𝒮𝑒𝒸𝓇𝑒𝓉𝓈 𝐼𝓃 𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝒲𝑜𝑜𝒹/𝒷.𝑒

𝒮𝑒𝒸𝓇𝑒𝓉𝓈 𝐼𝓃 𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝒲𝑜𝑜𝒹

Troian's pov:

(If you know who I got this name from... ma'am let's be friends.)

I crawl out of my window, to which my parents have an alarm set to, but I paid someone I know to take care of that shit... I jump down from my second story window, clutching onto my bag, thats draped over my shoulder.
I fall to the ground with a groan.

Fucks up my ankles every time.

I put my back to the wall.... we have motion cameras... but I've perfected how to get past them.

I look to my left, seeing my parents bedroom window...

Shut, and closed. Perfect.

I take my time to crouch to the ground, taking small steps, to the front of the yard. Once I make it to the front of the house, I peek my head around, seeing the motion light thingy.

Are my parents psychopaths? Yes. They do what ever they can to keep me... in their... prison. It's not like imma really bad kid or anything. I'm not. I don't give them any reason to keep me locked up. They're just crazy people, so it makes me do this shit. I just have to get out.

I carefully, make my way to the sidewalk,   successfully not getting shined by the light.  

"Shit! Do I have my phone?!" I whisper to myself, stopping at a stop sign.

I open my backpack checking every pocket and corner.

Paper... pepper spray... pens... clothes... water... flashlight... peanuts... money...

"Whew ok." I sigh and start running off again, when I see my phone is no where to be found.

I know it has a tracker... I don't bring it anywhere. If I do, I leave it somewhere safe, where my parents wouldn't question.

I bought a new clean phone, just for safety reasons. I can't just go anywhere without no way to contact anyone. I'm not stupid.

I run to the neighborhood sign, and walk out of the neighborhood...

I put my backpack completely over my shoulders, and hold my arms to hug myself. It's dark and cold.

I shiver and I walk down the side of the road, holding my clean phone in my hands.

I walk a couple more minutes, down to a corner store. I'm starving.

My parents get me food, they don't starve me or anything, but is it ever a good, nice home cooked meal? No, it's either week old pizza, or a small sample from a food truck, or simply... take out.

I've always wondered what it would be like it have a normal, caring family. Do you know how much of a dream it would be to have a home cooked meal? And to be told I was loved...? Even to be tucked into bed?

But this isn't a dream, this is my life. I deal with it. I can't do anything about it. I can't just find new parents.

I walk into the corner store, smelling the hot food.

I walk up to the drinks, grabbing a Gatorade, and finding a candy.

I walk up to the register, setting my stuff down.

"Hello." The cashier greets.

"Hi." I smile.

"Where are your parents sweetheart? You seem young?"

Bitch i will fight you.

"My moms in the car, outside ma'am." I smile.

"Ok." She says, skeptically.