Warnings: Some suggestions at violence, some suggestions of you, some drug use, OCC, unsavoury characters and a dash of angst. And it's just the first chapter.

Run Away.

The quiet and usual peacefulness of the country road was broken by the loud roar of a strained engine. An old and abused Hyundai hatchback roared over a small hill, the tires leaving the road and slamming back down. The car shook and swerved under the abuse but none the less kept on going. The car took another sharp, last minute turn and the driver smiled at the rush of adrenalin he got. Every time the car shuddered and spun almost out of control a close to hysterical smile spread across his face. He felt a thrill thinking that with just a little more effort, the car would flip and tumble over and everything would be over. When the car flew over small hills and bumps he found himself hoping that just over the next ridge would be a sudden stop that sent him flying through the windscreen to his end.

If he was riding alone he probable would have by now. But he couldn't risk driving too uncontrollable with his cargo. Sitting next to him, completely asleep and in no way knowledgable of his reckless driving, was the only thing that mattered anymore. Taking his eyes off the road for a fraction of a second, he turned his head to look at his reason for living. Looking at that pale and delicate face calmed him as it always did and he eased his foot off the pedal. Looking back at the road he saw that he was on a long stretch of straight road, so he turned back to that face. He slowed down even further and allowed himself to let go of the wheel for a second to reach over and stoke that soft face.

He would never have done it is the other was awake. He would never let the other know how much he truly cared.

His cargo was resting on his side with the right side of his face pressed against the car seat. Reaching over he let the very tips of his fingers brush along course white hair and down a smooth white cheek. The owner of said cheek mumbled and stirred in his sleep. As if it had never happened, he returned his hand to the steering wheel and clenched it tightly. Yet his gaze remained on that face, his eyes darting back and forth between the empty road and the smooth face.

"Kanda?" the other slurred, moving his head off of the seat.

Seeing the full few of the face his foot slammed back down on the pedal as his anger over took him once again. As the younger's face came into full view, so did the full extent of his bruising. The entire right side of his face was cut and bruised and his upper lip was split all the way up to his nostril, tiny beads of blood still present on cracked lips. It was the result of repeated blows to his face by someone left handed.

"Where are we?" he asked, screwing up his eyes, his voice thick with pain and sleep.

"Eighty minutes out of town," Kanda replied.

"Good," he said with a sigh, repositioning himself on the seat.

"How is it?"

"Hurts," he mumbled, holding a hand to his face lightly.

Kanda felt that anger grab him once again, burning through his body and making his whole head feel hot. There was a burning pressure in the back of his mind and he knew his face was flushed red. His hands clenched the steering wheel so tight his knuckles popped.

"I should have fucking killed him," he hissed, pressing the pedal completely to the floor.

The car jerked and struggled to keep up the speed, the age of it obviously not capable of the treatment it was receiving.

"I'm glad you didn't thought," the small male replied.

Trying to smile he hissed in pain as the spilt in his lip stretched and brought him fresh pain.

"I fucking should have!" Kanda yelled at the others renewed pain, thumping his hand against the steering wheel.

A turn appeared in the road and Kanda jerked the wheel sharply to the left, the car lurching dangerously as the tires left the road once again.

"Be nice to my car," the younger mumbled, "We don't want to be left without transport."

"Whatever," he scoffed in reply, "Go back to sleep."

"Only if you slow down," he slurred, already close to sleep again.

Even knowing that he was once again lulled into sleep, Kanda released the pedal and let the car slow down. Now that he couldn't realise his anger through excessive speed, he felt it building into an unbearable pressure in his head. He wanted to yell, he wanted to shout and scream and drive the car to death. He wanted to slam his foot down and drive the car into the closest tree. He wanted to know what it felt like to fly through a windscreen and come crashing back down to earth, crushing bones. But he wouldn't, as much as he desired and craved self destruction, he couldn't ruin that person next to him.

He slowed further and let his eyes drift over to the person next to him. That strong yet fragile person next to him that had endured so much more than him but always kept going forward. He hated himself for being so weak when sitting with that person next to him. He hated himself for caring too much. He hated that person, he hated Allen for making him feel that way. He hated that the same part of his mind craved self destruction, craved that young male. He hated that he would never get anything in returned. He hated that he wanted to destroy him. Hated that he wanted to take him. Hated the person that had hurt that body. Hated himself. More than anything he hated himself.

