╔══《"We fall in love 'til it hurts》══╗
or bleeds, or fades in time."

       586 steps. Corbin counted, finally sitting down on the sidewalk. A foot of road separated him from the swarm of colorful cars speeding by, each one blowing a gush of wind past him. Corbin didn't know where he was. By now, the sky had darkened with the disappearance of the sun behind the line of tall trees. In the dim light of dusk, Corbin took in the unfamiliar environment with wonder.

       The air had grown cold with the setting sun, and Corbin found himself hugging his torso, bringing his hoodie closer to his bare skin underneath. The town smelled of cigarette smoke and trash. The lingering odor of mildew excreted from the very core of the town. It was the part of town Corbin never went to, the part of town he wasn't allowed to see.

       Chatter and laughter filled the streets, groups of people walking by every so often. With his knees folded up against his chest, and his head resting against his knees, Corbin sat in silence.

       He was lost, utterly lost. He had no clue where he was and no clue how to get home. But, for some illogical reason, being lost at night seemed better to Corbin than being at the church.

       After racing out of the large church doors, Corbin didn't stop running. His long legs carried him like a cheetah, down the street and beyond. In his head, he rapidly counted off his steps in between each heaving breath of air.

       Turning right at the sidewalk outside the church, he had run straight ever since. If I just go back the way I came in a straight line, I'll get back to the church. He concluded. The church wasn't his house, however.

       He rarely went to church, going not nearly enough to know his way home from there. Worst case scenario: I just sleep out here. Corbin considered, noticing the many homeless people laying on blankets around the block.

       As he continued to think, cars continued to drive by, people continued to chat, and he was still lost with no solution.

        Sighing, he curled up into himself tighter, willing his body to disappear altogether. A mother that hates you, a father you've never met, and nobody to call a friend. Truly pathetic.

       Even as people walked by, nobody stopped to ask the high-schooler if he was alright. It was as if he were invisible to the strangers passing by without a care in the world.

       Corbin didn't know when he started crying, but when he lifted his head, his cheeks were wet. His big bottom lip quivered, his eyes beginning to water. He hadn't cried in a while, and he hadn't expected to cry today at all.

       The tears ran slowly down his face, dampening the skin like the dripping of a drain left on ever so slightly. After a few tears spilled over his waterline, his face and eyes dried up--as if he hadn't cried in the first place. 

       Looking up in a daze, the bright street lights danced playfully in his vision. The neon colors chased each other, the spectacle of light so distracting that he found himself unable to tear his eyes away. Only when the 'Open' sign he had been gazing at flickered off for a second did Corbin's marvelment fizzle away with the vibrancy of the red letters.

       A strong rush of wind rattled a nearby tree, causing a group of leaves to be pulled out of place, blowing toward Corbin. A cluster landed on his hair, a few more sticking to his clothes. The leaves were a reminder of the changing seasons, the bitter air suddenly feeling colder.

       Autumn was approaching. It was Corbin's favorite season: the orange and yellow trees, the gloomy weather. It wasn't the warmest, or even the prettiest, but it was Corbin's favorite. Corbin wasn't anyone's favorite either. People liked warm seasons--like summer, and Corbin would never be summer.

       Another breeze rushed past the hunched over teenager, causing him to shiver. He stared at the road in front of him, his eyes following the cars speeding through. When a large black automobile pulled over in front of him, Corbin looked up in curiosity.

       The passenger window rolled down, revealing a strong looking man in the driver's seat. Leaning as far over as he could, the man yelled over and out the window. "Hey kid, what're you doing alone on the street at night?" Corbin didn't respond.

       "I'm an officer, I need to know," the man said more sternly than before. Now that Corbin looked closer, he noticed the uniform. He's definitely a cop, he's got that vibe too. His hair was salt and pepper gray, short and tidy. His face was clean shaven, the essence of a beard still visible in the shadow painting his jaw.

       Even from his position in the car, Corbin could tell his shoulders were broad and muscley. He's the type of guy you expect to be a police officer.

       "I just got a bit lost."

       "Did you run away from home?"

       "Something like that."

