Ruffle, Crinkle, Slap.
I franticly grab my clothes from where I left them,on the foot of my bed, and try to press as many as I can in a small backpack sitting on the corner of my desk that is beside my bed. I also put my hair ties in one of the side pockets of the backpack. I walk briskly over to my vanity and pull out my eyeshadow. I turn it over to where the tray that actually holds the eyeshadow falls out and reveals the money I’ve been secretly saving for the past two years.
You may be wondering what I’m doing. Well, in short, I’m running away. Now you’re probably thinking: why would Lucy Heartfellia, daughter of one of the richest men in Fiore, want to run away? To put it simply, my father is not a very good one. Ever since my mother died, he’s valued money and work more than me. Once he yelled at me on my birthday because I interrupted his work bringing him a snack I made for him.
I count the money I have and come out with a few thousand Jewel. I shrug at the money in my hand. ‘That should be enough to get me far away from here’ I think to myself. I walk over to my bag and stuff it into the pocket with the hair ties.
Knock knock knock
I turn to the door, eyes wide in fear. ‘Please don’t open the door,’ I silently plead the person on the other side. I thought I was being quiet enough, but I guess not. I feel a drop of sweat form on the back of my neck.
“Ma’ma, you doing alright in there?” Asks a voice that belongs to one of the maids.
“Y-yes, I-I’m doing fine,” I studder. “I’m just –uh– looking for my MP3.” I hear my heart pounding against my ribs. If I’m caught now I’ll be stopped and won’t be able to leave at all.
“Do you need so help?” The maid asks.
“No!” I exclaim. I can practacly see her flinch from through the door. “I mean,” I pick up my MP3 up off my bed, “I actually just found it.”
“Okay, then I’ll be off. Do you need anything?” She questions.
“No, I’m fine. Thank you,” I reply. I listen as her foot steps fade. I release a breath I didn’t know I was holding. I stand there for a moment and let my heart beat return to normal. I walk over to my MP3 speaker and plug it in then press play. The music that has been my only refuge for years begins to echo through my room. I finish packing all I can into my bag and then grab my celestial keys and fasten them to my belt. I swing my bag onto my back and shift it around until it rests comfortably between my shoulder blades. I step in front of my full length mirror and stare at the blonde figure that stares right back.
Maybe I should try talking to my father one more time. I mean he is my dad, but what would I even say? I hear the familiar strum of a guitar fill my room and imeadiatly know what song it is. I chuckle at the ironic happening as the song Perfect by Simple Plan plays. The music soon adds in the words I’m all too familiar with and I begin to sing along.
As I sing along with the lyrics my mind can’t help but connect it to my situation. I did the things my father told me to do so that I wouldn’t anger him and so that he would just talk to me or even just look at me for who I am. He never would though and he would act as if I was always disapointing him. I always feel like I’m never gonna be good enough. I feel tears fall from my eyes at the complete truth that this song is for me.
“I’m sorry I can’t be perfect,” I sing finishing out the first chorus. Tears flow freely from my eyes through the second verse. I then wipe my eyes, take a deep breath, and slowly let it out.
I grab my MP3, interrupting the song, and head out my door. I sneak through the house until I reach the front door. I quietly open the door and exit onto the porch. I tip toe down to the driveway. Once they touch the ground, I’m running as far and as fast as I can.
Since I’m running for my freedom, I make it far enough to where the house I grew up in is no larger than the nail on my pinky. I turn to it and recall the good times but those memories soon give way to the years of bad ones.
“Well, I can’t go back now,” I say. I turn back towards the road and walk farther away from my past and closer to my future. “I hope I get to go on adventures like in my favorite books,” I say hopefully. I smile towards the sun. ‘Guess what dad? I’m perfectly fine being imperfect’