Before I had made my so-called daring escape, I had grabbed the plastic rods of the headboard to make makeshift crutches.
It would work.

For now.

I had my backpack slung on one shoulder, and I had dressed in the most normal clothes I could find.  It probably didn't help that I had cuts and bruises everywhere.

I navigated through the streets of New York, hoping no one would recognize me.

Even if Bing was in jail, he had a whole army of henchman, so arresting Bing was no help to me.

But I had to be more careful.  High-school was supposed to be my cover, not a place where I could be exposed.

I guess I really am dumb.

The shorts I had pulled on chafed the plaster on my cast, my hair tangled around my scalp.  But I just needed somewhere I could stay.

Somewhere safe.

Luckily for me, I don't have anywhere to stay.

The streets have become too dangerous, New York has become too dangerous.

There was no doubt I would be caught again.

And this time, there'd be no one to save me.

All this time, I've been hiding and only made a few mistakes, only made a few appearances to my captors, but this time, I've really done it.  I really, really thought that high-school was going to cover me.

But I know deep in my heart, that going to high-school didn't mean what it should have meant for me.  

I finally broke down from limping through the streets and settled in a dark alleyway.

This'll have to do.

As I laid my backpack on the floor, I remembered the money.

I rummaged through my pack, remembering that I been kidnapped because of the money.

And I had never found that money.

But I still searched through with hope, when I felt a small envelope.

I opened it, realizing it wasn't the same envelope.

My heart sank, but inside, I found a small notecard.

I held it up to the flickering lamp, squinting.

So I take it you've made one of your escapes.

I knew you would.  I can't say that I'm glad though.  But let's just say that I hope you're realizing what a big mistake you've commited.

Was he scolding me through a LETTER?

I know I can't go through what you've been through, but I just wanted to tell you that I see your pain.  You think you can hide it, but you can see it through your eyes.  Your eyes give you away, Charlotte.

And it's not only the assault you've gone through.  That pain's been there ever since I met you.  

Meet me at Central Park in the morning.

I rolled my eyes, but I knew he was right.  I was suffering.  But it's easier to hide it than to show it.

But Peter saw right through me.

I didn't know if I'd go to Central Park in the morning.  I wanted to, I really did.  

Trusting someone takes effort.  It's not something that comes naturally.

And I learned that when I was tortured repeatedly.  I learned that even just talking to someone made all the difference.

Because someone from the dead had risen up and broke me.

I woke up, realizing that it was already morning.  My leg was stiff, and I struggled to get on my feet.

Peter.  

I had to meet him today.  

He'd probably convince me to come back with him, but there was nothing he could do about it.

I stumbled to Central Park, looking out for Peter.  He was sitting on the bench like he had been waiting for a really, really long time.  His back was faced towards me, and I really, really wanted to run.  I didn't want to talk to him.   But something told me that he would keep trying.  And that he would succeed.

Better now than later.

Later, I would be out of here.

"Peter," I said.

His head whipped towards me. "You came," 

I sent him a glare.  I stayed my distance from him.

"I just wanted you to come stay with us.  My parents were reluctant, but they agreed.  You don't have to go to the hospital, just... stay." he rambled.

My eyes widened.  "No, no, n- Peter, I can't.  That's- to-too much."  I managed.

"You don't really have a choice, Charlotte.  You've been assaulted and tortured, your freaking leg is broken, anyone can tell you're hurt, which all makes it easier to get caught again!  I don't know your story, but all I know is that you.  Need. Help." he started to say, rising to his feet.

Instincts told me to step back.  

Sam had told me the same thing.

Even if he was dead, it didn't mean that I didn't remember what he had told me.

We both knew it was right.

"Ok," I said.

"That's not enough, Charlotte.  Every single time you say 'ok,' you end up running!  That's not how it works.  Maybe you've ran it like that for a long time, but it catches up to you!"  Peter said.

"Ok, I'll stay!"  I yelled at him.

Peter stared at me.  "No running."
I shook my head.

I was fuming with anger.   
I could tell from the look in his crazed eyes he would drag me if he had too.

But secretly, I wanted to stay.  I wanted a place where I would feel safe.

Peter loaded me into his car, leaving awkward silence between us.

"I'm sorry if I was harsh."  he started.  "I just can't let you go."

What?

He looked at me quickly.  "Not in that way.  I mean, we spent a month trying to find you and to-"

So that was what it was.

"I get it, Peter, stop," I mumbled. 

Peter fell silent. 

I knew he was regretting what he had said.

I didn't mean to be so harsh with her, I just...

I just couldn't.

Even if I had talked to her for such little time, I felt drawn to her.

Not romantically, of course.

But there was that screaming in her eyes.  I could hear the screams for help in her eyes.

But no one else seemed to see them.

And I knew she knew it.  She knew that she needed help.

She just refused it.  She refused it because she was afraid to be broken.

But now, it might be too late.

My eyes flew open at the sound of the door slamming, when Peter and I walked in.

"Sorry," Peter said, catching my small flinch.

I didn't say a word.

"Hi Charlotte!" his mother greeted. "Call me Jenny,"

"Hi," I said, trying to be polite.

Her face looked wary, as if Peter had argued with them.  About me.

