I realized I had nothing to take. I was never going back into that house filled with alcoholic anger. I was never setting a foot in it. I didn't even want to look at it. The beige color, the white door with the numbers 492 printed on the top, the porch made of old wood that creaked all the time, specifically the fifth board. Sure, I grew up in that house, but even when my mother was dead and gone, I didn't want to go back. The memories would haunt me forever.

"Uh- I don't have clothes to bring or anything." I faintly told Alan. He looked at me and looked back at Austin, who was bringing his bag on to the tour bus.

"We could go back to your house and get them." I flinched when Austin said that. But I didn't want to upset them, I didn't want them to have to buy me all new clothes, or let me wear theirs. Geez, I am probably the most selfless person I know.

"Uh. Okay." I almost whispered to hide the shakiness in my voice. Alan told me he would drive me there in his car, and I could also drive to the tour with him, following the tour bus instead of being in it. I accepted his offer, of course. I gave him the directions to my house, and soon enough we were there. I told him he could stay in the car, and it would only take a few minutes since I didn't really have to pick, I was just bringing all my stuff.

I approached the door slowly and found it was cracked open about an inch. I sighed in relief, realizing I didn't have to be greeted by my mother. I opened the door and found the usual mess of beer cans and stains on the once white carpet. I found there was a pretty built up pile of dishes in the kitchen, signaling my mother hadn't really done anything, or she disappeared again. That's the thing. She'd just be gone sometimes, never there for when her daughter needed her most. Like she was ever there, though.

I proceeded up the stairs to my bedroom, where I found it the way it was left. I quickly packed almost all my clothes, except the ones I didn't want. Maybe my mother would want at least some memory of me. Doubt it. That's when I saw the picture of my dad and I on my nightstand. He was wearing a big beautiful smile and a pair of bright eyes, me sitting on his shoulders, 6 years old, matching him. We were exact. Big, blue eyes. Naturally brown hair. Perfect teeth. He was the best. Then, the day the drunk driver crashed into him, it all changed. He was gone. And I was only 10.

I then looked at the picture of my mother. I was 9, the year before my father died. We were the exact opposite. She stood next to me, wrapping an arm around me tightly. Her medium length blond hair was falling in waves around her shoulders, and her big brown eyes were sparkling. Her face looked so young. Now, she's just not the same. Alcohol has taken her over. Taking her beauty from her so easily.

I packed both picture frames in the bag, hiding them on the bottom. I hauled the suitcase down the stairs, saying a goodbye to this life. I walked out the door, and felt refreshed, yet abandoned. Glad to get out, not glad to know no one cares.

I stuffed the suitcase in the backseat and sat up front. As I got in I looked at Alan, who smiled back at me. I couldn't wait to get out of here.

We rode away, leaving the town quickly. I said goodbye to the ocean, the shops, my high school, everything. I was glad I was never going back. Hopefully.

"Tell me about yourself." Alan suddenly blurted out. I looked over at him.

"Uh, well. I've lived here forever, with my mom and dad. We were a very happy family, until my dad got into a uh... car crash. He was killed. My mom ended up becoming an alcoholic, and she never cared about me anymore. That's my story. I guess." I choked out. I trusted him enough to tell him. He nodded his head, and felt my pain. I was shocked when he grabbed my hand and squeezed tightly on it, like he was going to break it. It was actually hurting.

"Alan you're going to hurt me!" I laughed, and he chuckled and released my hand.

"Tell me about you." I told him.

"Well, um... I don't have anything to say really." He laughed. I laughed. We laughed.

"Well, what's your favorite animal?" I asked him.

"Cat." He instantly answered with enthusiasm.

"Good answer. Mine is a fox." I told him. These kind of question went on the entire time, until I ended up drifting off to sleep, my feet hanging out the window, letting the nice cool air hit them. It was relaxing as ever. I could tell already things were going to get better.