So he let his body take over, and slammed his foot back down, making the car shudder and shoot forward again. He craved a sharp turn, a flying jump, a sudden in pact.

…

"Do the curtain's match the carpets?" a drunken man slurred rubbing his hand down her leg.

She smiled and shrugged it off as she usually did, while inside she raged. It wasn't the inappropriate touch, or the sleazy phrase that bothered her. It was the repetition of the phrase and the obviousness of the answer that bothered her and angered her. She must have heard the phrase and numerous others like it about thirty times a night. Considering where she worked it was more than expected, didn't mean she couldn't be angry about it. First of all, she wasn't one of the dancers, just one of the bar staff, so obviously she was off the menu. Second, she had very obvious and distinct Asian features, so obviously her platinum blonde wig 'curtain', would not match her 'carpets'. Third, did all those scummy, deprived men and woman really think that they were coming up with an original line that she hadn't heard thousands of times before. It annoyed her to no end.

Waiting tables, supplying drinks and putting up with scummy pick up lines were all part of her job though. She simple had to smile, brush it off and every now and then say 'Oh you,". She was use to it and use to controlling her anger and disgust. But being her last night on the job she found it harder and harder to control her urges. She wanted to slap them in the face, verbally assault them, question there intelligence. She couldn't though, she had kept up her act for a full year, and didn't want to ruin her good reputation now. After all if she made it through the night she got a fantastic recommendation letter from her boss that would help her gain employment in the future. Even if her boss was just as scummy and strange as the customers.

She felt an overwhelming wave of shame thinking about her boss. A year ago, when first starting out, she had done something extremely stupid, she had slept with her boss. She cringed at her younger and stupider self. For some reason, she didn't know why, but she succumbed to her boss' dirty suggestions and given him what seemed to be, the ride of his life. She could only assume this because afterwards, he had become completely obsessed with her. It wasn't like the man didn't have his choice of woman, who didn't in his line of work, but for some reason he had fixated on her. And ever since, her last year had been nothing but an uncomfortable working environment and barely suppressed anger. It was not long after sleeping with her boss that she got her first 'oh shit' moment.

She called them 'oh shit' moments because she would be some where or doing something and suddenly stop and think…'oh shit'. Oh shit, what am I doing here? Oh shit, what have I done with my life? Oh shit, who did I just sleep with? She would stop and think 'oh shit' and ask herself a question. And sleeping with Bak Chan had been her first moment. It was like everything had been put into place and she finally realised she was way too old to be doing the stupid shit she was doing. It wasn't like being twenty-two was particularly old, but she felt it was old enough to be over the whole rebellious stage.

Her rebellious stage started just after eighteen, where she broke away from a suffocating older brother and a life pre-planned for her. Four years later she had had enough and decided it was time to return home and live a much more normal life. The only problem being money, so for a year she stuck it out and saved as much money as possible. After six months she had enough money to fly home, but she stuck it out for another six months, saving even more money. She didn't want to fly home immediately. She wanted enough money to travel slowly and see the country a bit before going home. Soul searching she called it, and she rightly deserved it. So after a year of awkwardness and nothingness, she had finally saved enough, handed in her resignation, and was minutes away from finishing her last shift. Just minutes, a large amount of seconds, no hours, it was minimum, she could do it. Yet her last nerve almost snapped at the repetition of that hated phrase.

"Do the curtains match the carpets?" another man slurred as she cleared his table of empty glasses.

"That's for me to know and for you to dream about," she said with a wink, walking away.

The man laughed and trailed her body as she walked away and she had to suppress a shudder of disgust. Walking back behind the bar, she wasted time loading glasses into the dishwasher and cleaning the counter. She counted down the seconds and then, the minute hand clicked over and she was free. She no longer worked there. Purposefully striding over to the 'Employees only' door, she ignored the stares and the desire to tear the wig from her head and throw it into someones lap.

She restrained the urge and pushed through the door, pulling the wig from her head the moment the door shut. Dropping the wig to the floor she let out a sigh of relief while running her fingers through her short, spiky hair. After her moment of relief she walked into the staff room and wasted no time in grabbing her belongings. She changed from her tight fitting outfit into some lose fitting shorts, that were still a little too short, and into a loose black singlet that possible revealed a little too much cleavage. It was a comfortable outfit though and still a hundred times better than the outfit she previously wore.

With a deep breath she slung her bag over her shoulder and made to leave.

"Lenalee! Don't go!" a voice carried over the room.

