I saw them again the next day, shopping for cereal in the small grocery store, hidden between two massive buildings, peeking out from the basement. They didn't even see me, but I knew they were not only looking for breakfast alternatives.

The man who owns the place has known me since I first ran, and he sometimes lets me get things from the bake sale for free if I come right before closing.

    Erika and Aiden are tracking me, and not just following my current footsteps. They know where I frequent, where I hide. They must have been watching me for ages.

    As soon as I see Erika’s curly, golden hair, I turn on my heel and walk calmly out of the store.

    “Hej, Camilla!” Torben yells, smiling. He leans against the counter and opens his mouth to say something stupid and slightly funny. I don't get to hear it. I am running as fast as I can out of the store. I heard the box drop from the aisle where they were. As my feet carry me away from the inner town and out towards the suburbs, my mind makes up the scene that must have unfolded. They followed me, scent or chip or whatever, to this store, thought I wasn't there, heard my name, then came after me. I don't think they have guns, this isn't America, but they properly have other stuff. Were they going to drug me and carry me off? Or perhaps just knock me out? Cuff me and pretend they are undercover cops? It doesn't really matter, I know that. I am gone already, miles away from the store.

    Still, it’s nice to know what you are up against.

    I stop. Lean against the wall of the apartment building. Take deep breaths. No kidnappers in sight, just an old lady walking her dog and two children trying to climb a tree. I scrape the back of my neck as I slide down the rough wall. My feet aren't hurting. I think I lost most of my feelings in them ages ago. I still reach for them, rubbing them through my shoes. Second time in as many days, although this one wasn't as close as yesterday.

    I don't believe in anything, but if I did I would know this was my sign to move to Italy. Although I am no spy or traitor, I have been compromised. Found and chased. I thought I knew what it meant to be an animal when I first got used to sleeping outside, but that pales compared to this. The pure, animalistic fear. At some point, I realize that it's not as much about what is going to happen to me, it's the being caught that scares me. That moment when their hands land the final blow, when I am on the ground, being dragged up and away. That’s what is terrifying. I don't want to leave freedom, I don't want to leave the streets.

    All my time as homeless has taught me one thing. There are three kinds of people living on the street. Those who didn't choose it, those who did, and those who pretend they did. There is a surprisingly high amount of the last one. It makes sense, humans are stubborn and proud. A lot of people on the streets say they did this themselves, say they like it like this, say they are fine. They aren't. Their whole world was wrecked. In their eyes I see it, they went to the funeral, the priest said it was an accident but now they are shaking the hands of relatives, calling it happy suicide. They fall into the ground, and from beyond they watch the dirt pile up.

    I know those people because I am them. I buried myself with eagerness, but it was not my choice. I think I died a long time ago. God threw out my soul, and now this handsome man and even more beautiful woman have come to drag me away. I am stubborn, and when my time comes I will scream.

    This was not my decision.

    A single tear falls down on my cheek. I rub it away with my hand and turn around to look at my reflection in the window. There is dirt on my face, like always, but now there is a single line of clean skin. I was never cut out to be an angel.