Craig sat on his floor stunned and dizzy. Why did this have to be his life? When did it get this bad?" he thought to himself. He shifted his weight to rise from the floor but the pain again brought him back to his knees.

"Craig, get down here now!" a loud voice bellowed from down the stairs. His dad was back home probably from the bar again, washing away the realization that he had just beat the shit out of his kid…his 14-year-old son; guilt drowned out by whisky, and now he was back to anger. Craig desperately tried to come up with a plan to get out of this nightmare.

"You answer me when I speak to you!" he heard again. It was dark out his window and he could feel the cold air hit the bruises on his face feeling the passage of time. Craig could hear it in his father's voice. He was angry. He was ready for a fight. It didn't matter that Craig was his son and the only family he had left, and Craig could feel it, it was worse than it's ever been…he was really going to kill him this time if he stayed and let it happen. He had to get away.

"It's the fight or flight mechanism in the body that protects animals in times of mortal danger." Craig could recall his science teacher saying in class. She meant animals in the wilderness about to be eaten by a lion but Craig knew that his adrenaline was surging all the same as he moved despite his bruised abdomen and bleeding face. His dad had a golf club. Craig could hear the metal as it struck through his bedroom door, all but breaking down the splintered wood. He couldn't fight against him; Craig knew that for sure. Albert Manning was bigger than his just barely a teenage son. Plus, he was drunk and had an anger that took him to a different place; made him a different person. There was no stopping him.

So, Craig ran. Heart racing, he threw a few belongings in his backpack in a daze and opened the window to his second-floor bedroom and jumped. A sharp pain shot through his left leg, but he ignored it and ran with all his might.

"Don't let him catch you. He's going to kill you" repeated like a mantra in his head. Fortunately, Albert, either blind with rage or alcohol kept tearing down the door, oblivious to the fact there was no longer anyone on the other end. He was alone, having driven the last person out of his life.

Finally, a few miles away and far enough from his home, Craig slowed his run. His body was reeling from the beating and exertion, but his mind was left manic and crazed. Where could he go? Shawn's place? Emma's? He barely knew these guys; he couldn't hide away there. What if his father came looking for him? He didn't want to risk it. Joey came to his mind. Joey was kind. Joey was good to him growing up. Best of all, Joey was an adult. He could help him think this through. He could tell him what to do next. Protect him?