Ignoring the voice she made her way towards to exit.

"Please don't leave! I want you to stay!"

"I've already told you, Bak. I've got things to do, I can't stay here forever," she said, putting it as nice as possible.

"Please don't go," Bak pleaded, appearing beside her, "I'll pay you more, I'll give you better shifts, I'll pay your rent for you! Please don't go!"

It was just getting beyond pathetic, although for a moment there she wavered at the thought of extra pay. She knew that wouldn't happen at every job.

"I don't have rent to pay any more, I've handed in my notice. Besides-"

"You can stay with me!" Bak yelled desperately, falling to his knees.

"Bak," she said, trying to be as gentle as possible, "I don't want to be here. I've got things to do."

Before he could say anything more, she opened the back door and ran out into the night. She was free, so free! But before moving on there was one more thing to do, one last person she needed to see and talk to, and it was going to be hard.

…

Pulling into a petrol station, Kanda grudgingly leaned over and gentle nudged the person next to him awake. He didn't want to wake him, he obviously needed the sleep, but Kanda needed to know if he was alright. Also he knew Allen needed to get himself cleaned up, they couldn't continue travelling with Allen covered in blood the way he was.

"Whattisit?" Allen slurred, meshing three words together.

"Do you need anything?" Kanda asked gruffly, trying to hide his concern.

"Water," he mumbled, "Panadol, something with sugar, and a bathroom break."

"Okay, wait until I get back."

"Sure," Allen mumbled, closing his eyes and catching a few more minutes sleep.

Kanda exited the car, making sure to shut the door gently so as not to add to the others pain. He grumbled to himself while walking across the stained concrete towards a small light filled building. He wondered briefly what time it was, judging by the how long they had been driving and when they left, he guessed it to be about ten thirty. Not that the time mattered. They only reason he wondered was because he preferred travelling at night, and wanted as much of it as possible.

Walking into the small service station he squinted his eyes at the offensive light.

"Good evening," a mono tone voice greeted him.

Kanda grunted in response and went about trying to find Panadol, chocolate and water for Allen. Looking at the rows of stocked drinks he found himself wishing that they lived in a state where alcohol was freely available in service stations like it was in other states. He found himself reminiscing on a road trip Allen and himself had taken months back to another state, and how excited both of them had been to see beer there from sale next to soft drink. Christ he wanted a drink. He knew there was a half empty bottle of scotch shoved into the hastily packed bags in the boot of the car. He swallowed heavily, thinking about the burning scotch running down his already parched throat. He wanted it so badly, but he fought off the thought, knowing if he had a drink there was a chance he might just crash the car.

Instead he grabbed himself an energy drink and made his way over to the counter. The man behind the counter was overly happy and so obviously trying not to look at Kanda's split and bloody knuckles. He should have grabbed some band aids while he was at it. He didn't want to speak to the cashier but he had to ask for the key to the bathroom for Allen.

He was handed a key that was attached to a long length of plastic piping, as if that was going to deter someone from stealing it. HIs purchases were handed to him in a flimsy plastic bag and he all but snatched it from the cashiers hands.

"Have a nice night," the man called after him as he went to leave.

"Whatever," Kanda mumbled to himself, knowing there was no way for him to have a nice night.

Walking back to the car he noticed that Allen's door was open and he was no where to be seen. Dropping the bag and the key, he ran over to the car, his eyes darting every which way in an attempt to locate Allen. In the end it was the sounds of retching that led him to Allen. He was leaning against the drivers side door, which was why Kanda didn't see him at first. He was gripping the side view mirror with his left hand, holding himself up, while his right hand was held length wise around his stomach. He was completely stretch over, his body convulsing slightly and forcing out his stomachs content.

"What's wrong?" Kanda asked reaching him.

He wanted to reach out and rest a hand on Allen's shoulder as a form of comfort, but knew that he couldn't.

"I… just… wanted," Allen started, swallowing thickly between words, " fresh… air."

He breathed deeply and continued to swallow for a few seconds and then started to retch again. His body tensed and shook with the effort as thin yellow strings of bile forced itself out of his body. There was a mess of regurgitated food at his feet but his stomach continued to try and force more out.

"Hurt's," Allen forced out as beads of sweat broke out on his forehead.

"I'll go get the key to the bathroom," Kanda grumbled, turning away from the scene that affected him more than he wanted to admit,

"And the panadol too," he added on the end, knowing Allen needed more than simple panadol to help him.

