~Yeah, I might seem so strong
Yeah, I might speak so long
I've never been so wrong~
- London Grammar

safe haven [seɪv ˈheɪvn] n. a place of shelter and safety for ships; now chiefly fig. (also as a mass noun) and in extended use; a relief or refuge

~SH~

-12/04/2018-

I stayed hidden behind the dumpster of some pizza place on 8th street.

The sky had already darkened hours ago.

Naturally, the days in winter were shorter, the nights got longer. But unfortunately, the number of hours stayed the same, and time didn't flow by any faster. At least not, when you're hungry.

When you're hungry, time seemed to drag on forever and even mere minutes felt like an everlasting eternity.

These last couple of days my only aim seemed to be to stay somewhat alive and get something in my stomach. However, that had been proven to be harder than one may think.

Especially, since it had been days, that anything edible had been able to connect with my gastric juice.

Overall, it has been harder these days.

Harder to find a place to sleep in or something to eat. The shelters were full, forcing me to get acquainted with the outside. As if that was necessary. I probably knew New York and its surrounding better than any of the other residents. Even the ones that have been born and raised here. I was smart like that.

I knew where the best places to sleep and hide were.

Where you could get the best leftover foods, that wouldn't hurt your stomach too bad.

Where all the shelters and charities were, that tried to help us unfortunate ones. I was used to it by now. I had a lifestyle of my own. I didn't mind.

It's a sad skill to have really.

But all that doesn't change anything about the fact that the human anatomy needed nutrition to keep on functioning.

I once heard a woman complaining that she just couldn't stop eating and was gaining weight. I would never understand how anyone could willingly starve themselves.

I desperately wished that that would be one of my worries.

To some, it might seem silly, but it is how it is.

And I'm not bitter either. Just... hopefully searching for some justice as to why I had to endure this existence on my own.

So here I sat on the icy ground, while the bitter cold bit into my dry, white, lifeless looking skin. I had been feeling this way since the beginning of October.

The air was freezing, while a white veil adorned the city, embellishing the skyline in a beautiful pure color and hiding the ugly grey underneath it.

There is no point in lying, the cold is tough, but it's okay, I can manage. I have for all this time. Why should this winter be any different, right?

Even though I assume that my lips are probably bluer than what is considered healthy, the only thought consuming my head is that I finally had the opportunity to eat something.

My lips had been blue-ish, purple for as long as I can remember, chapped and at some places ripped and bloody, due to the harsh circumstances that I was used to be living in.

Sometimes some fellow bums of mine would make sure to leave an imprint of their assaults on my face. Sometimes resulting in a bloody lip or a swollen eye, enabling my sight in the progress. They had fought me for my four dollars, that a nice lady had given me in a rush of compassion, as she stormed out of some church a couple of miles from here.

So I had lost my four dollars and my one week's worth of feeding.

I tried to run from them, in order to keep my money protected, but it had been proven harder than you can imagine with a limping foot.

My little obstacle.

I was born with it. It wasn't really life-threatening or terminal.

Just not ideal, when you live the life that I do.

Touching my lips with my dirty fingers, I winched at the slightest of contact.

An aching burn seizing on impact. I imagined that the grease on my fingers and almost black and hardened dirt under my uncomfortably large fingernails, didn't help with the throbbing infection, that I was spotting on the lower left corner of my upper lip.

But I didn't have anything to cut or clean them with, and God knew I wouldn't bring my teeth anywhere near in between the dark flesh of my fingers and the split up ends of the beds of my fingers. And eating food with my hands didn't count. It was a necessity. It wasn't like I had a fork to eat with or a table to sit by like others.

Others that were fortunate enough to have been born into a better life.
Life does not smile into everyone's face. That's what I learned in my pitiful eighteen years I have been living on this planet.

Some people are among the unfortunate ones, just like me. Some people are among those who always only see the other side, the dark side.

I've always wondered what it would be like to be born into another life. What my life would have been like, if my soul had flown into another body, on its way towards earth. Would I have known how to smile? Would I have been genuinely happy? Would I have at least someone I could talk to? Someone that would listen to me. Care about what I had to say. What I thought. How I viewed the world.

I used to talk when my mother was by my side, but that was what seemed like a lifetime ago. The day I realized that she didn't really listen to anything that I said was the day that

I don't even ask for a whole family, although I couldn't deny, that it was the thing I truly longed for in my life. A family. Not materiality or luxury. Just some people like my plain old self, that would enjoy my company. Just one person.

I prayed to God every night to send someone my way to make my lonely experience somewhat more enduring. Someone that I could come to, no matter what. Someone that I could trust endlessly and love irrevocably. Someone, that was worth breaking the silence for. Someone that I share all my problems with. That I could go to when I felt alone and unloved.

A safe place. A happy place.

A safe haven.

I once had a mom. A real mother that had a hard time showing people love.

It was okay though. I had much love to give. I was under the impression, that I had enough in me for both of us.
She was the only person I could give it to, after all.

But I had failed.

Where she had difficulties portraying her emotions, I tried extra hard to make her feel loved. She shouldn't feel like me.

She used to tell me all the time how hard her life is and always had been.

She used to tell me that I was one of the reasons why.

I sometimes wondered, have things would've turned out, if she was here now. If she'd never abandoned me and had never gone to heaven.

But that's a different story for some other time. Can't really start a story with the climax now, can we?

Bear in mind, that I don't want you going into this story thinking I'm a typical teenage runaway. I'm not a cliché. I'm not a stereotype. I want you to listen carefully and read between the lines.

I don't want this to be a random, pitied sob-story.

I want this to be my story.

~SH~

A/N:

Hellooowww, this is the first story for me to ever publish.

I've actually been writing since I was 15.

Now, six years later, I think it's finally time to get my work out there. Since I was a Twilight fan in my teens and grew up with the saga, my stories all started off as Twifics.

However, be aware, that I only used the characters to portray the people I've made up in my crazy mind. The couples are canon pairings, and the character traits aren't very OC.

So bear in mind, that this story is very AU.

Share some love through the reviews if you'd like to, and leave your opinion if anything should be unclear or need to be said.

Otherwise, enjoy your time on this trip with me.

melli:)

PS: Definitions above are taken from the OED and collinsdictionary.