[Bad] ft. Ethan•Dolan

Chapter 1

My feet were hurting and felt hot in my old, red converses.
As the night settled in for a long, unforgivable stay, fewer and fewer cars passed by.

I had no clue where I was going, no cash, no identification.
Walking away from home was probably one of the most stupid things I had ever done.
And I had done a lot of stupid fucking things.

I pretended that I wasn't scared.

I pretended to have no regrets.

No regrets of leaving my home, with a warm, comfortable bed, all my favorite books on a shelf in my room, their covers wrecked and bend of reading them over and over again.

I pretended to have no regrets of coldly pressing 'decline' eight times when my dad called me.

I couldn't have regrets. I couldn't, because
My phone had died and I was so lost that there was no way for me to ever be able to find the way back home.

The only thing I could think of was to keep on walking.

I knew that that wasn't a solution.
I knew that I couldn't just walk forever.
And in the very back of my head, I knew that I wanted to keep walking, just so I looked like I had the slightest clue what I was doing...
Even though I was completely desperate and physically destroyed.

I was walking with my head up, hoodie over my head and tugging an old yellow trolley behind me.

A street lantern in front of me flickered.

The only things I could hear were the high sirens of a very distant police car, the rustling of the wind and the trees and-

"Give me you fucking money."

A cracked, raspy, male voice came from behind me.

I froze. A cold tension creeped up on my body and focused around my shoulders and neck.

I didn't know what to do. My eyes prickled as if I was going to cry.

A massive hand grabbed my shoulder and roughly turned me around.

A middle aged man was standing in front of me. His face pale, his eyes red and bulging. He was wearing a black hoodie and sweatpants, both were stained and ripped.

He smelled terrible. Like liquor.

He quickly pulled out a knife from his pocket, the blade was rusty and old but the knife was big and undoubtedly... sharp.

"Empty your pockets, empty your pockets!"

He said hurriedly. Making rapid hand gestures.

I stood there. My feet seemed to be glued in place. My mouth seemed to be sowed shut. I was trembling.

The man gashed at me with his knife.

That triggered a reaction from me. I yelled and turned around to run away.

His big hands clutched onto my hair and he pulled me to his chest.

I heard the metal on the sidewalk when he dropped his knife.

With one hand still holding tight on my hair he padded me down with his other hand. Reaching into the right pocket of my hoodie and pulling out my phone.

I squeaked and struggled.

He pulled the hand holding my hair back even further, forcing my head upwards. I felt his rough beard on the side of my forehead.

The smell of liquor was so strong while he continued to pad down my other pockets. He pulled some candy wrappers out of my jeans and threw them on the ground. When he seemed to have established that I didn't have anything else, his hand went up again.

I felt every piece of humanity leave my body and a hot tear rolled down my cheek as he rested his hand on my boob and squeezed, hard.
I suppressed a gag.

Then he let go of me. I fell on the ground. My knees hit the stone sidewalk.

Behind me I heard the man run away.

Tears streamed over my cheeks continuously. My eyes burned and I leaned my head on the cold street lantern that stood next to me.

I hugged my bleeding knees and let my head rest on them.

I didn't care that I was bleeding.

I didn't care about anything anymore.