Chapter 17 - Keep Running

*HAYLEY'S POV*

Running had always been my reflex.

Looking back, it seems pretty clear that whenever things got too rough, and for whatever reason I couldn't cope with a situation anymore, my automatic response was to get out as quickly as I could. It happened when I was a teenager; I had run away from home several times growing up (although I'd always returned within a day or two, when I'd become sick of eating breakfast, lunch and dinner at Taco Bell), and again when I was older, and should have known better - if life in Franklin was getting me down, or I'd had some falling out with Chad, I would just pack a bag, get in a taxi and asked to be driven anywhere. Sometimes I'd just stare out the window, watching couples, businessmen, kids and hobos walking around the city and wondering where they were headed; what their lives were like; if they had someone waiting for them. People-spotting was one of my quirks. Sometimes I would wind up in a museum or a craft fair or a gig of some underground Nashville country band and just wander around, getting lost and clearing my head. Sometimes, if I calmed down fast enough, I would stop the taxi half-way there, turn it around and go back home. My friends and relatives had become used to this trait of mine - they stopped worrying about me, after a while. Often they didn't even notice I was gone. And Chad would welcome me back with open arms, and tell me he was sorry, and it would be alright again.

But other times, when things weren't solved that easily - like when I'd lost several friends to a drunk-driving accident, for example - occasionally I needed for explore further, out of state and outside the boundaries of my hometown to somewhere completely disconnected with my problems. I would leap on a train, rather than a taxi. When she goes to the station, that's when you know it's really bad, my mother said. She told me I had a roaming heart. I guess she was right about that. I never had found real comfort in settling in one place.

It was probably why I enjoyed touring so much. I had found it difficult in the earlier years, when my escape trips had been less frequent and of shorter distances, but as I became more used to it, it was easier. It was never really my home that I missed; just people. Songs like Franklin didn't express my homesickness so much as a pang of longing for my family and the pain I felt when I returned to see they had changed in my absence.

So we stand here now and no one knows us at all

I won't get used to this; I won't get used to being gone

And going back won't feel the same if we aren't staying

Going back to get away after everything has changed.

As I aged, though, that faded. The songs turned into Looking Up, wherein I embraced the joy of travelling the world with my friends doing something that I loved.

Honestly, can you believe

We crossed the world while it's asleep?

I'd never trade it in 'cause I've always wanted this

And it's not a dream anymore, no

It's not a dream anymore

It's worth fighting for.

There was still the odd moment, though, when I would consider my lonesome, nomadic ways with sadness and write songs like Misguided Ghosts.

'Cause I'm just one of those ghosts

Travelin' endlessly

Don't need no roads

In fact, they follow me

And we just go in circles.

Running from your troubles didn't solve anything - I knew that better than anyone - but it was a habit I was unable to break. I suppose I was kind of addicted to the freedom an Escape Route gave me.

Just enough time to plan an escape route

I put my map on the wall in the basement

Not quite a victory to run from your problems

But it's the only plan that I got

It's the only plan that I got.

I guess the song that described me best was Renegade.

Up until this point, though, I'd never gone so far as jumping on a plane. State lines were one thing, but leaving the country on a whim was something I'd never dared to do before. Venturing into foreign territory by myself was a daunting prospect, but right then, when it seemed like my whole life was crumbling to pieces right before my eyes, I was prepared to do anything it took to break free of it all.

So, inevitably, when I had got off the phone and was finished crying and eating Ricecream and hurling plates at the wall and eventually sweeping away the smashed pieces along with my broken heart, I curled up in a ball and resigned myself to the fact I was going to be leaving soon. I couldn't stop myself.

And there I was, sat on the floor of my bedroom, throwing clothes into a suitcase and reopening and refolding the boarding pass I'd printed off, reading it over and over, disbelieving of what I was about to do. The room seemed empty, bare, characterless - just how I felt, really - now that Chad had packed up all his things and removed them from it. He was officially gone from my life now, and I was gone from his. I had also removed all my items from his place in California, which hadn't been as awful as I had expected, and sold my apartment there. He'd helped me with clearing out my stuff, we'd agreed that there were no hard feelings, and when I was about to go we'd hugged and it wasn't even awkward. He was being so much nicer about it than was warranted.

My draws were no longer over-spilling with two people's plaid shirts and jeans and jumpers and socks - they rattled with one person's instead, and were quickly dispensed into the holdall I reserved for getaways like this. Only this time, I was going to stay longer. I didn't know when I'd be back. I didn't have any plans at all; I hadn't let myself think it through, for fear I'd change my mind. Of course, I wasn't going to miss any tour dates or cause any major drama. I didn't want to make a huge fuss. I just wanted to disappear quietly, without anyone noticing; when the next round of shows came around, I'd dutifully turn up and perform and then return to an anonymous life in another country where I could pass the days forgetting about him. I just wanted to get out of Nashville, because that was where he was. I just wanted to escape the memory of him.

Maybe I was overreacting. Maybe I was interpreting his reaction to my question the wrong way. He didn't confirm it, I had attempted to tell myself at first. But as the minutes turned to hours, thoughts like he didn't deny it, either, began to overwhelm the others. And why would Jenna make up something as huge as having a baby? Even if it turned out not to be true, I couldn't deal with lying to everyone anymore. It was all too much. He's chosen her over me. I've just got to accept that and move on.

