Teller

Reunion

Bryson's P.O.V.

"Do I know you?" I asked the girl I just saved. She was still cowered up against the wall, and I couldn't help but feel like I'd met her before. She was attractive with her hair done down her back, and her lack of face paint. I reached out to, maybe touch her shoulder, but she shuddered back against the wall. I withdrew my hand before speaking again.

"Do you want a ride home?" I asked her, and she immediately shook her head no. I looked at her skeptically.

"I-I'm sure. Thank you," she stuttered out quietly. Her voice was so damn familiar. It was a long time since I'd heard it, that's for sure, but I had heard it often, I know that. She walked away from the wall a little bit, but was still hesitant.

"Hop on," I told her. I mounted my bike, and surprisingly, she got on behind me.

"Where to?" I asked, turning my head to look at her.

"Can you take me to the corner of Cherrywood and Dover?" she asked, biting her lip. I guessed that she probably lived in that area, the high end. I could tell by her clothes and shoes that she was loaded.

"No problem babe," I said with my best heart-melting smirk,"Hold on tight." She wrapped her arms around me, and I started the bike and kicked off from the curb. Her grip immediately tightened. She definately wasn't used to bikes. She was holding me so tight that she was pressed up against my back with no wiggle room. I chuckled a little bit.

"Here we are," I said sexily as I stopped the bike and pulled up next to a stop sign. She got off looking a little green, but thanked me and walked off. I looked at the time and swore.

My dad was going to kill me. I gunned the motor and raced back the way I came. I drove till I was just out of town and stopped at the old single story house in the middle of nowhere. I hopped off my bike and ran inside the house, not stopping to admire the beautiful sunset. My dad was standing in the foyer and I could hear my mom tucking my little sister into bed. My blood boiled, I knew why I could here her still.

"I told you, if you're mad, hit me, not them!" I couldn't keep myself from yelling. I hated the fact that I inherited his temper. I hated the fact that he got drunk and beat the shit out of us every night. I hated him.

"Trust me, boy, I will," he said, and he took his first punch of the night. Ever since I was little, he'd been doing this to us. He'd always been careful to avoid my face so he wouldn't get caught. I tried to report him once when I was eight, the same age as my sister. He just charmed the social worker into thinking I fell down the stairs. That next week when the investigation was over, he beat me so bad that I could barely move, let alone go to school. I thought about this as he landed punch after punch.

I learned not to fight back. On my first day of freshman year, I did. I punched him in the face, gave him a black eye. That night, and every night that week, he beat on my mom and five year old sister, hard. He made me watch too. That was more painful than anything he could do to me.

When he was done with me for the night, and I went to my room and pulled out my phone. I put my headphones in and started blasting music. I heard a knock on the door, and I pulled one of my earbuds out. Maria opened my door and walked in. She had a bag of ice and a plate of chicken nuggets. It was probably about ten o'clock, and it made me happy and sad that she risked getting beat again for me. She handed me the plate and climbed up on my bed.

"Where does it hurt?" she asked softly, and I pointed to the left side of my ribs where I'm pretty sure I may have had a small fracture. She set it down gently, and I winced. I lifted my arm and she curled up beside me. I ate the cold, soggy chicken with a smile on my face before picking up Maria, careful of my ribs, and carrying her back to her bed, being especially careful not to wake my dad. I went back to my room and crashed for the night.