He hastily retrieved they items he had dropped earlier and returned back to Allen. Succuming to his desire to touch the other, Kanda wrapped his arm behind Allen's back and helped him to stand up straight and walk. A small grunt of pain left Allen's lips from stretching his bruised skin. He hadn't seen the full extent of the damage but Kanda knew that almost the whole of the younger body was bruised in some way or another. When they got to the rest room he would give the younger a proper look over.

Reaching the small and dirty restroom, Kanda slammed the door open and pushed the both of them in, locking the door behind him. Allen immediately limped over to the sink and gripped it tightly, slowly looking up into the cracked and spotted mirror.

"Well shit," Allen said, taking the first good look at his face, "It really does look as bad as it feels."

He turned his head to Kanda with a small smile and a chuckle.

"Get yourself clean up," Kanda grunted, handing him the plastic bag that contained the water and panadol. Allen took the bag with shaky hands and Kanda turned and entered the bathroom stall, going to relieve himself.

Seeing the bruising in full flurocent lighting angered him again, he should have done more. He should have kept pounding that arse holes face into the floor until nothing but wet chunks of meat remained. It was the betrayal that made it so much worse, he was suppose to be Allen's friend, only to turn on him and beat him half to death. Anger, hatred, despair, and his thirst for revenge built in his mind. He clenched his teeth together and focused instead on hitting the bowl instead of messing up the whole floor.

Once he was done he tidied himself up and wiped his hands on his pants. In the privacy of the stall and so Allen wouldn't see, he pulled his phone out of his pocket and quickly sent a message that he hoped he wouldn't later come to regret.

'I might need your help'. Was all the message said.

He pressed send and flipped his phone shut, shoving it back into his pocket. Exiting the stall he caught Allen's eye in the mirror while he stared into his reflection. He looked a little better with the dried blood and streaks of dirt cleared away. But his shirt was still dirty and torn, and traces of dark red stained his previously white shirt. Small finger tip shaped bruises encircled his neck with similar marks around his wrists, making Kanda flush with anger once again. Too much anger, too much hatred, he knew soon enough it would all turn inward.

Allen turned to face Kanda and held out a wad of wet paper towels, motioning towards his hands. Kanda took the sodden mess some what grateful and began to pat his split knuckles, clearing away the blood and bringing fresh pain. He focused on his knuckles but was secretly watching every move Allen made. He watched unnoticed as Allen lifted his shirt and inspected his chest and stomach for bruises. Because of the angle Kanda couldn't see, but there were plenty on his back. He lowered his shirt with a sigh and then pulled the water and panadol from the bag. He popped three pills out of the foil and shoved them in his mouth, crunching down on the tables. Kanda grimaced knowing the powder would taste dreadful, but would bring on the effects faster. It was the way Allen always took his painkillers.

Allen, more than use to the taste, twisted the top off the bottle and took a few sips, swirling the water around in his mouth before swallowing.

"Why'd he do it?" Kanda asked suddenly. The words slipping from his mouth before his brain had time to catch up.

Allen stopped in his ministrations and looked at Kanda through the reflection.

"I don't think you'll like the answer very much," he said softly, looking down at the sink.

"Tell me," he growled, stepping closer and staring him down once again through the mirror.

Allen sighed and popped another pill out from the sealed foil. He rolled it around in his palm for a bit wasting some time. He brought the pill up and threw it in his mouth, crunching down on it.

"Because I wouldn't have sex with him anymore," he mumbled, a hint of shame and regret evident.

Kanda was right, the anger bloomed and turned inwards, coming out in the form of him repeatedly smashing his fists into the mirror. Shredding skin and cracking bones.

…

"Hey, Alma! Come here you have to see this!"

"Whaaaat?" he said, deliberately drawing out the word to show his discontent at being disturbed.

"Come here! You really have to see this! It is so fucking cool!"

Alma sighed and leaned back from his computer, pushing his glasses to the top of his head and rubbing his eyes. He really need to focus on his project, he only had two more days to work on it and the whole thing was turning out to be a lot more trouble some than he first thought. Some of the firewalls were unlike anything he had ever seen before, and the security access was harder to break through than the bloody National Bank. He didn't know how he was going to finish it within the time limit and get paid. The last thing he need was his high as a kite house mate bothering him about the latest thing his drug addled mind had come up with.

"Alma!" he shouted again, pounding on his bedroom door.

"I'm busy!" he yelled, through the door, "Extremely!"

