Meet You HalfwayMature

Runaway teens. They run, try not get to get found. Sometimes it's hard when you only have a certain amount of cash and the police are looking for you. Can they handle life on the run?

I yawned. The sun was just setting behind a few skyscrapers, so I figured it was about five o'clock in LA. I looked at my hair, it was a disaster. How long had I slept? I looked in my bag and grabbed my water bottle, spraying the last few drops of water on my burgundy waves. I brushed out my hair as painlessly as I could and then did a quick braid.

 

My black shorts felt a little baggier on me, as did my hot pink tank top. I probably smelled disgusting. I put my water bottle and brush back in my Victoria's Secret tote and stretched, popping my back. I put on some clinical strength deodorant and sprayed the last of my country chic body spray before chunking it in the trash can closest to me.

 

Only running away last week, I already felt like I have been on my own for a month. I couldn’t take the stress of my parents and school and everything else anymore. When people look at me all they see is a pretty face, maybe even a beautiful one. I’m not about to cry for a pity party and say that I don’t think I’m pretty and I feel fat and I have thunder thighs and whatnot. I don’t. Honestly, I’m one of the thirty percent of girls who look in the mirror and don’t feel bad about themselves. Anyways, when people look at me on the streets they think that I ran away because I didn’t get a new cell phone for my fourteenth birthday so I threw a fit and left.

 

No.

 

It’s much more complicated than that. If you want to know, I’ll tell you, when the time is right. I don’t trust people very easily, especially not with my problems. I feel like if I have a problem that problem is my own, no one else needs to worry about it, or how I handle it. My business is my business.  Maybe that’s why I get called a bitch or whatever. Maybe other people are just jealous. They shouldn’t be. My life is no different than theirs, besides the fact that my parents are rich. My parents are clueless with everything but business. They know how to build a business like Donald Trump.

 

That’s their problem though. They only know how to build business, not family. So here I sat in a tiny alley at about five in the morning in the beautiful city of Los Angeles. Hoping someone would find me. I was tired of being alone.

The End

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