RUNNING NOWHERE FAST
1119 Words
CHAPTER 08
The semester was ending.
The once lively music halls now echoed with the weight of uncertainty. Sheet music lay scattered like confetti on the ground after a celebration no one stayed to clean up. Students buzzed about final performances, future auditions, and last-minute projects, but Logan felt detached from it all—like someone standing on the outside of a life he was supposed to want.
He watched Ava from a distance that day, her laugh catching on the breeze as she teased a friend by the piano room. Her hair was up in a loose bun, and her hands moved animatedly as she spoke. She was light. Free.
And he?
He was sinking.
Logan’s phone buzzed for the third time that morning. This time, there was no escaping it. The name on the screen glared at him in bold, unforgiving letters: Dad.
He stared for a moment, then answered.
“Where are you?” came the sharp voice. “I’m outside. Come out.”
No hello. No how are you. Just commands. Just expectations.
Logan froze. “Outside?”
“Now.”
Click.
He stood there for a second, pulse racing, every muscle in his body screaming don’t go. But his feet moved anyway. They always did when it came to his father.
He found the black car parked right by the school’s stone archway. Windows tinted, sleek, and imposing—just like the man inside it.
The door opened before Logan even reached the handle.
“Get in,” his father said, not looking at him.
Logan obeyed. A part of him still conditioned like a soldier—trained to follow, not feel.
Inside the car, the air was too cold. Sterile. His father’s cologne filled the space—sharp, dominant, overpowering.
“I assume your little music experiment is coming to an end?” the man said, scrolling through something on his phone.
“It’s not an experiment,” Logan said tightly. “It’s my life.”
“Your life is in New York,” his father snapped. “Not here.”
Logan felt his stomach clench.
“You’re taking over the Parkhill merger,” his father continued. “Next week. The board is expecting a presentation by Tuesday. You’ll be flown out Sunday morning. The jet’s already scheduled.”
“I never agreed to that.”
“You don’t need to agree,” he said, eyes narrowing. “You’re the heir. This isn’t a debate, Logan. It’s time to grow up.”
Logan looked out the window, his jaw clenched so tight it ached. Students were still walking by, laughing, carefree.
He had never known what that felt like.
“You told me I could have two years,” Logan said quietly. “You promised.”
His father finally looked at him—eyes cold as stone. “And now your years are up. Don’t pretend this school was anything but a phase. A distraction.”
Logan’s voice dropped to a whisper. “It’s the only thing that’s ever felt real.”
There was silence.
Then, his father leaned back. “Do you think real men survive with guitars and love songs? Do you think being sentimental pays the bills, Logan? I let you indulge because I thought you’d grow out of it. But clearly, you’re still too soft.”
Logan said nothing.
“Cut the act. End it with the girl. Leave the guitar. And get ready for a real future.”
⸻
Later that day, Logan didn’t go home. He ended up in the old practice room, a place where he used to spend hours writing songs before the world demanded he become someone else.
He sat there with his guitar, but the strings felt foreign under his fingers.
He was numb.
The door opened behind him. He didn’t have to look up.
“Didn’t answer my calls,” Marcus said casually, stepping in and closing the door behind him.
Logan offered a weak smile. “Didn’t feel like talking.”
“You look like someone who got told to kill a puppy.”
“I think he actually asked me to kill myself,” Logan muttered. “Just in pieces.”
Marcus sank onto the stool beside him, frowning. “What happened?”
Logan sighed. “My dad’s here. He wants me in New York by Sunday. I’m apparently running a corporate merger next week.”
Marcus blinked. “And music?”
“Over.”
“And Ava?”
Logan hesitated. His throat tightened. “He said to end it.”
Marcus leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “So what are you gonna do?”
Logan stared at the worn-out floorboards. “I don’t know. I feel like I’m being pulled under. Like if I take this step… I’ll never come back.”
Marcus was silent for a moment, then said, “Then don’t take the step. Don’t let him win.”
Logan laughed bitterly. “You make it sound so easy.”
“It’s not. But it’s the only way to stay you.”
A silence fell between them before Marcus added quietly, “Run away.”
Logan turned to him, startled. “What?”
“Run. Start over. You’ve got money. Talent. Hell, you could move to Paris, start a band, drink terrible wine, fall in love with the wrong people again. But at least it’ll be your life.”
Logan’s eyes darkened. “I can’t ask Ava to do that. I can’t drag her into something so reckless.”
Marcus shook his head. “You’re not asking her to run with you. You’re deciding whether you’re going to stop running from yourself.”
⸻
That night, Logan sat on his dorm bed, Ava’s favorite hoodie of his folded next to him. His phone buzzed—it was her.
Ava: You okay? You seemed off today.
He stared at the screen for a long time.
Then typed:
Logan: Can we talk? Tomorrow? I just… need to figure something out first.
Ava: Of course. I’m here.
He stared at her last message, guilt heavy in his chest. She deserved more than this mess. More than his confusion.
He opened the drawer where he kept his notebook—the one Ava gave him back in high school when they wrote music together. Inside was a note she left years ago.
“Wherever you go, take the real you with you.”
He touched the paper, torn between two worlds. One was cold and predictable. The other terrifying—but full of life.
Then he wrote:
“I think I want to leave. Not because I’m weak.
But because I’ve never been strong enough to choose myself.”
- Writer
