The reminder of that reality is like a punch to my stomach, and I’m pulled back to the contents of the journal and the comfort it brings. The pages of words that have kept me alive for the past four years fill the small book, and I fight the urge to flip through each one. Instead, I hold the photo for a few more seconds before placing it back in my journal.
I wrap the leather ties securely around the book, concealing the secrets that lie within once again before placing it in my bag.
A few loose photographs are scattered over the small dining table, and I carry my bag over, placing it on top. I’ve wasted enough time, so I gather up the photos into a jumbled pile, resisting the urge to look over each one and shove them into my backpack, pushing them down one side. Throwing my bag back onto the bed, I scramble to think if there’s anything else.
Muesli bars.
Not wanting to spend a cent more than I need to, I hurry into the kitchen and open the main cupboard. The half-empty box of muesli bars sits unaccompanied on the shelf, and I grab it before limping back to the bed and shoving it into my backpack before zipping it up.
With one last look around the little apartment, I shoulder my bag and head for the door.
Standing in the middle of the bustling train station, I finally hold a ticket out of here in my hand.
There’s a train to Perth, except it doesn’t leave until tomorrow afternoon. Not ideal, but it’s really the only option I have.
The attendant at the train station desk had been no help. I needed to get as far away from here as soon as I could, but the earliest departure they had was half a week from now, so they directed me to a small travel agent across the street.
They had one seat left in the cheapest class, and it had cost me almost nearly the whole of what I had left. But I was lucky to even get that.
Apparently, it’s not a typical train ride—it’s a four-day scenic journey. Except they needed my information, and when the young woman had asked for my ID, I’d nearly broken down completely.
Maybe it was my lack of belongings and obvious injury or my sheer desperation, but she’d pieced puzzle pieces together in her head. I’m not exactly sure how close to the truth her assumptions were because all she’d said was, “Don’t worry, I’m going to help you.” Then, with tear-shined eyes and a pitying smile, she’d handed over my ticket out of here.
What am I going to do for a whole day?
I don’t have anywhere to go.
Even if I had enough for a hotel room, they all require ID, and something tells me there’s no way I’d get around that hurdle again. With my stomach in knots and nowhere else to go, I find some seats nearby to sit down.
I feel sick.
I don’t know whether it’s because of everything that’s happened or because I haven’t eaten today, or maybe it’s both. So, I unzip my bag to take out the box of muesli bars, but my eyes zero in on what’s underneath.
Or what’s not there.
No. No,no!
Where’s my journal?
It had definitely been the next thing on top below the muesli bars. I know it was.
A pit opens in my stomach, and I sink to the ground as dread washes over me. Pulling everything out of my bag, I triple-check every compartment, but it’s not there.
Tears burn my eyes, and I try to blink them back. I can’t go back to my apartment. It’s too risky.
A stray tear falls, and I wipe it off my face with the back of my hand, trying to come to terms with the fact I’ve now lost the only two things that mean anything to me.