So, I'm running out of money.

Surfuckingprise.

I did my research. I read blogs, I watched vlogs. I knew this was coming. After two weeks of cramming on the couch, too paranoid to sleep, I learned that even if this recent and unwanted addition to my life (who at first I wasn't entirely sure was real - but that's a whole other set of brain-meltingly stupid decisions by me, to be discussed at length some time that isn't now.) was just some psychopathic bitch - which she is, don't get me wrong - that there wasn't such a thing as overly prepared.

Okay, so maybe the baseball bat with the nails was a little extreme. You go through that and tell me you wouldn't do the same fucking thing.

I call her Moira.

So when I learned that I'd most likely end up hotel hopping, I started to save up. Took a second job and starting looking into a car that would be cheap and good for travelling - I was out of college by that time anyway, living with my parents and without any real future to look forward to, so I didn't have much else to do with my time. My parents weren't pleased but hey, they were never really pleased. Loved them to bits but I guess I never quite lived up to their standards.

Bluh bluh whatever.

So I started doing whatever I could, pulling in as much cash as possible. O'course I wouldn't get more than a few weeks to get my shit together before tall, blonde and infuckingsane showed up on my door, (well, technically in my kitchen) but that's a story for another time.


Things went pretty quickly after that. For the first month I lived pretty well, stopping at the regular chains for a decent night's sleep and some free breakfast in the morning. After stuffing about fifteen buffet sandwiches into my bag, I'd head out and try to move to the next city. Just wanted to stay alive, y'know? I wanted to be the goddamn posterchild of Runners everywhere. A shining example of how to be Stalked and keep on living, not just surviving.


Oh, how young and damn well naive I was.

Of course, she didn't really help.

It was okay at first. The free breakfast sandwiches lasted me a week at least, which meant I didn't have to spend too much money on food. It was easy to steal the packets of jam and peanut butter and stuff some toast in my pockets (pocket toast is, by the way, not nearly as appetizing as it sounds) to eat later, even if the bread was stale after keeping them locked in the cooler for a few weeks - anything to prolong their life, I guess. I didn't want to die of starvation or scurvy or some shit.

Really, that's my only fear. (Aside from the obvious, of course.) Fresh fruit is expensive and doesn't last long. Juice goes bad quickly and needs to be kept cold. Even though I eventually I just settled on buying lemonade powder in bulk (thank god for the internet) and filling the same ten bottles of water up at every fountain and sink I can find, I'm burning through cash faster than I'm comfortable with. I'd consider selling my liver or my laptop or hell, even the car if it means I can stay alive for a few weeks longer. Internet cafes are common enough now, but I've already lost my phone and can't afford to stay in hotels. The last thing I want is to end up on the street - well, more than I already am - but, really, what choice do I have? It's not like I can settle down somewhere and get a job. Stopping isn't an option. I can't even afford to stop and take a piss anymore, let alone find somewhere to park the car and sleep for the night.

This isn't a game anymore. This is a running down.

And really, I wonder why I ever pretended it was anything but.

But whatever. I'm not going down without a fight. If it's cat and mouse she wants, it's cat and mouse she's going to fucking get.


The cornered rat bites the cat, Cougar.


Don't think I've given up yet. I've still got plenty left in me.