PLOT Highschool might be a pain in the ass, but sometimes it's the place where you meet someone new. Someone you can learn to trust. Someone to love.

I own nothing. I hope you will all enjoy this, and let me know what you think.

I pulled my hood up to cover from the rain as I walked out the door as quietly as I could. She was at work, but He was home. Passed out, but home. I knew that if I made any noise, and He woke up, I would pay the price. Like many times before.

I hurried to school, but I still made it just as the bell rang. Wanting the day to go slow, of course it didn't. Lunch came faster than normally, and even though I hated school, I hated being at that house even more. But in a year I would be eighteen. I had made it through three years of suffering already, I could make another year. And then I would be free. Hopefully.

Every table was filled with flocks of people from different groups. Jocks, cheerleaders, prom queens, nerds, the "normal" people. Then there was the few empty tables – all of them just that. Except for one. There used to be two, but the other one was taken today. I always sat at the same one, the one furthest away from anyone else, and then there was another guy. He was always alone. I did only see him at lunch, but I had never seen him talk to someone. He always had his head in some sort of book or something. I wasn't quite sure what it was.

I think he was a year older than me, about to graduate in a few months, but I wasn't sure. I didn't even have a yearbook to look through to know his name.

My feet led me to his table since the one I used to sit at was taken.

"Is this seat taken?" I usually wasn't this confident when it came to talking – I rarely talked to people – but this guy seemed different. He was a loner, like me.

"If you're here to give me some lame comment about my hair, or the way I look, screw it. I've heard it all before."

He didn't even look up from the book, and now I noticed that he was writing something in it. So he liked to write.

"I actually think it's cool."

I had talked to him for what, two seconds, and I already admired him. He stood out. He choose to stand out, to not care about what people said. I just crawled into my own skin and wanted to be invisible.

He had a red mohawk, a piercing through his nose, and he always wore shirts with witty texts.

He actually looked up at me now, and for the first time I saw his face up close. His jawline was marked, his lips was full for a guy, his nose was perfect and his eyes held a piercing green color. They were deep, and I might have been staring into them.

He was easy on the eyes, and I never would have thought so, but he was attractive.

"You're that lonely girl."

"You're that lonely guy," I stated and sat down without asking.

"I never said you could sit down."

"It's a free country. And the seat isn't taken."

"Fine," he said and returned to his book. I ate and then when the bell ringed, I got up and continued with my lessons.

Things were slow for a few days. Nothing really happened at the house, and I was glad for that. But I never knew what to expect. In school, things were normal. Boring classes, boring teachers, morons for students. Same as always. But something was different. I wasn't alone at lunch anymore. I always sat at the same table as the lonely guy, but we never said a word. I didn't expect things to change. But on the third day they did.

"You've been sitting here for three days. You haven't said a word, and you're eating like there's no tomorrow. Why?"

"Why?" I asked, taking my earplugs out of my ears and turned off the music streaming out of them. "You and me are the only people sitting alone. I don't talk because you don't. And I'm eating like there's no tomorrow because I'm hungry."

"They don't feed you at home, or what?"

No. "I'm just hungry."

"If you're going to sit here, we might as well talk."

"I like silence."

Silence was like music to my ears. Not hearing people talking, screaming and yelling, was something I wanted. A lot.

"You're not deaf. What are you listening to?"

I sighed and answered him.

"Muse," I answered simply. I didn't really expect him to even have heard of them.

"They're okay. Not good, but okay."

"They're great," I corrected him.

"Ever seen them live?"

"No."

"Then you can't know if they're great."

"I think I have the right to my own opinion, don't you think?" I answered, annoyed and tired.

Things continued like that. He would ask a question, I would answer. I tried to stick to the truth, but sometimes I pulled a small lie. He hadn't asked about my family yet, but I knew it would come. And I honestly didn't want to lie anymore. I was tired of it. I wanted someone to talk to, and this guy was the only one available. And to be honest, he was quite easy to talk to.

We only talked at lunch because it was the only time of the day I saw him, and even though we had been talking for almost three days, I still didn't know his name.

"I see you walking to school every morning, so I'm guessing you live close?"

That was the first question. So would I pull a lie, or would I say the truth? This was a truth that actually couldn't come back to bite my ass.

"It takes an hour to walk."

"So you walk? An hour away isn't even linked to this school."

"We moved, and they forgot to transfer me."

"Forgot? How can someone forget to sign a piece of paper?"

"Just drop it, okay?"

"Got any siblings?"

"I don't know."

"You don't know, what are you, drugged?"

"I don't know why I'm going to tell you this, but I might as well. I was abandoned when I was born. Someone found me, brought me to a hospital and I was supposed to be adopted. But I have a heart failure. It's not dangerous – right now. But if nothing is done, I probably won't make it 'til I'm thirty. So I wasn't adopted, and I ended up in five different foster families before I moved to where I stay now. I don't consider it a home, and I don't have a family. In a year I'll be eighteen, and then I'm getting as far away from here as possible."

Instead of the look I was suspecting, his eyes glanced into mine.

"My parents died when I was twelve. I live with my aunt, and her husband. Their daughter is at college, and as soon as I leave this school, my tuition is paid. They're rich, and from the outside everything is perfect. But I remember my parents. I remember the dog I had. My old friends. They're not here anymore, and even though my home is nice, it's not what I would choose if I had the option."

Hm, who knew? Maybe we had some things in common.

"How did they die?" The question was out before I had the chance to stop myself. "Sorry, it's not my right to ask. I should go."

And with that I got up from the table, and I was about to go when he stopped me.

"We haven't introduced ourselves. I'm Priestly."

"Tish," I felt myself smiling and then I left.

Things only got worse from that.

