Lily's POV

I angrily stomped up the stairs. My dad was such a jerk. He had told me that I was being immature. Me? Immature? I don't think so, bub. I shoved my clothing into a small bag, grabbed a flashlight and my tent-in-a-bag and headed downstairs. As I was walking I made a quick call to my cousin, asking if he would pick me up and let me crash at his place, but he told me he couldn't help, due to apparently having food poisoning. I knew it probably wasn't that. My cousin was a classic man-whore. Who knows what it really was, but I didn't argue.

I stopped for a second, having forgotten why I went into the kitchen. Oh, I thought. Duh.

I raided the kitchen, listing off some supplies I needed in my head. Water, check. Food, check. Matches, check... I left the kitchen, but I remembered something, and ran back in. I can't believe I almost forgot my cooking kit. I snapped one of the hair-ties I keep on my wrists, as I always do when I forget something stupid.

I walked quickly to the door, hoping my dad wouldn't hear me and try to intercept. I was too late.

"Just where the hell do you think you're going?" he asked sarcastically.

"Where do you think, I'm going out with my friends." I replied, resisting the urge to stab him with anything in reach, which just so happened to be lucky enough to be a sword that he kept on display, for god knows what reason.

"You don't have any friends," he said nonchalantly, "besides, even if you did, you wouldn't go out with a tent and enough water bottles to choke and elephant."

"Why do you care? All you do is drink beer and watch NASCAR, that or hang around in a bar trying to pick up girls half your age." I muttered under my breath, I knew he could hear me, but I really didn't care. My "father" had pissed me off from the time I first met him, eight years ago, at that point. Back then I was six years old, and probably the nicest girl you would ever meet. This guy changed that big time. I had become that weird Goth chick who sits on the roofs of local buildings and reads horror stories.

"What did you just say to me?" I heard him raising his voice, but I still didn't care. I knew that if he did anything, I could hit him back, just as hard. His hand came up, and I waited for the blow. I got what I expected.

Almost.

I expected it to hurt. It didn't. Probably because I had gotten used to it. I dodged the next hit and slammed my knee forwards, aiming for the most sensitive part of his body, and hitting it perfectly. I took my chance to run out the door and hopped on my bike, speeding out. I pumped my legs as fast as I could until I got tired, then I stopped to catch my breath. Come on, I told myself. He's probably right on your heels!

I pedaled to the forest on the outskirts of town and wiped the sweat off of my neck. I had always run to a different spot when I ran away, and this time was no different. It was my first time going into the forest out here, and I was a bit worried. Last summer, my only friend came here on a dare, and he ended up disappearing. A few days later, he arrived at my house covered in blood, and told me something. I still remember it as if it had just happened.

"The tall one is there, in the forest, the tall one is there." When I asked him who this "Tall One" was, he just started yelling at me in Spanish. After yelling for a few seconds he freaked out and ran away. I found his body the very next day, scrunched into my locker. The investigation lasted for four months, but nothing came of it.

I told myself to calm down, took a deep breath, and began to climb the chain link fence.