Dylan's POV
Walking down the sidewalk, I hum to myself. I can honestly say I have no idea where I'm going to go. The faint idea of going back to Ms.Foster's house popped into my head.
No. No way in hell. I don't need her help. Nor anybody else's. I'm going to be fine. I'll just go home. I'll slip in quietly and stay in my room.
Walking into my house, I immediately regret it. My dad comes bursting through the door, with a bottle in hand. Breaking the bottle over my head, I fell to the ground, seeing spots.
"WHERE THE FUCK HAVE YOU BEEN?!?" He screamed in my face.
"Not here!!!" I screamed back. He slapped me hard across the face.
"I'm done with dealing with you you little useless piece of shit!!!" He grunted, throwing a punch to my stomach, and another to my face. "Its time for a real man to show you what you're missing," he said, unbuckling his pants.
"No!" I yelled, kicking him as hard as I could in the balls, I got up and attempted to run away. He grabbed me by the back of my shirt, and threw me to the ground.
"You bitch!" He screamed, laying himself over me.
I punched and clawed at him to get him off me, but my attempts seemed useless. As his hands trailed down my body and ripped off my jeans.
"Maybe once you've had a good dick in you, you won't want to be a carpet muncher anymore." He said, yanking off my underwear.
"Stop!" I sobbed out.
"Shut up!!" Slapping me across the face, he forced himself into me, laughing as I cried out in pain.
After he was finished I just laid there, on the floor. I stood up, grabbing my torn clothing off the floor and hobbling into my room. Bolting the door closed, I grabbed a pair of jeans.
"Where'd you go?!?!" I hear my father say from outside my door. "Open the damn door!" He yelled, jerking the door.
Afraid that he'll break the door down, I climb out of my window, and run down the street.
Running as fast as I can, Ms.Foster's home soon comes into view.
Walking up to the door, my hands become shaky as I ring the doorbell. The door opens, revealing a tired looking, yet still beautiful as ever, Ms.Foster.
"Dylan?" She whispered.
"I'm sorry, I know its late, but.....I didn't know where else to go." I said.
"Hey, no, its ok. I'm glad you came to me. Come in, let's get you washed up?" She grabs my hand, and leads me inside.
"Sweetie, what the hell happened to you?"
"Its nothing," I grunted, walking behind her.
"Like hell its nothing!" She said. Turning around, she looked at me, grabbing my hands. "Why won't you let me help you? That's all I want to do, is help you. Why can't you just let me do that for you?"
"Because I'm scared!" I sobbed. "I'm scared that if I let you in, that if I let anybody in, they'll see all my secrets, and they'll hate me for it! Then they'll leave!"
She let go of my hands, and pulled me into a hug. "Look, its ok, alright?" She soothed.
"No, its not alright," I cried, "Nothing about this is alright! I should be dead!"
"Don't say that," she said.
Rolling my eyes, I pulled away from her.
'I never should have come here, I should've just slept on the street." I said, shaking my head.
"And why is that?" She asked, stepping closer to me.
"Because I'm fine! I don't need you! I don't need anybody!"
"Stop with that bullshit Dylan! Its obvious that you're going through something! You're in pain, I can see it. Just tell me what the hell is going on with you!"
"I can't!" I yelled, backing away from her. "He's my dad, don't you understand!"
Breaking down, I slide down the wall, I hugged my knees to my chest.
"No, stop, get away!" I said when she sat beside me. "I don't need you, I don't need anybody....." I mumbled into her chest as she wraps her arms around me. "I don't need you, I don't....."
"I know, I know you don't," she said gently. "Shhhhhh, its ok, shhhhhh, just breathe...."
We stayed like that for what felt like hours, just sitting in silence.
I was too afraid to look at her. Too afraid to say anything. Too afraid to move. Being in her arms made me feel safe. Made me feel protected. And god, she smelt so fucking amazing. Like cherries and vanilla.
Her boobs make for a great pillow too. God, could this get any weirder. I'm here, laying with my head on my English teachers chest. Sobbing as she holds me.
"Are you ok?"
"I don't know," I replied honestly. Looking down at our intertwined hand. She felt so soft. Yet she had this tough façade that surrounded her. She intrigued me. She was like a puzzle I needed to solve.
She wants to save the world, but probably won't ever let anyone help her herself.
"Do you want to talk? I can make us some coffee or something?"
"No, I think I should probably just go," I said standing up.
"No, you're staying right where you are," Ms.Foster said, grabbing my wrist steering me towards the couch.
"Ms.Foster," I started, trying to pull away from her grip, which she just tightened.
"Its Samantha," she said, gabbing my hand. "Look at me," she said, guiding my face up to look at her. "Look at me, ok, you're staying here. No questions asked. No if's, and's, or but's, about it. You understand?"
Shaking my head, "I can't."
"Why not?"
"Because every time I look at you, every time I talk to you, I can't help but want to kiss you..." I said truthfully.
Standing up, I headed to the door, without a second look back, I left her house.
I can not believe I just said that. That is not me. I don't let people hold me. I don't let people soothe me. I don't tell people I want to kiss them everytime I look at them. I need to get away. If only for a little bit, I need to think.
I stop by my house real quick, relieved that my father was not home, I grabbed some clothes and a tent.
Spending a week or so in the wilderness should give me time to get a clear head.
