And I believed him, like an idiot. Although I would prefer to hide under the duvet for the next three years crying in self-pity, I force myself to do something. I shouldn’t grieve in any case. I should be angry. But how do you transform a howling misery into a powerful fury? Perhaps, by doing something. I mumble incessantly to myself while I randomly yank any clothes out of the closet and stuff them into my suitcase. I carefully put Ron’s gun in there too. The safety is now on, because I had the conscience of mind to look it up on the internet. I want to feel sure I can defend myself. Nevertheless, I feel like a criminal. I have to go. Right away. Out of this house. Out of Ron's life. The lock on my Samsonite snaps shut with a loud click. Shortly thereafter I drag the heavy piece of luggage down the stairs, toss it in the trunk of my car and drive. "Honey, I am so sorry for you!" Nana eyes me with a look full of worry and awkwardly pats me on the back. I fled to her, just as I did as a child when I had a fight with my mother.
What do You think about Never Trust A Callboy (2015)?
