I looked out the window, small drops of rain glistened on the glass while others ran down the edges. Rain. I haden't felt rain in seven months.
I listened for a moment, there was no sound, Vincent was gone.
I was afraid, but I had to do it. Today. I had to run. Walking up to the window I took a look at the width. Maybe, I could fit through. I had lost a lot of weight since I'd been with Vincent, I'm sure I was thin enough now. The window was high, up in a corner.
I was glad to have it. The closet was starting to feel welcoming, I missed it. The nice, silence of the darkness.
No. You can't love something you've become. You've become darkness, and loving yourself is arrogant. It is not allowed. Because no one loves you.
A sudden rush of guilt swept through me. I backed away from the window. No, I had to do this.
Grabbing hold of the edge of the window I lifted myself into a comfortable position. It was a lot easier than I had expected, but my strength was giving out. Looking at the glass, I haden't realized I'd have to break through it. Dropping down again, I searched through my room for anything that could shatter the glass. Nothing.
Climbing back on the sill I preped myself.
Do it. Just do it, punch it.
Closing my eyes, I took a deep breath. Get angry.
Immediately I thought of Vincent. The way he mocks me, abuses me. I thought of my parents, my friends. They have done nothing to help, nothing to save me, the did not love me. I was worthless.
The list went on and on, the only thing jolting me out of the rage I felt was the blood seeping out of the cuts on my hand and wrist. the blow had shattered the glass and part of the screen behind it.
Carefully I shifted the pieces of glass and bent back the wire of the screen, recieving several more cuts as I attempted to squeeze through the opening. I went slowly, easing my way through.
It was so quiet, I felt the need to hold my breath, not disturb the silence. Then I remembered Vincent wasn't home, and I went a little faster.
I was out up to my shins, the screen was digging into my skin, and the mud around the yard from the rain had gotten onto my clothes and in the scrapes on my hands.
In that moment, the front door had slammed upstairs. Vincent was home.
Quickly I turned and broke loose into the backyard, a large gash split across the side of my calf. Ignoring the pain I ran without a clue where I was going, refusing to look back.
I slashed my way through the brush of a small forest, my breath was short and I had to stop many times. By the time night fell I was running on empty. Out of fear I still moved through the night, ducking under branches and stumbling over rocks as the wind pounded fiercefully at my back.
Finally, I decided to look behind me, facing the long distance I had traveled. Begging that Vincent wasn't following.
Turning, I saw nothing but darkness and the sounds of midnight animals calling in the forest.
Terror still paralyzed me, but I had to rest. I found a large tree with giant roots that I could lay against. It was almost more comfortable than the bed in my room.
I was able to sleep for a few moments, but as soon as the sun rose I was right behind it, using my surroundings to help guide me. The trees had thinned out and I noticed faint sounds of cars flying on the highway.
Smiling to myself I broke into a run once more, a new found thrill of hope surging through me. Eventually I exited the woods into a low, flat field. Across from it was a court with three houses, each made of brick with neatly trimmed yards.
Walking up to the first house I rang the doorbell. I couldn't imagine what the person will think when they see a dirty, scrawny boy waiting at their door step.
A woman answered, her face had many wrinkles and her hair was swept into a high bun on the top of her head.
"Oh." she said, shocked by my appearence.
"Hello." I choked out, my voice was raspy and sore. I hadn't spoken in such a long time.
"May I help you?" she asked, her eyebrows raised, one hand on the door knob, ready to shut me out.
"Yes, um..do you know where a police station might be?" I asked, rubbing my arms awkwardly. She noticed the cuts.
"My husband is a police officer."
"Really? Oh please, can you please let me speak with him?"
She hesitated, checking behind her before she allowed me in the house. It looked very similar to Vincents, like the whole upstairs was set in the same format.
"Bryan!" the woman called down the stairs, "There's a boy here to see you!"
"What's your name?" she whispered
"Nick." It took a moment for me to recall.
"Lucy! I'm busy, the Packers are on-"
"Its important!" she yelled, curling her hands around the posts of the stairwell.
Heavy footsteps were heard as a large man with cowboy boots entered the den where we sat.
"Who the hell are you?"
"His name is Nick." Lucy said, handing me a cup of water.
I flinched at the gesture, but I don't think she noticed.
"What do you want?"
I explained to him why I was there, and why it was so important for me to get home.
"You!" Lucy shrieked, her eyes widening. "You're that boy! That kid from the news!" She hugged me then, it hurt and felt awkward and stiff. I slowly returned the embrace.
"Oh Bryan you gotta help him!" she pleaded, biting her lip.
"Alright. And tomorrow I'll go out and look for this 'Vincent' character."
"Thank you, both, so much." I said, my voice faltered a bit. It had been so long since I'd had a decent conversation, or any conversation.
He took me out to his police car and dropped me off on the outside of my town. It was as it is usually, bright warm lighting and tall grassy meadows.
"You take care kid." Bryan said, giving me a wink as he drove away into the setting sun.
"Thank you!" I called once again before jogging up to the entrance of my town. Home.
I never thought I would be standing here again, but here I was in the field where Lacy and I had sat so many months ago. I took it all in, the air, the grass, the people.
Sure enough, right where we had once been, I saw a couple lying in the field, on a giant quilt, looking into the stars.
Memories flashed through me and I stood back to watch the happiness for a moment.
I could make out pieces of the conversation.
"Do you love me?" the boy said, he had sandy blonde hair and thick brimmed glasses across his face
"Can't you trust me? Do I have to say it?" the girl asked, her hair, too, was blonde and went in thick curls down her back.
The boy just sighed and layed back on the quilt. "I know. I'm sorry." he kissed her lightly on the cheek. Even in the dim lighting, you could see her blush.
Suddenly the branch I was leaning on snapped, and they both turned to face me their eyes wide. I had barely gotten enough time to duck behind the trunk of the tree.
"Lacy, I think we should go, it's getting late anyway." The boy said, gathering the quilt in his arms before offering a hand to help her up.
The tears had begun so soon.