A lost girl's guide to somewhere

I seriously have no idea what I am doing this time. This is not really the first time I f****d up, but to be honest, it is the worst. The only good thing I can say about my flight from Spain is that it was short. I was stuck between a snoring old lady in her seventies, dressed, ironically, like she still lives in the seventies, and two lovebirds. I pulled my hood over my head and glanced over to the couple. A few years younger than me, I think, but I felt much older and way more tired. He was a typical wannabe-Bieber lookalike, but she caught my attention. She was blonde and slim, her pretty face had carefully applied makeup and her clothes were tight and bright. I felt like a beggar next to her. I looked like a beggar next to her. I pulled my hood even more, so no one would see the bruises. I know what it was that made my heart flinch. She reminded me of me, in better times. I could've been her. The snoring lady put her hand on mine in her sleep. I left it there. It was oddly comforting. I was an emotional wreck, i haven't slept properly in a few months and the stress left me in dire need of a human touch. Luckily for me, the plane landed before I had a breakdown. I only had two bags and the taxi driver was quite happy he did not have to help me with them. They were not exactly heavy, I only packed what I thought was essential - some clothes, some cups and jewellery my mother gave me, and a few books I could not separate from. I threw my phone away at the airport bathroom. I wanted little or no reminders of my past life. I forgot the driver's name the moment he introduced himself. He was an immigrant from Bosnia, so I probably would have mispronounced it anyway. He was really chatty, so by the end of our trip I knew everything there is to know about his English wife and their four children, aged 3 to 8. I was glad he was talking a lot, so I did not have to. A couple of encouraging nods and stupid questions every now and then was all he needed to go on and on. The terrain was slowly changing, big city lights got replaced by wider streets and faster traffic. "Welcome to the suburbs," I mumbled to myself. My father's house stood at the end of a long road of apartment buildings and coffee shops. It was built around sixty years ago, if I remember correctly, and it has seen better times. I paid the driver, officially declaring myself broke. I took the only two ragged bags that I owned and made my way towards the only two houses at the end of the block. There was nowhere else to go. Behind the houses the forest was lurking, and I do not know if it was the flight, the stress of the last few years or just knowing that I finally made a decision that would save me a lot of pain, but I finally broke down. I was sobbing quietly by the front door, while on my knees looking for the hidden spare key. My father did not have much imagination. It was where it always was, under a grey flowering plant with ducks on it. My childhood favourite. My hands were shaking, as I was trying to keep the noise to the minimum. I did not know people from the house across the street, I did not even know if anyone even lived there, but I did not want my new neighbours to think me weird from the very start. I should at least try and pretend to be normal. I locked the door behind me, threw bags in the corner and forgot everything I meant to do. I did not unpack the few things I had, I did not take a shower, I did not warm up the otherwise freezing house. I simply walked up to my old bedroom, where the bed was waiting for me as I had only been there the day before. It accepted me as an old friend and finally, finally - I slept.