It was a Friday, so I wouldn't have a reason to leave the house for days. Which meant I would have to hide as good as possible in my room. Which really isn't a room. It's a bed, and nothing else.

But when I walked through the door, I noticed that I wouldn't be able to hide. He was awake, and drunk. More drunk than normally this time of the day.

"Where have you been?" He slurred, and I avoided eye-contact.

"School," I said in a rush, and tried to get up the stairs as soon as possible. But I felt his sweaty, big hand grab a hold of my wrist and He pulled me down the steps I had already taken. I landed on the floor, and I tried to think of something other than what I knew would happen. But I didn't have the time to think of something before I felt the first hit. And then they kept coming. I got a few kicks as well, and when he was done I could barely stand.

"Get up!"

I tried and managed after a moment, and then I tried to get up the stairs. It hurt like hell, and I guessed for a broken rib. It wasn't the first time.

I lay down on the uncomfortable bed, and I tried to relax. My ribs hurt, as well as my right leg and my stomach.

He wasn't actually stupid enough to hit me in my face – he knew he would get caught then. So he hit me everywhere else, and it happened almost every day. If I was lucky, he was already passed out when I got back from school. But that was rarely.

That night, I heard footsteps outside my door, and yet again I knew what would happen. This was a part of my life, and it had happened so many times I couldn't even count them. I was so used to it, I was numb. I couldn't feel a thing. I wasn't terrified, like the first time. Or disgusted. Or angry. Or sad. Or repulsed. I felt nothing. And I knew I should feel something.

I pretended to be asleep when I felt the bed move, and then I felt His heavy breath in my ear. It was thick of alcohol and cigarettes, and it smelled awful.

Big hands turned me to my back, and in the dark I couldn't see much more than his silhouette. But that was more than enough.

A hand grabbed my breast, kneading it so hard it hurt. After a moment, the hand moved south and I heard a zipper open. As I felt his hand touching me, I knew he was touching himself. At least this time he didn't force me to do it. That was usually the routine. He touched me, I touched him.

I tried to shut out the sound of his deep breathings, but I failed and a few seconds later I heard him curse as he groaned.

He was finally done, and with a big sigh he got up from the bed and then I heard the door close.

It wasn't like his wife didn't know about the abusing. He did the same to her. And the only reason I didn't go to the police was because I was terrified of him. He had threatened to kill me if I said anything, and I didn't doubt that he would. He almost killed his wife once, so I knew he could easily do the same to me. He was married to her, and I was simply a seventeen year old girl who lived under his roof. Someone he could easily take advantage of.

When I was sure that he was gone, I curled up into a ball and cried myself to sleep.

When I came back to school that Monday, my body was full of bruises and my ribs still hurt whenever I moved. Or even breathed. It was definitely broken.

I tried to sit through the day without making any movements, and when I walked to lunch I glanced at Priestly. He was sitting at his regular table, and instead of walking there I took another table today. I just felt like not talking today.

I never actually thought that he would come over, but five minutes later I saw him walking toward my table in the corner of my eyes. He sat down without saying a word, and didn't speak for a moment. Like he waited for me to say something.

When I didn't, apparently he felt the need to.

"What's with the sitting alone? I thought you said last week you hated it."

Yeah, I had said that. Sitting with Priestly and talking to him during lunch was the only highlights of the day.

"I just don't feel like talking today," I answered simply and he shrugged but opened his book. I returned to my music.

Even though I did say I didn't feel like talking, we were by the end of the hour.

It was strange. We had known each other for exactly a week, but we still talked about almost everything. I kept out the part of being abused in my house, but that's it. And we had some things in common. More than I thought. We like the same kind of music, the same kind of movies. He loved to write. I love to draw. His dream was to get out of Brooklyn. My dream is to get as far away from Brooklyn as possible. He wants to move back to LA where he lived as a kid. I had always wanted to see LA. He loved animals. I do too.

Today I didn't walk alone to my locker after lunch because Priestly walked with me, and I enjoyed the company.

"Are you okay?" he asked when he saw me wince as I raised my arm to open my locker.

He raised his hand and I immidiatly cringed away from it, causing him to drop it back to his side.

He looked at me with those green eyes, and I felt the need to explain.

"I don't like being touched."

It was as simple as that. I hated being touched. I knew why, but I wouldn't explain it. I wasn't ready for that yet.

Instead of the look I sort of expected to get, he just met my eyes and nodded.

"Okay," he said and I let out a breath I didn't even know I was holding. He wouldn't ask me about.

"I gotta go. I have math," I said, grabbed the right books and then left with a soft smile on my lips.

It felt good to smile. It felt natural. I hadn't smiled in years. And it felt right to smile because of Priestly.

As I sat in math, I couldn't concentrate on it. But it really didn't matter. I only have to see or hear something once, and I'll remember it. Some people calls it a photographic memory. Some people would kill to have it. I would kill not to have it. Because having it meant that I would always remember everything that had happened to me. At that was just bad stuff.

So yeah, I really didn't have to concentrate in any class. And math wasn't an exception.

I usually did pay attention though, because it would bring my thoughts to safe places, but today all I could think about was Prieslty.

I had known him for a week, but I already liked him. More than I wanted to. I might be falling for him, and that would be ridiculous. And bad. I can't fall for him. He's leaving for college in three months, and by then I will just be a small part of his past. I will be the girl he talked to during lunch. In fifty years, he won't even remember me. But I will always remember him. Remember how I actually felt sort of safe with him. I had never felt safe before. And I had also never been in love. Or even liked someone. I had never given people a chance, always seeing the worst in them because of my life. But I saw something good in Priestly. He makes me smile. And I like him, even though I know I shouldn't. I can't expect him to save me. He's not going to be my savior. Or my knight in shining armor. Or anything.

And that made me a lot more sad than it should.