Flinch {A Mike Dirnt Fan Fic}

Faces

"I need to use the bathroom." I had spoken, eagerly holding myself so I wouldn't make a leak in my tnightshirt. I crossed my legs over each other, thinking it would be impossible to not wet myself. Richard continued to fluff the pillows on his bed, not talking any notice of my presence. I jogged in place eagerly. I barely tapped his shoulder, to make him turn around.

"Oh." He spoke. Without another word, he beelined for his small walk-in closet he has at the left side wall that extended by the door. He entered the rotting door, to reveal pipes, and a couple of poles where water would've ran through when it was a laundry room. He reaches for the top shelf. His hand fished around for a metal object.

He slowly pulls away, grasping a rusted bucket. I eyed it as the handle clanked against the brim of the bucket. I gulp in almost fear. But it was more pity than fear.

I'm an idiot...

--

I was crying into my shirt. And I didn't know if it was out of fear, or happiness. My wrist was numbing, he was holding it so tight. It was like he was more eager than I was, to get home. It took me a couple of moments to realize he had left his bike behind us.

"I-I...you...um..." I tried to speak to him, but he didn't take any recognition that I was the one he was dragging house after house. My legs were getting weak once again. The nerve endings in my arms acted up. Like they did when Richard raped me. Richard, Richard...Richard...

"We're here." He abruptly stopped, making my front collide with his back, making him stumble a couple of steps forwards. "Are you okay?" He asked, spreading his arms out in front of him, almost waiting for me to collapse. "You look a little shaky."

"No...no...I-I'm okay." I try and assure. My words shook, since I was still taken aback on how forward this new person was.

"Okay. It's just a couple of steps more." He would persuade. I didn't give him any verbal response besides moving my feet. My bottom lip quivered.

We reached a beige, small house. With a bright red door that you couldn't miss. There was an envelope bar in the door, aligned with a gold brass, and the windows on the inside, had perfectly placed drapes that hung over the first two top window panes. There wasn't much more to observe before he yanked me once again into the home.

For that sudden moment, I couldn't realize how I got in human contact. And this wasn't a dream, I was sure of it. The overwhelming smell of wet cardboard filled my lungs, almost pleasantly. And the smallest hint of spearmint soared through the air.

The boys arms loosened around mine, I grasped my wrist in reflex. Feeling all around the bones. He glances back at me, and mutters a: "Sorry."

He reluctantly wipes his dirty, worn Nike's on a salmon-colored door mat, before dragging me up the staircase. I stubbed my toes on the way up the winding staircase. I wince in pain.

The soundings of a woman's voice chimed from a kitchen area. I'm still breathing heavily from an adrenalin rush I got from running prior to this moment.

"Mike, did you get the eggs and-" a woman shows through an arch in the kitchen, she's holding a wash cloth and a dirty yellow plate. Her voice trails off after her eyes meet my wet ones, mostly from crying.

"Ah, this is...um..." The boy spoke back to the woman, but then he trails off like she did, turning to me. He signals for me to introduce myself, not only to her, but to him also.

I froze, as if I wasn't moving already. My sound refused to come out, I still can't shake off that I'm out of that hell hole. I'm still trying my best to keep my focus. I barely manage a peep. "...Charlotte..." I say so quietly, I could probably only have heard it.