misfit

I have a tendency to overstay my welcome, so after a while I made it a point of leaving town before that could happen. If you travel long enough, you start to get a feeling for when it's about to happen--that moment when the idea first enters their minds that maybe they are a better host than you are a guest. At first they're too nice, too polite, to even consider the thought, but it's there. A weariness to their smile when they say hello, a tension to their voice when they invite you to dinner. When that happens, you pack your things and you leave, and you absolutely don't think about it. Everyone's happier this way.

Sometimes, they'd try to stop me. Sometimes I made friends with them, and sometimes when they'd catch me in the dark sneaking out, it took all the willpower I had to say no. But I made a promise to myself, and I care about my promises. (At first I tried promising not to make friends, but that one I couldn't keep. It's a lonely enough existence as it is.)

Except... I stayed for the winter and when the spring came and the ice and snow began to melt, I didn't want to leave. There was no sign that they were tired of having me around. They even let me cook for them, once they found out I could and decided I was actually good enough. It had been ages since I'd done that. So once spring was in full bloom, with the flowers and the trees so impossibly bright, I was gripped with a panic so intense I very nearly fled without even gathering my things.

I tried to leave that night. I didn't make much of an effort to hide it, lost as I was between panic and the conviction that she would catch me leaving anyway. Instead I spent the night steeling myself for whatever she might say as I packed. I wasn't prepared for her to arrive, a bag on her shoulders, and say, "Will you take me with you?"

If you listened carefully, you could have heard my will shatter into a thousand pieces at that exact moment. I slumped back onto the bed, and tried my very hardest not to meet her eyes. "It's dangerous out there," I said. And how could I live with myself if I dragged her away from her home?

"Oh." She tried not to show her disappointment, tried not to argue. "Be safe, then. You know you'll always be welcome here."

She caught my eye, then. There was a challenge there. It was a long, cold winter and she knew all my stories by now. I smiled, despite myself, and she grinned at me, somehow both innocent and smug. "I'm willing to test that, if you are."