1Past, Present, Future

He had to escape.

Walking as fast as he could up the stairs leading to the roof of the apartment building, he tried to keep his mind on the latest book he read, anything to make him forget the sound of his mom and younger brother shouting at him, telling him everything was his fault. Though he wasn't denying that it was.

Six years of this,he thought bitterly as he broke into a run, sprinting past floors five and six with ease. six years since it happened, and my family still uses me as their scapegoat. Nothing changes, nothing.

Two floors later and out of breath, he reached the door that led to the roof, and as he opened it roughly, he welcomed the cold city air, the freedom. He turned around the corner and walked to the ledge, gazing at the city lights the way a young child would, wishing his life could be as wonderful as they looked. Because it wasn't. Nothing was as it seemed in his life.

He was torn out of his brooding by a muffled sob coming from somewhere close to him, and turned around curiously. What the...?There it was again. He searched the roof, finding the only possible source to be a large cardboard box. Ripping the top off it urgently, his heart broke at the sight of a little girl, probably ten or eleven years old, curled up in ball and huddled in the corner.

"Hey kid, what are you doing in there?" he asked softly, his own troubles momentarily forgotten.

"I'm hiding." She said as if it was obvious. As she lifted her chin, he realized that her cheek was bleeding.

" Hey, your hurt!"

"I know." She whispered.

He hesitated before asking, "where's your mother?" He was worried by the fact that this particular question caused her to burst into sobs.

"She..." the girl broke off into a soft cry before continuing, " She's the one who did this to me."

He picked her up as gently as he could without hurting her and sat her down next to him.

"Why would your mom hurt you?" Even though he didn't even know this girl, he was infuriated by how much pain she was in.

"Because she was drunk, why else?" She questioned rhetorically in a bitter tone that was hard to find in someone her age. Then again, he was awfully young to be acting so bitter too.

"Is she drunk a lot?" He felt like a cop, interrogating her like this, but in order to find out if he should call the cops, it was needed.

She nodded her head.

He asked the next question even more delicately,

"Does she...hurt you a lot like this?"

She didn't respond, instead, she threw herself forward and held onto his shirt for dear life as she sobbed. After what seemed like hours, she pulled away, embarrassed, yet calmer then he had seen her so far. She scooted back a ways, and then asked, " So...why are you up here on this lovely rooftop?"

Ah, sarcasm, I know you too well. Despite both of they're situations, he laughed.

" You sort of reminded me of myself when you asked that, kid." She looked at him blankly.

"So, are you going to answer my question?"

"Oh, yeah." He shook his head, "I'm not exactly the happiest person on earth either kid, my mother and my younger bro... they still accuse me of being the reason for my dads death and it was six years ago...he killed himself."

"I'm sorry." She whispered. He just continued on.

"The last thing I ever said to him," He paused and took a shuddering breath, "Was that I hated his guts."

He didn't know why he was telling this little girl things he wouldn't even tell a best friend, if he had one, but he felt that she could sympathize with him. Apparently, he was more right then he thought.

"Hey Mister., " She said, putting her small hand on his shoulder in a mature and comforting gesture,

"don't worry. I don't have my daddy either. I never even knew him."

He felt a pang of sympathy for her yet again, "Thanks kid. But don't call me mister, okay. It makes me feel old."

"Aren't you?" She asked with raised eyebrows.

"No. I'm only seventeen." he chuckled. "How old are you?"

"I'm nine, so to me you are old." She retorted.

"Fair enough, so I'm not going to call you kid all the time, what's your name?"

"I'm Olivia." She said confidently, "Who are you?"

"You can call me Johnny."

"Okay, Johnny. Your pretty cool, you know that."

"Thank you, Olivia. Your cool too. For a little kid," He teased.

"I'm not little! But Johnny, if my mom hurts me again or starts yelling, can I come here and hang out with you tomorrow?"

"Of course." He smiled at her, "because I'll probably end up here again anyway. Come on, I'll walk down the stairs with you."

John Munch sighed as he sat at his desk, thinking about the girl he ended up spending so much time with in his teenage years. If only he could remember her name, then maybe he would be able to find her again.

Little did he know, Olivia Benson was sitting only a few desks away, having very similar thoughts.

TBC