"This, will change, your life," he emphasised.

"Johnny, I swear to god if you don't fuck off, I will, murder you!"

"You can kill me all you want after you see this!"

Alma stood up quickly, his wheeled computer chair rolling back and hitting the wall behind him.

"If you did anything less that find the stole art piece 'The Scream, by Edvard Munch' then your death will be excurciating!"

He used to be an Art major, he never really got over it and still mentioned it from time to time.

"Fine, fine, just come see this!"

Grudgingly Alma opened the door to his room with a bang. Looking down his took in his room mates magnified and bloodshot eyes.

"Johnny, can I at least hit you in advance?"

"Nooooo, no, no, no, no! Just watch this first!"

Alma sighed and rubbed at his eyes again, a clear gesture that this whole thing caused him head pain, even if he didn't have an actual headache. He pulled his glasses off the top of his head and put there back were they should be. Glancing over at his computer he realised that he hadn't had a break for close to six hours. When he realised just how long he had been working, he always realised how hungry he was, and how much his shoulders and neck ached from slumping in front of a screen for so long.

"Sure, whatever," he said holding his hands up in defeat, "Let's see this life changing… 'thing', you have."

"Yes!" Johnny exclaimed, running down the hallway the best he could.

"If this seriously isn't the best thing I've ever seen your dead," Alma said, following him out to the living room where Johnny had set himself up.

Johnny had two obsessions, the internet and the television. He had managed to combine the two into one by setting his very much illegal desktop up on a coffee table right in front of his massive flat screen television. Behind the table, with a perfect few of the television, was a large and expensive leather couch. Something so soft and comfortable that one could sink into it and feel completely content for hours at a time, no matter how long one spent in front of a screen, or two in Johnny's case.

"So what is this 'life changing thing' that you have," he said with a sigh, plopping down onto the oh so comfortable couch.

"So get this," Johnny croaked, the obviousness of his addiction coming out as he started to cough, "There was an ad break in this show I was watching and suddenly I had this urge to listen to this song right."

"Right," Alma sighed, feeling a real headache coming on.

"Yeah okay, so, this song, I have to wait for the right moment," he mumbled muting the television, and grabbing a hold of his mouse.

He flicked through his music play this and clicked a song. Alma noted it was the song 'Burn, by The Cure', a song he knew was used and made popular in the movie, 'The Crow'.

"Ready…now!" Johnny practically yelled, clicking down and starting the song, "Now watch the screen carefully."

"'I'm watching," Alma said already bored. On the screen was some ad on cars.

"If you watch closely you'll see that every time something important happens in the ad or every time the scene changes, it always falls right on the beat."

"This is what you dragged me out her for? Seriously?"

"Can't you see, this song is classic 4/4 timing, and it works with so many other songs as well, as long as their in 4/4. 4/4 is the most commonly used time signature, and I've discovered that the entire world is built on 4/4."

Alma let him finish and let silence ring out. His head was buzzing with the stupidity of the whole thing.

"And how does this mean that the world is built on 4/4?"

"Because television rules the world right?"

"What about the internet?"

"It's a bi-product of television."

"What about Facebook?" Alma asked, praising himself for not having an account, it was way to easy to trace someone through it. Which in turn sometimes made his own job a whole lot easier. He once found someone an employer was looking for cause the stupid arse kept regular status updates.

"It's a bi-product of the internet. It all comes down to 4/4 and television, everyone is built on the beat. The world revolves on this certain beat."

"Why 4/4? Why not 6/7?" Alma asked, knowing very little about music signatures.

"You're just being stupid now, Alma," Johnny scoffed feeling superior, "The majority of humans aren't smart enough to operate on something as complex as something like 6/7. Did you know the majority of the people you meet through your life with have a below average I.Q."

"If there are so many people below average, how did average get to be so high?" Alma answered quickly.

Johnny opened his mouth to reply but ended up gaping like a fish, obviously unable to reply. Alma basked in his glory and was about to get up and go back to his room when there was a knock at the door.

"What now?" he asked, holding his hands up to the heavens as if he would receive a response.

He got up from the overly comfy couch and made his way down the hallway to the front door. Just as he reached the door his phone went off in his pocket, signifying he had received a message.

"It never rains but it pours," he grumbled to himself, sliding his slim line phone out of his pocket.

He answered the door and thumbed open the message at the same time, thinking it was just a message from his employer telling him the dead line was near. What he got was a message from the person he least expected.

