Aaron laid silently, his eyes trained on the small patch of light on the ceiling, listening to the soft drip, drip of the kitchen faucet. He shifted a little on the moth-eaten sofa and pulled the threadbare sheet up a little. There was no glass in the window.
What the Hell was I thinking, taking off like this? I'm freezing, I'm starving, and I don't know how to do anything... except lie. Now what? I'm away. He can't go to the police about me missing. But that still leaves me stranded. I won't go back. I won't. I'll die.... I'll die. I'll die if I don't go back. But I can't. I can't go crawling back now. He killed Yantzy. He'll end up killing me. Once I grow up a little more. When we can't tell people that I'm ten or eleven. What use will he have for someone full grown? None.
But still. I have to do something.
He looked over at the broken window. It got far too cold at night here. He needed to go someplace else. Besides, his dad was only two towns over. Too close.
Tomorrow I'll hitchhike. I'll head east. But where? He's probably already out looking. He might be in town right now. I have to go far. As far as I can. Someplace where everyone's anonymous.
The wind picked up and he clutched at his blanket as his stomach gave a pathetic grumble.
Nobody's going to pick up someone they think is homeless. I'll stop at the library. Clean up a bit... Will he look for me there? Did he notice how often I had my nose in a book? Maybe I should wait....
No. I have to get out of here fast. I'll just have to risk it. I'll have to risk that, and I'll have to steal something to eat so that I don't alarm anyone that picks me up.
He closed his eyes. That was the plan. He had a plan, and plans were his friend. He just had to run, and had to be quick about it. Once he got east, he could always figure something else out. It'd be easy. Maybe. Once he got east. He fell into an uneasy sleep on the couch that smelled of mildew and dreamt about the smell of the school in the morning--that lemony smell of things that were clean, neat, and easy.
In the morning he got up and shook himself out, making certain to get the blood circulating again, rubbing his chilled hands together and putting them atop his nose. He grabbed the small bag he'd packed from the corner and glanced skyward. It's not even eight yet. I guess food comes first, then the library.
He headed down the fire escape as quietly as possible, looking around to make sure the old Plymouth Duster wasn't lurking outside his hideaway. That, or cop cars. That'd be just as bad, when he thought about it. But definitely not worse... because the cops wouldn't beat the living hell out of him.
He jumped down the last few feet and straightened himself, looking around, then hurrying to the end of the block, peering around the corner. No rust-colored car.
There was a corner store a few blocks up. He loathed to steal from small businesses, but it was close, and he knew the immediate area well enough that should he need to run, he could hide.
He ventured slowly, carefully, around the corner, and then, feeling more confident, continued on, keeping one eye open for the car, and the other for its driver.
Aaron could see the corner store and the bars on the windows, but the door was propped open, and the neon lights illuminated. Okay, just something small. Crackers or something. Something to tide me over.
He pulled the baseball cap down over his eyes a little more as he made his way to the building.
The arms came around him from behind: one around his waist, the other put it's hand over his mouth. He jerked and tried to yell as panic stole over him. Caught!
He didn't have to see the man who was pulling him into the alley's face. That smell was too familiar. No! No! He struggled and kicked and jerked, but he was small and thin, and his father was tall and strong.
Aaron felt like crying. His freedom so short-lived.
The boy collided with the wall and the older man's body was above him, boxing him in, his hand in place over his mouth.
"Where the fuck do you think you're going?"
No, no... Not now. He can't. In desperation Aaron brought up his foot and smashed it down on the older man's instep. Missed the toes! But the weight was off of him. He shoved back hard and darted out from under his father's arms, making a dash towards the street, but he barely made three steps. His father had a hold of his backpack.
"You little shit!"
The fist collided with the side of Aaron's face as he was thrown onto the ground. He saw stars. Hands were pulling him to his feet. A creaky car door opening. The familiar smells of cigarettes and bourbon, dirty socks and fast food.
No. I... Blackness took over. Aaron lay, out cold, on the backseat.