I sat awkwardly beside Clay, and his mom plated some waffles and handed it to me. I thanked her, and started eating, trying not to act suspicious.

Clay seemed like he was practically bursting to ask me more questions, but I was planning on leaving right after breakfast, even though it was a Saturday. I finished my waffles quickly, thanking his mom again, and scurried off to the door to grab my bag.

"Hey! George, wait," Clay called, getting up. I didn't listen, simply grabbing the door and opening it, stepping outside.

There was no chance I was waiting. I had a feeling Clay wouldn't settle for me being homeless, and with both of his parents being lawyers, there was no doubt that I'd end up in foster care again. I still had nightmares about those horrible years, and I was never going back.

I speedwalked down the street, not even sure where I was going. I heard Clay running after me, and cursed, deciding to run as well.

I didn't make it too far, before Clay grabbed my arm, breathing heavily.

"George! Why are you running?"

"I remembered I need to help my mom with something," I said, yanking my arm back and turning away. He grabbed my shoulder.

"Your foster mom?" He asked, eyes burning into mine.

"No," I replied, and starting walking away again. He caught up, not having it.

"George! What's your problem? Why are you being like this?"

"It's none of your business," I snapped, and then felt guilt stab my chest. He didn't deserve that, but I needed him to leave me alone right now.

"It is my business," he said firmly, turning me around. "If you're having problems at home, I'm not letting you go back alone."

"I'm fine," I lied through my teeth. "I don't need you, I don't know why you stick around me so much. Do you feel pity for me? Is that it?"

I didn't mean any of what I said, and I knew I would regret it later. To be honest, those words were more directed at myself than him. I shouldn't rely on him so much, it was pitiful. My heart was beating hard, and I felt a knot grow in my throat.

Hurt flashed through his eyes, but he didn't let go. "No, George, but I care about you. What's going on at home?"

"I don't have a home!" I shouted at him. "Can't you leave me alone? I've been independent all these years, and I'm not about to let your dumb feelings take that away from me." He took my arm again, and I tried to pull it out of his grip, but it didn't move.

"What do you mean? You ran away from your foster home?"

"YES, now let me be," I shouted furiously. The lump in my throat accumulated into hot tears, spilling out over my cheeks. He didn't let go of my arm.

"George, why didn't you tell me? I can help you, my parents-"

"That's why I didn't tell you, because your dumb parents are going to bring me back!" I yelled, tears streaming down my face. I closed my eyes, seeing flashes of those hands, the beer bottles, smelling the stench of blood. I just wanted it all to go away, I never wanted to think about it again.

I ripped my arm away from him and sprinted, with no sense of direction. I just wanted to get away, away from those memories and away from this life.

Clay didn't follow me, and I didn't look back.