He blinked, realization hitting him. Him: Oh, that’s right. Sorry, I forgot about your hobby.
I rolled my eyes. Me: It isn’t a hobby.
He grinned. Him: Right. It’s a psychiatric disorder.
I scowled playfully, but inside I wondered. Was I some psycho? I ran away from home because I didn’t want to go to London. But I knew it meant more than that: London meant I was never going to see my old house again, or this creek, and most importantly, Drew. But was it wrong to care so much about a guy that I would hurt my dad in the process? Was it right? Who did I care about most? My family or my boyfriend?
I knew which I should care for more.But I also knew, ashamedly, that I didn’t. Don’t get me wrong, I loved my dad, but deep down, I held him responsible for everything that happened to me. I blamed him for my problems and I hated him for it.
But Drew, Drew had done nothing yet, nothing to make me love him less. There was nothing holding me away from him… except my dad.
So I had made my choice.
I had run away.