The Runaways | Bobby (Short Story!)

Part 1

Main Character Introductions:

Jung Y/n: A seventeen year old girl who loves to draw, take pictures, and hang out with her friends. However, underneath her happy exterior there's a frightened and abused girl who wants to run away from home.

Kim Jiwon: He goes by the name "Bobby", he's 18 years old, his father is abusive and his mother does nothing to stop it. He likes to hang out with his friends and get into trouble. He dropped out of high school due to poor grades and thinks that running away is his only salvation.

They are.. the runaways...

What comes to mind when you thing about "running away?" Is it a cowardly action? One who runs away from fear. Or is it a safety option? Someone who escapes from a dangerous situation.

To me, it's to get away from a bad living situation. A security of some sort. An escape from misery, a solution.

Here's my story, the story of the time I ran away from home...

Y/N'S P.O.V:

"Yah, Y/n! Your appa wants to speak with you.." my mother calls out to me from down stairs.

A sigh escapes my lips as I get up from the comfort of my own bed and set my art supplies down.

"I'll be right there!" I call out, leaving my room and head down the old wooden stairs. Soft creaks followed my foot-steps as I reached the bottom.

I met my father in the living room, he was holding a folded packet with grades printed across from it. He scowled down at the print.

"Yes appa?" I say with the most innocent tone imaginable in my voice.

"What the hell is this?" The stern tone in his voice makes my heart jump a little in my chest as he raised my report card in the air.

I could have sworn I had gotten rid of it weeks ago.. He must have went through the garbage..

My stomach started to feel gross, and it was becoming difficult to think straight. "O-Oh... I-I guess I didn't do-" my hands tremble as I stutter.

"Why did you throw it away Y/n?" His sharp glare made me feel as if I'd shrunk down to two–feet.

My voice hid itself so that I couldn't even find it, I just stared..

"Answer me....Yah! Are you listening?!.........Y/n!" I didn't say a word, all I could do is look away. I felt ashamed of myself. All I do is let them down. 

"Y/n!" My mother started to raise her voice at me, eventually a sharp sting grew on my left cheek as my father struck me with the back of his hand.

Tears overflowed my eyes as I held my pained face.

I don't want to be here...

I went back to my room, mixed emotions of anger and frustration builds up.

Silently, I begin to pack my backpack, art supplies, clothes, toiletries, snacks, and the thirty—dollars I've been hiding between my mattress and bed-spring.