Probably about me.

"We have a room set up for you upstairs, please feel at home," the woman said.

"Thank you," I said.

"Here, I'll take you up," Peter said, grabbing my worn backpack.

I had no choice but to follow him.

It was a small room, but it was completely furnished. I put down my makeshift crutches and sat on the bed.

"Seriously Peter, I don't need to be here," I said, grumpily.

"Or what? You'll be in a shelter with crazy people?" he asked.

So he didn't know the full story.

"The shelter works for me," I lied.

"Stay here until your cast comes off," Peter said.

Well, I couldn't really get around with the crutches I had stolen.

"By the way, that hospital bed is totally ruined," Peter stated, looking at my "crutches." "I have some old ones from when I broke my leg," he said going to his closet and retrieving some crutches.

I took them from him, mumbling a thanks.

"You know, you don't have to just stay silent all the time. I have ears, you know. I know you don't k-know me and al that, but I care for you," he rambled.

My head snapped towards him. Cares for ME?

He adjusted his glasses, his eyes downcasted. "J-just forget I said anything."

I couldn't really be angry at him.

"I care for you. Not in the way you're thinking, but you know, Charlotte, I know what you're going through." Peter said, scratching the back of his neck.

My confusion turned into anger.

"You don't know anything about me. You don't get anything I've been throu-" I started.

"I DO!" Peter shouted.

My eyes widened.

His voice trembled. "These aren't my real parents, Charlotte."

I looked at him.  Sergeant Madden did say he was his adoptive dad.

"My parents died too. I was fourteen." he continued. "They died from a car crash."

"Mine too," I said, trying to calm down.

"They were murdered." he stopped and looked at me.

I looked at him holding his eye contact.

"Did you believe me when I said the same?" I asked him.

"Yes," he said quietly.

"At first, I only wanted to make sure you were ok, Charlotte, that's my natural instinct. But once I heard you went through the same actions as I did, I.." Peter tried.

"You know Peter?" I asked him.

"Hm?" he said, looking at his hands.

"I think we're both gonna be ok." I said.

He looked at me.

"Shouldn't I be the one saying that to you?" he laughed.

I shrugged.

"Lady, you've been living without anyone to lean on, not to mention you recently were abducted!" he joked.

I rolled my eyes.

I looked at the girl in front of me. She was going over the Pythagorean Theorem, trying to make sense of it all.

She had gone through death just like I had.

I was a senior, and Charlotte was a junior, so we were both considered orphans in the same year.

It was possible our parents had the same murderer.

But when I looked at her, I just knew that everything she had gone through was blinded by her attempts at being strong. Tough.

She reminded me about a class about digital citizenship.

They poured a drop of food dye in some water, and continued adding water to it. The dye never really disappeared. It was supposed to remind us about our digital footprint, but now?
It reminded me of Charlotte.

She had definitely gone through more than I had, and she definitely was more hurt than I was.

It was three years ago.

While I had been living safely, not happily with my relatives, she was out in the shelters, in danger and in depression.

"I can see you staring at me," she said, still looking at the textbook.

I smiled and opened my mouth to talk. "I wasn't staring,"

She rolled her eyes.

"Charlotte, what happened?" I asked, afraid of what she might attempt.

I saw her take a sharp intake of breath, her eyes turning cold.

Peter, Peter, Peter will you just close your flapping lips?

Charlotte looked at me. "As I said, I was thirteen...

Three Years Ago...

Charlotte smiled happily, smoothing out her yellow striped shirt, touching the blue ribbon in her hair. She looked out the large window, finding only sky and sun.

Her cellphone ringed.

She pulled out her cellphone, finding a notification from her Instagram page.

sammy_handsome101 has liked your post.

Charlotte flopped onto her bed, scrolling through the small selfies and pictures the two had taken together.

She didn't want to admit it, but she had a tiny- no, massive crush on Sam.

"Char! We're going out for ice-cream!" a familiar voice called.

"Ok, mom!" Charlotte yelled back, stuffing her cellphone in the back pocket of her jeans and running down the stairs.

It was rare that her parents had time to do things like going out for ice-cream, so Charlotte skipped. Even though she was a teenager.

She wanted to enjoy her childhood, before it would sneak away from her.

But little did she know, that would be very, very, very soon.

"What should we listen too?" Charlotte's father, said, turning the knobs on the radio station.

"Hmm, some classical would be ni-"

"Shawn Mendes," Charlotte said, interrupting her mother.

Charlotte's parents chuckled, before turning on a popular song.

The car pulled up to a local shop, Charlotte smiling in excitement.

But before she could say anything, the car window smashed open, shatters of glass falling on top of her father.

Charlotte screamed.

Suddenly, she felt two large hands pick her up, and shove her out the open door.

"RUN CHARLOTTE!" she heard a voice cry, before being muffled.

Charlotte looked back once.

For a split second.

In that second, she saw the very last glimpse of the very two people she loved the most.

She saw the faces of her parent's murderers. One of them, she recognized from the newspapers.

She saw the ice-cream shop, the once happy people, stunned in shock and soon running away.

Charlotte never looked back again.

So she ran. She ran like her parents asked her to.