arms come around my waist, and he presses me against him. I hiccup and turn my face to the side, glancing up at Owen, whilst pulling myself together.

“Ready?” His voice is calm, but his whole body is tense. We need to move, whether I’m ready or not. I nod my head, feeling my legs quivering underneath me. I push myself out of his arms, and take a shaky breath.

“Let’s go.” I grab Owen’s hand tightly in my own, and we race down the alleyway. At each intersection, we turn. The more we zigzag, the more likely we can escape. I haven’t heard footsteps behind us for a while now, but we keep on running.

I can barely feel my legs as we run. I feel like we have been running forever. I hardly remember why we are running in the first place. Why did we run? What did we witness? With my mind focused elsewhere, I became my clumsy self again. My feet hit the ground, one after the other. Until one doesn’t. Instead, my left foot hits my right heel, full force. I swing my arms to try to balance myself out, but my right foot is kicked forward, and my legs become tangled. I slam into the ground, hard. I managed to get my arms up to protect my face, but I wasn’t able to catch myself. I roll twice over, before I settle in a pile of dust and blood. Owen screeches to a stop ahead of me, and runs over to the tangle of limbs I have become. He picks me up, and dusts me off, examining the raw skin on my arms and hands.

“I think we have run far enough.” He says, and puts my arms down. I examine the damage myself, and see the nasty road burns, but for the most part, I am still in one piece. The sting begins to settle in, as the adrenaline from the fall wears off.

“Agreed.” I reply. I limp ahead, Owen trailing behind me. “Can I crash at your place for a while? I don’t think it is wise to go home yet.” I say to Owen. My mind travels to my mother. I hope she will be okay without me. I’m not even sure if those men will go to my house. If they really were talking about my dad, then chances are they know where I live.  

“Yeah, of course you can. Your mom…” Owen trails off. He drags his hands through his hair, his face distressed.

“She’ll be fine. She knows how to take care of herself.” I reassure Owen, and myself.