That night, I helped Rose pack. We did it quickly, silently and stealthily. We didn't want our adoptive parents to know we weren't in the same room.
We packed every last of our posessions, all of our clothes, my laptop and phone; Rose's CD player, our duvets and pillows, I brought my swiss army penknife, but Rose didn't know. I knew we would probably need it.
When we were done, we had four rucksack's worth of objects. I carried them all, but Rose carried a small cart she had gotten one Christmas from the only part of our family who loved us: our nan. But she was dead now, and what a loss she was.
Rose was excited, and she barely knew what was going on. All she knew was that Mary and Brian (our adoptive father) weren't going to be with us any more. We stopped at a bus-stop, and sat down our stuff. I held Rose in my big puffa jacket, because it was cold, and we hadn't prepared for it, and Rose insisted on wearing her thin denim jacket. Rose's hands clutched to me, and I folded the puffa jacket around her to keep her warm.
Moments later, the bus came. It was so early in the morning, that there was no one on the bus except for the driver, and I knew he wasn't going to ask questions. I knew him.
"Hey, Jake." I said to him.
"Alex." he nodded then looked at the squirming bulge in my jacket that I was holding.
"My sister. She was cold." I said before he had time to ask. He nodded again and looked forward, as I went to sit down. I could feel the tension, because he knew what we were doing, but he wasn't saying anything.
I was just hoping that we would be able to get by with the three thousand pounds I stole from Mary and Brian.