'I might need your help.' Was all that it said.

"What the fuck?" he said to himself.

"Alma?"

Alma finally looked up to see who was at the door.

"Lenalee," he said, a large and genuine smile spreading across his face, "What are you doing here at this time?"

"Hi, Alma," she said with a soft smile, leaning forward and planting a soft kiss on the side of his cheek. She usually greeted him with a kiss on the cheek, but he could tell this one was different.

"What's up?" he asked quickly.

"I just wanted to say, that I don't think I would have made it through the last year without you."

"What do you mean?"

"I just wanted to say thank you. You were a true friend when I needed you."

"Why does this sound like a good bye?"

"Because it is," she chocked suppressing tears.

"What? Why so sudden? Where are you going?" he asked in quick succession.

"I'm going home, back south. It's not sudden, I've been planning this for a full year. I just didn't tell you because, well, it was too hard, and I didn't think we would ever build the relationship that we have. But I want to stay in touch, so here is my home address," she said, handing him a slip of paper, "Write to me, I know you're not big on social media and all that. I'll call when I get there," she said sadly, turning away to head back down the stairs.

"Wait!" Alma yelled going after her and grabbing a hold of her arm, feeling breathless, "Why didn't you tell me early? Why now?"

"Because if I didn't leave it to the last minute… who knows what might have happened? It would be to hard," she mumbled, she paused in her movements and turned to face him. She felt bad dumping it on him like she did, so to make up for it she did something she knew the both of them wanted. She leaned forward and kissed him briefly on the lips, pulling herself out of his grip as she did. He stood dumbfounded at the top of the stairs watching her leave. She reached the bottom of the stairs before turning and speaking again.

"I really do treasure you, Alma. But I've got things to do and a life to sort out, and I really need to do this for myself. Stay in touch… please."

She walked into that darkness and then she was gone, in her car and completely and utterly gone. He was in shock, not knowing what to do, or say or how to react. What he ended up doing was closing the door softly behind him and walking back to the living room, were Johnny was still sitting in front of the television and trying to match up various other 4/4 songs to the images on the screen.

"Who was at the door?" Johnny asked, not looking up.

"Lenalee," Alma breathed.

"So why isn't she in here smoking a bong with us?" Johnny asked, still not looking up, but passing him a bong at the same time.

"She went home," Alma replied numbly, grabbing the bong and taking a hit.

"Why'd she go home?"

Alma sucked in as much as he could stand and held it in as long as he could before blowing the smoke out.

"She didn't go back to that shit hole apartment she rented," Alma replied, his voice hoarse from the smoke, "She went back to her real home, back down south."

"…Shit," Johnny said, finally looking up from the screen, "But… didn't you love her?"

"Yes…" Alma whispered.

"Then why the fuck did you let her go?!" Johnny shouted, showing a rare lucid moment.

"It's what she wanted," he mumbled, his fingertips feeling numb from the drugs.

"Fuck that shit!" Johnny proclaimed, "You need to go after her! Tell her that you love her! Tell her that you want her babies!"

"Um that's, anatomically incorrect," Alma stated flatly.

"Shut the fuck up!" Johnny yelled.

"But,… um," Alma started.

"No shut up! This is your chance to do something truly awesome, you need to get away from this shit hole, chase down that smoking' hot woman, and proclaim your love!"

"But what about…" Alma started again.

"No what abouts! You have to do this! She may be your true love. She may call you a creepy stalker and punch you in the face…"

"Hey… what?"

"She may file a restraining order," Johnny continued, "But even with all that, if you don't go after her right this second you're going to regret it the rest of your life!"

Alma mulled things over, and a small part of his mind knew that he was no where near sober enough to make a coherent decision, but for some reason Johnny's words turned out to be stronger.

"You're right!" Alma said, standing up purposefully, "I should go after her! I should tell her everything!"

"Right out of a fucking movie!" Johnny yelled, "Go after that hotter than hot bitch!"

"Don't call her a bitch!" Alma slurred.

"Whatever," Johnny scoffed rolling his eyes and grabbing the bong, "Just go after her already."

"I will!… Right after I grab something to eat."

…

Waking up was always so hard. There was no way for him to wake up to an alarm, because it ended up out the window. So when he went to sleep, when ever it was that he did in fact go to sleep, he swore to himself the moment that he woke up would be when he set out. It was something he had been planning for years and suddenly, just five days ago, he decided it was time.

