Although the deliciously violent scenes seem to be dwindling as I keep writing more, this story DOES/WILL contain the following:

1) Delicious Violence.
2) Slight Blood Fetishes.
3) Underage Sex. (THIS INCLUDES: Underage Boy On Underage Girl Rape (Gasp! A hetero scene!), Mentions Of Overage Man On Underage Boy Rape, Underage Boy On Underage Boy Consensual Sex.)
4) Mentions Of Child Abuse.
5)Recollections Of A Suicide.
6) Angst. Lots & Lots Of Angst. I don't think it would be my writing without boatloads of angst.

I hereby admittedly state that I know hardly anything about the technicalities of jail time, the foster care system, or most mental/emotional/attachment disabilities/issues, and that I have made up details about these things for drama and easier writing.

Characters belong to Squeeeeeeeenix.

I think that's about it. I certainly hope this all covers my ass. Cos dammit, I don't want any complaints about anything that I've made sure to mention above.

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(Vincent)

I can't go back to the house now. If I did, I would have to explain to the Williams family just why I'm done with school so early. I couldn't tell a lie that could be so easily disproved. I couldn't tell the truth either. There was no real reason for leaving school in the middle of the day; I just had to do it. They would never understand.

I feel a little better now that I'm outside of, and far away from, the school building.

There's a park up ahead, so I figure I'll go see if there's anything of interest there.

Nope. There's nothing really, but it's quiet and I seem to be alone, so I'll stay here for a while and replay my scene. I won't have to hold back this time. With nobody else around, I can let myself go...

----

The sun is going down when I wake up. I'm still in the park and the ground I'm sitting on suddenly isn't as comfortable as it was when I first sat down.

My attention is drawn to the sound of leaves crunching under feet nearby. I see a man coming by down the sidewalk. My heart starts to pound as a swift adrenaline rush causes me to clumsily fumble to gather my backpack and stand up.

"He won't hurt me," I whisper to myself, trying to walk steadily, "He won't hurt me," I'll just draw more attention to myself if I run, "He won't hurt me, he won't hurt me," but a voice in my head says he might hurt me, he could hurt me, what if he does want to hurt me?"

I don't care anymore; I have to run. I couldn't not run if I wanted to. But I've done it now. He's noticed me. I try not to look, but I do, and he glances over at me.

He was just wondering why I was running. He probably just gave me a weird look.

Yeah, a weird look that said "Mmm, a tasty little boy."

Stop being so paranoid. He wasn't thinking that.

But what if he was thinking that? What if he's decided to follow me?

Where the hell do I live? I may be lost and it's almost dark now. Haven't even been in that house for a week. I don't even know if I'm going in the correct general direction.

I can't run much further. My legs have given about all they're going to give. My lungs are going to burst and my throat burns.

But I can't stop running, unless I want to be abducted. He's on my trail, he knows I'm scared, and if I pause for even a moment, he could attack.

The sun is gone and the streetlights are flickering on.

Please, please, let this be the right street. I think it just might be. ...432...434...436! Yes! With the green trim and the rose bushes. This looks about right.

I make it to the front door, but my body's not functioning well enough to get through it. My left hand says to pound incessantly on the door. My right hand says to shakily try the door knob. My legs say stop, for the love of God. My mind says fuck you, keep running. My common sense is too rattled to tell my mind that I very well can't literally run through a door. My eyes don't care about any of this and send never ending streams of tears which make everything all blurry.

The door opens, thank God, the door opens. There's some sort of noise that sounds something like "We were worried sick. Where have you been?" but I can't worry about that. I push through the door and head for the stairs. I can't stop yet; I'm not safe.

Not safe until I'm in my room. Not safe until I make sure all the bedroom windows are locked. Better hide in the closet too, just to be extra cautious. It's pitch black in the closet. I can't be seen in the dark, so I think I might be alright in here.

My head is throbbing from the lack of oxygen. I'm still gasping frantically for air. But I think I may be able to stop crying soon.

I hear a knock, and Mrs. Williams calling my name. I can't answer, or maybe I don't bother to try. My throat feels like it's been run ragged, and even my voice is too tired and too frightened right now.

She comes into the bedroom. I can see a faint glow coming through underneath the closet door, and I desperately try to move away from it.

"Vincent? Are you alright? You're not hurt, are you?" Mrs. Williams knocks on the closet door.

