Runaway

Chapter One

Tears fall down my cheek as I glare at myself through the mirror. What once was a bun swirls out of place, long strays of dark brown hair fall onto my shoulder, the rest bobbing at my every move. Dark circles ages my youthful skin, leaving me straring at an old ghost in the mirror. The dark brown eyes glowering, salty water streaming from them. I can taste the salt on the tip of my tongue as it leaks through my parted lips. I sigh, not able to bear the sight. I've become an old ghost. A ghost who has nothing to live for.

A knock from the door startles me and my heart races in my chest. I press my hands onto the counter to support my shaking body. The knock echoes again and I can imagine his face all over again. Those daring brown eyes and balding brown hair. The rugged hairs growing on his face, causing him to look more dangerous in my eyes, the eyes of a broken child. I don't dare to answer his knocks, but I don't want the knocks to continue to interrupt my thoughts either. Swiftly, I swing open the door, the wind brushing back the long strays of hair, and slightly causing my eyes to widen.

"Are you crying?" he asks and I can feel stupidity washing over me.

I have forgotten to wash my face to hide the tear stains and puffy eyes. However, my glum smile will give it away since he can read me easier than a book. The thought frightens me, making me take a step back, gripping onto the sink counter. I can almost feel his breath on my neck even though he is two feet away.

"I hit my knee and it started to hurt badly. I had to let out a few tears," I lie sheepishly, rubbing my left knee for emphasis.

His eyes linger over to my knee and stares silently for the longest second. I want to kick him. Kick him hard and run without any shoes or proper clothing. It doesn't matter if there are fresh clothes waiting for me at home and comfortable shoes to suppress my bare feet. But I suppose he'd take in the kick and the pain with pleasure, using it as another way to has satisfaction by my touch. I take another step back, feeling my heart pound against my chest, begging to burst out.

I ignore its plea and stare down at the floor, praying that he believed me.

"Are you okay? Do you need any band aids?" The moment his voice sounds concern, I feel like crying even more. The way his eyes gaze into mine, pleading for me to let him cure my pain. But I cry knowing that this pain is something he cannot fix. Something he broke a long time ago. And suddenly, he wants to fix me from any harm. How pathetic.

Vaguely, I shake my head and walk past him, feeling my arm brush against his hard chest. My fingers ball into fists and I walk over to the bedroom, the room I should have slept in the night before, but was obligated to sleep in his room on his bed. I begin to remember the sound of his breath when he was in deep sleep. The feel of his warm hands up my thighs. I shiver and my legs turn into jell-o, unable to make it to my book bag that awaits for me on the bed. I fall to the floor and quickly yank myself back up, not wanting him to suspect anything strange.

I snatch my bag and swing the door clothes, wanting to change in privet for once. But the second I pull down my skimpy shorts, he cracks open the door and slips his head in to view me half naked. I squeal and run over to the door, pushing his head out and shutting the door closed. The stupid thing doesn't have a lock, making it easier for him to snake throughout the small apartment and peer into one room to the next. I shiver at the memory when he poked his head through the shower curtain while I was bathing. My body went stone then and I couldn't even touch my own skin.

"What do you want?" I hiss through the door. My voice wavered a bit, but I just focus on getting my clothes on and leaving to go home.

"Do you want me to drop you off?" he asks through the door. I can sense that his hand is still on the knob, ready to push open when needed. I press my body onto the door even more to keep him from accidentally stepping inside.

My gosh, there's nothing more than I want to be dropped off and to go home where Mom is. "Yeah," I reply, cautiously releasing my body weight from the door.

"Okay, get ready."

What do you think I was doing?

"Okay," I quickly slip on my pants and pull a shirt over my tank top, not bothering to fix my hair. I shove all my things into the bag, mentally checking if I didn't forget anything. When I am sure, I leave the room and see him tying his shoes. A soft sigh of relief escapes my lungs, making my shoulders relax a bit.

I'm finally going home.

Reviews

[Amateur Dreamer]

this is good, but there are few spelling mistakes such as private, you wrote privet. then you wrote long 'strays' of hair. won't it be strands? you could add a little more description like you did with the chapter before and i think you might want to revise this chapter a bit and edit. your previous chapter was like a hook, where the reader gets involved with the whole writing, whereas in this chapter, though it is good, adding up a few more descriptions or even making it clear would be helpful. :) i just hope you did not mind my criticism, but i really admire your writing skill and i want to you to shine. :)