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home. Truth be told, I would much rather stay
with him, than have to explain everything to my mother.
     
    I closed my
eyes as I rested my head back on to the seat and listened to the
music once again. This time the voice was singing about crawling. I
didn't understand what the words meant, but at least the voice was
making me forget.
     
    After a little
while the truck comes to a halt, I look out the window to see a
little run down house. A few windows are boarded up, a little porch
with a swing and the paint looks like it is falling off.
     
    “It’s not much,
but its home” he shrugs and climbs out of the truck. Before I
realize the passenger door is open, and his hand is reaching out
towards me. “Come,” when I refuse to take his hand, he gives a
throaty laugh. His hands reach around my waist and he lifts me out
of the truck.
     
    “Do you think
you can walk?” He asks as soon as my feet hit solid ground, I just
nod. “Are you going to talk at all?” Out of habit I nod again.
“Good.” He turns round and heads towards the house with me
following behind.
     
    We enter the
house, and he begins to switch lights on. The inside matches the
outside, a shabby sofa is on one side of the room, an old fashion
TV set is on the other, and a card table with two chairs is placed
against the wall. The wall paper is beige and peeling off the wall.
It hardly screams home to me, and I feel sorry for him.
     
    “Take a seat”
he points to the sofa. “I'll go find you something to wear.”
     
    He disappears
into the darkness, and I remain standing, my eyes swooping across
the room again. I can't hear voices of anyone else, which is
strange. Surely his parents should be home or another relative.
     
    I can only see
his school bag dumped next to the table. There are no pictures or
anything that suggests a family lives here. Is he alone? My heart
breaks for him. Surely there is no way someone would allow their 17
year old to fend for themselves?
     
    “Hey” his voice
fills the room. “I have a few things which are all going to be too
big, but at least you'll be warm.” He hands me a pile of clothes.
“Bathroom is just in here” he opens a door to his left. I once
again nod and take the short steps to the bathroom.
     
    “I'll make you
a hot drink” his dark eyes meet mine. “Then you will tell me what
happened. I'm your friend, Jen. You can trust me.”
     
    I don't reply
and enter the bathroom. His words actually bring a smile to my
face, he is my friend now? I thought he had a problem with me and
me being nice to him. Now I've seen his home, I can understand why
he wouldn't want to get close to someone.
     
    I quickly get
out of my wet clothes and change into the sweats and t-shirt he has
kindly lent me. The sweats have to be rolled up as they are too
long and the t-shirt almost hits my knees. I step out of the
bathroom and he is sat on the sofa drinking from a cup. I am
suddenly overcome with anxiety again. He wants me to admit what a
stupid thing I did back at the party.
     
    I sit down on
the opposite side of the sofa, my fingers locked together in my lap
and my lip gripped in between my teeth.
     
    Trust that was
the word he used. I have this strange feeling that I can
absolutely, hand over heart, trust him. Tonight he has shown me a
kinder side, and I wonder how many other people have seen him like
this.
     
    Out of the
corner of my eye, I take a sneak peek at his angular profile. His
dark hair, when in the light, has a red tint. His expression is
soft and friendly. Still, I know nothing about him. Why is he here?
Why alone? And why did he come to my need? Was it a coincidence or
was it intentional?
     
    “What
happened?” His tone is flat.
     
    I cough and for
the first time in a while I find my voice. “I did something
stupid!”
     
    His whole body
turns to me and he gives a little smile. “What did you do?”
     
    I turn my head
away from him, I can't look him in the eye as I confess, and it’s
too