With two hours left before my flight (booking it that last minute had made it extortionately expensive, but I didn't care), I rolled the last of my clothes into tight bundles and shoved them into my bag, managing to force in a pair of black sneakers when I sat on the lid to keep it shut while I zipped it up. This case had been to a lot of places with me. It seemed that it knew me better than anyone else on Earth.

Stumbling down the stairs, I pulled it behind me and rested it on the doorstep as I stood outside and took a final look at my house. It was the first thing I'd spent a large sum of money on, and I was proud of the way I'd done it up, decorating the kitchen with handmade birdhouses and buying a retro dining set that reminded me of my childhood. Like I said, I don't tend to miss places, but right then I felt sorry to be leaving it behind. As an afterthought, I darted back inside and grabbed a Post-It note from the hall stand, sticking it on the front door beneath the knocker and scrawling a message on it in case anyone came calling while I was away.

'Gone where the rest of the dreamers go.'

Even as I put my pen back in my pocket, a breeze made it flutter precariously and I knew it would probably be blown into a puddle in no time. But I was allowing myself a few sentimental liberties, because this expedition was unlike any other I'd ever made and I had no idea when I would be returning.

I slung my bag into the trunk of my car and climbed inside. I tried not to allow myself to think as I drove to the airport, but it was inevitable. Relenting to the memories that flashed in my brain, I told myself if I watched them back just this one time, I would store them away and never look at them again. I remembered the expression Josh got when he was concentrating on playing - the way a little crease formed between his eyebrows and his tongue poked out slightly from his lips; I remembered how it felt when he had his arms around me - I savoured the feeling of warmth and safety, knowing I wouldn't have it again; and finally, the one that hurt the most - I recalled the fire that burned inside me when we kissed - I remembered the passion and the desire and most of all, the love. The fire seemed so real that I felt it consuming my insides, scorching me. It hurt. I let them overcome me, and finally I let them go.

All lost now.

I shouldn't have expected anything different. I always knew, at the back of my mind, that it wasn't going to turn out the way I wanted. How could it? We were two very different people. He was married. I was the singer of a rock band and had people scrutinising my every move. We hadn't spoken in years - and for good reason, it appeared now. The demons of our past were always going to get in the way, and I had been stupid for clinging onto the blind hope that they wouldn't.

I reached the airport within half an hour and lugged my case over to the counter in my section of the airline carrier, checked in my luggage and boarding pass and handed over my ID to the employee there. She looked at the printed name and my face in person and took a double take; I think she knew who I was, but she didn't say anything. Maybe she wasn't entirely sure if I was who she suspected; I looked so different from the person on my passport. I thought of how I'd had the photo taken last Spring in a booth in the mall with my sister Erica, and we had been in such high spirits that we had spent around fifty dollars on two dozen attempts trying to get a serious one where I wasn't pulling a silly face. My drained features now and the tired shadows under my eyes made me almost unrecognisable.

Leaving without telling her, or McKayla, or my mother, or Jeremy and Taylor was low. They would worry when I didn't come back within a few days. It's too late to turn back now, though.

I headed to security and passed through the x-ray without difficulty, finally making my way to my terminal to wait. It was nearing midnight, but there were still plenty of people clogging up the walkways for me to barge through. I still had a little while before I was called for the flight, so I slumped down in the waiting area and felt my head beginning to swim. I often had brief spells of dizziness like this when I was apprehensive or stressed. I put my head between my knees and breathed deeply through my nose, staring at the shiny white linoleum floor beneath my feet.

Not too long to go. Soon I would have the air of new places in my lungs, and would be surrounded by new people and sights and surroundings. I can forget about him. I can.

Who am I kidding? This isn't going to work. I'm never going to forget him.

I can try.

My thoughts spun in useless loops like this until the lightheadedness increased and I felt bile rising in my throat. I squeezed my eyes shut to block them out, along with the light and sounds and smells so that I was completely enclosed by my own oblivious bubble.

I couldn't completely close myself off from the outside world, though. The noises of the people around me faded, but two sounds succeeded in penetrating the invisible defences I built around myself; first, the speakers on the walls buzzed with static and then a bored voice announced that the plane was now ready for boarding. As everyone else stood up, I remained seated just a little longer to make sure I wasn't going to throw up.

And second, I heard someone shouting my name.

No, not just someone. Him. Him.

No, it can't be him. You're imagining it. Stop it; you're only going to make it more painful for yourself.

As I got out of my seat and joined the back of the line of people that were destined for the same plane as I was, though, the voice got louder and more proximate until I couldn't renounce it to my imagination anymore. Can I allow myself to turn my head to see if it really is him, just to be disappointed?

"Hayley! Hayley!"

That was when I felt his hand on my shoulder, and I spun around to find him standing there, panting with the exertion; I could tell he'd been running for quite some time. In the other hand - the one not grasping the fabric of my coat, refusing to let me go - he was holding a ticket like mine.

"Josh!" I gasped. It was him. My knees were about to give way; I could feel it. His hand was pretty much the only thing keeping me upright. "What are you doing here?"

And when I get there it won't be far enough

I'm a renegade, it's in my blood

If ever I get there it won't be fast enough

I'm a renegade, I always was

I'll keep running

I'll keep running again