Connor sighed, eyeing the battered phone sitting on the counter. He continued to scratch behind Layla's ear, the Weimaraner giving the 15 year old's hand a slight nudge. Connor averted his eyes from the phone to look into Layla's ice blue eyes. A small and weak smile stretched across Connor's face as he leaned down and pecked the dog's light reddish-brown nose. Sarah May had said to call the hotline and talk to someone about it and Connor knew that the people on the other side would listen, but would they care? He doubted it. After all, he was just a stupid hormonal teen going through a "phase". Connor hoped that, just like his family's low income, that his self hate was just a phase. Turning away from the phone, Connor stood up and started walking to his room in the ratty, rundown apartment. Layla whined, tilting her head in confusion. Connor stopped to look at the sweet dog. He just smiled that small, helpless smile once more and shook his head.

"Not today, Layla. We don't want to bother those nice people."