The SGT at arms and his run-away

Prologue

*Willow*

The heavy wooden door creaks behind me as I steal away from the suffocating confines of St. Agatha's Boarding School. My heart pounds in sync with the rhythmic pat of my sneakers on the dew-drenched grass.

I’m not sure why I’m doing this. This is so not me and still I’m desperate for it.

"Sister Mary will kill me if she finds out, not to mention… him," I mumble to myself. But the whisper of the wind, carrying the salty scent of the ocean from Point Morro, is louder, bolder, calling for me. I'm not some caged bird. I'm nineteen and desperate for a taste of freedom, a hint of life beyond these high, cold stone walls.

"Willow," I hear my friend, Clara, calling softly as I pass by the dormitory windows. I halt and turn to her, my heart pounding in my chest. "Are you sure about this?"

I nod, trying to convey more confidence than I feel. "Just cover for me until this afternoon, I’ll be back then. I promise."

Her worried look wavers for a moment before she sighs, resignation settling in her eyes. "Alright, Willow. Be careful."

I start running again, the chill morning air filling my lungs. I can't help the exhilarating thrill that sparks inside me. I'm doing this, sneaking away, hitchhiking into Point Morro. And for once, I'm not afraid. Not of the nuns, not of the unknown, not even of the consequences. Because out there, beyond the school's gates, is the promise of freedom. And that's a promise I'm willing to risk everything for.

There is one thing I’m still scared of… my family… but luckily they’re not around. And as this is just a short glimpse of freedom they’ll never know.

The road ahead is empty and eerily quiet, lit only by the rapidly rising sun, still hanging low in the sky. I stick my thumb out, hoping against hope that somebody's awake at this ungodly hour. The rumble of an engine soon shatters the silence, and a truck pulls over.

"Where to, kid?" the driver, a grizzled man in his forties, asks.

I instantly feel my cheeks heat up, reconsidering my choice, I’m not good with strangers, and especially not men, but if I want this I have to speak to him, "Point Morro, please."

He grunts in acknowledgment, and I hop into the passenger seat, my heart pounding like a wild drum. The truck roars to life and we are off, leaving St. Agatha's and all its rules in our wake.

As we pull into Point Morro, the sun has fully risen, painting the town in a warm golden glow. I thank the driver, hop off the truck, and take a deep breath as I look around. Point Morro is beautiful with its small houses, quiet streets, and the peaceful hum of the ocean in the distance.

My heart swells with a newfound sense of freedom. Here, I’m just Willow, not a wayward student of St. Agatha's, not a pawn in the hands of religious women or my f****d up family. I scan the streets, praying none of my family members are around. The last thing I need is someone recognizing me and reporting back to the school.

For now, it seems like the coast is clear. I take a moment to revel in the feel of the gentle wind on my face and the salty smell of the sea. This is my day of freedom. And I intend to savor every single moment of it.

*Zac*

The morning sun peeks over the horizon as I strap Iris's pink helmet firmly beneath her little chin. Then I ensure she’s secure on the back of my bike. "Hold on tight, princess," I tell her. She’s used to this by now and knows how to hold on, and I never drive fast with her. The rumble of the engine vibrating beneath us.

She giggles, her laughter a soothing balm to the raw edges of my soul. Iris is my world, my lone star shining in the dark night. I’ve raised her alone for almost a year now, her innocence and love filling the void in my heart. But despite the joy she brings, there’s a melancholy that clings to me, a ghost of my past that refuses to be exorcized.

With her secured, we navigate through the quiet streets, past picket fences and manicured lawns, towards her kindergarten. I relish these moments, holding onto them as if they can somehow stave off the loneliness that always creeps in once she’s out of sight. My life has become a series of motions for most of the time.

Once I’ve dropped her off, I kickstart the engine and head back through town, the familiar sights and sounds offering little comfort. But today, something different catches my eye. A young woman with hair like strawberry-tinted honey, flowing over her shoulders, is standing on the sidewalk, looking around curiously like she has just popped out of a rabbit hole into this world of wonder.

I know most people in this town, but I know I’ve never seen her before. I would no doubt remember if I’d ever laid eyes on her. Then she confidently opens a door and steps into a small cafe. Her presence is magnetic, pulling at something deep within me, even now when I can no longer see her.

Before I can rationalize it, I find myself steering the bike to a halt, parking it, and walking towards the cafe. There’s something about her, a beckoning that I can't ignore, a hope that maybe, just maybe, she might be the one to chase away the shadows.