There are times at which you know that you've made a mistake before you've fully completed the act. You feel it inside of you; the wrongness, the sin, the inevitability that this will end badly, but you cannot bring yourself to turn back.

This is one of those times.

As I pull up in the parking space in the vibrant, colourful hotel, painted in various hues of blue, purple and red, little children running everywhere like a bunch of frightened chickens set loose, I feel the nervous excitement settle in the pit of my stomach.

I shouldn't be here.

I ran away from home.

Well, not exactly. It's not quite that dramatic.

I left my parents, friends and job for a day, so that I could relax. I just want one day to myself. The only problem is that I haven't even begun to think of the lie that I'm going to concoct and hand them on a silver platter as an explanation for my disappearance.

Sighing, I open the car door so that I can make my way to the receptionist to check myself in.

I take my first step onto the pavement outside of the car door, and it feels so damning, as if I've sentenced myself to some unspeakable fate by doing this. It's ironic, really; I've gone through all of this trouble just so that I could relax, get a day to myself, but here I am, feeling as nervous and guilty as ever.

But I can't turn back.

I have to at least try.

With my phone switched off in my pocket, and a bag of necessities over my shoulder, I take a deep breath and walk to the front desk.