His waking was as annoying and painful as usually but there was a sense of excitement and adventure that caused adrenaline to pump through his system, waking him up faster. He was such a heavy sleeper. Small and delicate fingers running down his face and soft lips against his woke him fully. He cracked his eyes open and took in the beautiful sight before him.

"Good morning," his girlfriend breathed.

"Morning," he murmured, shuffling forward for another kiss.

"Or should I say good evening? It's almost twelve."

"Hmm," was all he could say, his mind still heavy with sleep.

"Do you still plan on going?" she asked with obvious sadness.

"It's just something I've got to do," he said, his voice coming out in a rumble.

"Okay then… if you must," she said, her voice laced with sadness and longing.

"I'll be back before you know it," he yawned, sitting up on the bed.

"You better be," she pouted, sitting up as well.

Neah looked down at his girlfriend and felt his heart swell like it always did when he looked at her. She was perfect in every way and he hated that he had to leave her, but he felt he couldn't let there relationship progress if he didn't get his past out of the way. He loved her unconditionally from the start, and her him. Unfortunately his unconditional love had very big conditions to the rest of the country. He knew that the rest of the world had a problem with him being in love with a fifteen year old, but they just didn't understand them. It was love at first sight for the both of them, and Road was more mature that any woman he had met his own age. Road was her own woman, and to him she was all he would ever need in life, as long as he got the past out of the way.

Even before he met Road he had something he needed to do, something long ago lost in the past. If he continued in his relationship he knew there would be a constant nagging in the back of his mind, inhibiting his ability to move forward. If he truly wanted to be with Road, he would have to remove all distractions. The biggest distraction being his lost brother. He needed to find him and make sure he was alive and well. That was all he wanted, and perhaps a post card once or twice a year to let him know his brother was still alive and well. If he got that, then he felt he could happily move forward with Road, and live their lives together.

All he had was a first name, a town, and an old grainy photograph, creased and dulled over the years. It wasn't much but Neah felt confidant. He would find his brother, and he would live his life with Road.

"I wish you didn't have to go," she said, pouting again.

"I've already told you," he said, pushing himself up from the warm and welcoming bed, "This is for us, for our future. If I didn't do this now it would constantly be at the back of my mind, and might put a strain on our relationship. If there is one thing I don't want to do, it's ruin what we have here."

He leaned down to the girl on the bed and kissed her again, pulling away before it could deepen and he would be drawn back to the bed. Instead he distracted himself by getting dressed and checking his bags again, making sure he had everything he needed with him.

"Neah, before you go… Did you want to… go all the way?" Road spoke up.

He could hear the small amount of nervousness in her voice and the strain. It wasn't the first time he had heard the request in the last few days. Road was pulling out all the stops in an attempt to make him stay. The first time he heard her ask he truly had to reign himself in… and the instant boner he had received.

"Not until you're sixteen," he repeated, ignoring her and checking his bags again.

"Why not?" she humphed, falling back onto the bed.

"Because as much as I love you," he said, bending down to give her a quick peck, "I do not want to spend the next few years away from you for statutory rape. I have to do this."

"I know," she grumbled in resignation.

"Good, now… I have to go. Do you love me?"

"Of course I love you," she sighed, "If you stay I'll show you just how much I love you."

"I'm sorry," he said.

"Just, make it quick… and call me every day, and think about me, and don't think about anyone else. And don't touch anyone else, or think lurid thoughts about anyone else or…"

"Okay, okay," Neah cut in. It was such moments that really made him notice her age. But everything else that she was made up for it. He was so happy to know her.

"I've got to go," he whispered.

He kissed her once more, letting it linger before pulling away and grabbing his bags. He didn't look back, even as he got in his car and drove away. Instead he focused on the photograph that he had attached to his dashboard. In the photo were two small figures, one that he knew to be himself, the other his brother. The images were blurred and he couldn't make out his brothers face. Even the images in his mind were blurred, but he knew the moment he saw him, he'd know it was his brother.

Humming the old lullaby he always connected with his brother he drove off into the night.

…

Hello again, this was another something I started months ago, August I believe, and am now only just finishing. I'm slowly clawing my way back, but I don't know when I'll write another chapter.

Reviews and encouragement are highly desired. You know, just to know if I should keep going.

Flames also welcome because then I know I'm doing something wrong.

Hopefully this helps me start writing properly again.

Cheers.

It's so hot, I'm about to melt into a puddle.