Just leave me alone. I need to hide and I need to be alone. Why can't my wordless sobs convey this??

"Come on. You're not in trouble. Why don't you come on out now, Vincent?" she asks. And she has a cruel advantage. One I never even considered. The light switch is outside of the closet. I don't realize this until the light above me turns on. The dark, safe, little room now a bright, open field, where my every move can be watched.

I'm starving; I haven't eaten anything all day. I might be hyperventilating, but I can't quite wrap my brain around that one. I am exhausted, inside and out; there is not a single part of me that isn't completely scared and overwhelmed. My whole body is shaking for probably more than one of these reasons. The light betrayed me, the darkness abandoned me. I can be seen, I've been found, and I'm vulnerable in this state. The door opens.

I am far from safe or sane anymore, and I am screaming, trying to hide myself, but the walls won't take me; my hands can cover no more than my face. Screaming still, as I feel other hands try to take hold of me. I don't want to be held down. There has to be another choice, another way to handle this. If I would have been left alone in the beginning, this wouldn't be happening.

I'm fighting as hard as my body will allow. I can't possibly imagine there is any more energy left in me, but something isn't letting me go down without a fight.

The noises and voices in the room turn into one heavy sound. I can't see anymore; just random swirls of colour and mostly black. I don't even know if my eyes are open or closed. Maybe they're just the first to give up. I try to tell myself to calm down, but nothing in me will listen. I don't seem to have any power over this situation, so I retract into myself. My mind is slowing down, it will give up completely very soon, but I don't think my body is going to. I think I've lost control and I don't know what it is that's taken over.

----

Everything is sore. It hurts a little to stretch and move, and I can't figure out why. It feels like there's a sort of blank space in my mental timeline. That usually doesn't mean anything good. Maybe I was actually hit with a truck last night. If someone were to tell me that right now, I would believe it.

The first order of business is to sit up. For some reason, I fell asleep in my jacket. I mess with the zipper for several minutes so I can take it off and discover dry semen stains on my shirt. When the hell did I do that?

Oh well. I can't worry about that too much this morning. I tug the shirt off and dig out a clean one. I think I manage to put it on backwards, but I don't think I have the strength to fix it. There are more important matters at hand, like making it to the bathroom.

There's a clock in the bathroom. That's a potentially handy idea, but it's telling me that it's almost 2 in the afternoon. I am either extremely late, or the clock is extremely wrong. Doesn't school start at some ungodly hour, like 8? Surely someone would have come to wake me up if I was so late.

I stagger down the hallway to Philip's room. Mr. and Mrs. Williams adopted him a few years ago. He's four or five years younger than me and I'm not allowed to be alone with him. He's not in his room and neither is his backpack. Also, his clock said it was almost 2.

Fuck! I'm going to get my head smashed in!

I need to get ready for school. I want to run back to my room, but I just don't have the will to run. As fast as I possibly can, I retrieve my school things, and I'm almost sure my shoes are on the wrong feet. I'm still hungry and lightheaded, but there's no time to eat right now.

"We called you in sick today, Vincent." Rushing through the house, I didn't even notice Mrs. Williams sitting in the living room, visiting with one of my regular therapists. I walk hesitantly towards them. Something happened last night, and I'm scared to find out what it was. So I don't ask.

One of them asks, "Are you feeling better today?"

Who cares?

"The school told us you ran off yesterday. Did somebody do something to make you angry?"

No, nothing I can specifically point out. I was just angry at everyone. Of course, I don't actually say this.

"Where did you go after you left school?"

I... don't know. The last thing I think I remember is sitting miserable at the lunch table. I keep my eyes on the floor.

The doctor suggests that Mrs. Williams leaves the room, so maybe I'd be more willing to talk. Not likely, but...maybe a little bit. The question is repeated once Mrs. Williams is gone. I remain silent; I have no answer.

Where had I been? Obviously someplace where I could dirty up my shirt in relative privacy.

"Did anyone try to hurt you? Something must have scared you pretty badly." And then, probably noticing my look of sheer confusion, she asks, "Do you remember what happened after you came back to the house last night?"

She tells me they think I had a panic attack. I had come back terrified and screaming and crying and no one knew why. Whatever. I don't care about that. I want to know why I don't know why. Why I can't remember what the hell happened to me. Nobody ever has any answers for me. My head feels like it's about to explode and it's about enough to make me wanna scream again.

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TBC, yo!