       "Tell you what, kid. I'm about to go home since my shift is over. How about I drive you home too. Staying out here in this part of town overnight is dangerous for a teenager." Corbin paused, thinking through the request for a couple seconds.

       A mysterious stranger, in a mysterious black car, wants me to get in said car, and be driven home. Corbin was about to decline, not willing to take the risk, when he remembered something. If I go home, I'll have to see my mother. Maybe it'll be better if he does kidnap me.

       Nodding to himself, he slowly rose off the curb. The car had pulled up half a foot away from him, so he approached the door in one step. "I'm gonna trust you're not gonna kidnap me," Corbin joked, climbing into the seat.

       The car was clean, the first thing Corbin noticed being the sleek black interior, finding that it matched the man driving the car well. He looked scary, like a German Shepherd. 

       The second thing Corbin noticed was the smell. The car smelled so good, like someone had doused it in perfume. Curious, he looked around, instantly noticing the air freshener hanging from the rear view mirror. Without thinking, Corbin lifted his left hand to grab it.

       'Black Cherry' read the label. He held it in his fingers for just a moment, examining it. He hadn't spoken a word since entering the car, and they hadn't started moving yet either.

       "Are you injured?" the officer asked, breaking the silence. Looking over at him, Corbin made eye contact with the cop.

       "No," he answered, noting the unbelieving face of the man next to him. "My skin's just like that, its a condition."

        "I don't mean your skin. I meant your hands," he corrected, grabbing Corbin's left hand at the same time. He pulled it down from the air freshener, and stared at it for a moment. Corbin knew what he was looking at, but he couldn't find the words to explain it.

       "No, that isn't new," Corbin settled on as an explanation.

       "Yeah, I can see. Care to tell me what caused this scarring?" he asked curiously, turning Corbin's hand over and investigating the other side too.

       "You know... I fell out of a tree when I was younger," Corbin lied, slowly retracting his hand before the officer could see through the fib.

        "Ah, I see," he accepted, his voice wavering. "What's your address, kid?"

       "314 Cottage View Drive," Corbin responded, sitting back against the comfortable seat. The cushions were plump against his back, the ache in his spine slowly lessening.

       "You're far from home," the officer noted.

       "Yeah."

       "Not really a talker, huh?"

       "Not really," Corbin mumbled, gazing out the window. Buildings whizzed past, a blur of light and reflections. The man didn't attempt to make any more conversation, sensing that Corbin was not open to talk. Music quietly played over the radio. Some shitty pop song, Corbin acknowledged, attempting to drone the sound out.

       Even though his eyelids felt heavy, he refused to let himself fall asleep. He was in a stranger's car, in the middle of unfamiliar territory. This is right out of a horror movie. Corbin wasn't freaking out, though. All the tech in the car was enough to prove its identity as an undercover cop car.

       A laptop was strapped to the center console, wires plugging into different parts. It looked confusing, too smart for Corbin to understand. He was either in a cop car, or some genius hacker who was using the laptop to stalk his prey.

       Choosing to believe the former, for his own mental stability, Corbin relaxed slightly in the car seat.

       "Why did you run away from home?" he pried.

       "Just didn't feel like being around there."

       "Any particular reason why?"

       "You're not a very good interrogator," Corbin sighed, dodging the question.

       "You're not very good at giving answers."

        "Ah, you caught me," Corbin joked, staring at the man's face through the reflection in the dark window. His expression was serious, not finding Corbin's humor funny.

       By now, they had passed the church and familiar buildings had begun speeding by. Corbin knew he only had a few minutes left until he arrived home, unsure whether he was happy to finally leave the awkward atmosphere of the car, or scared to almost be home.

       He wasn't prepared for his moms wrath. Corbin shivered, recalling the look on his mothers face when he ran. Her eyes were widened in rage, pure rage. Her jaw was clenched, and her nostrils were flared. It contrasted the face she had been making previously. 

       While in church, she always smiled--in a way that was unfamiliar to Corbin. At that moment however, Corbin saw the face of a woman he knew.

        The face of a woman who was mad at him. His hands clenched, the thought of her expression erupting goosebumps all over his arms and legs.

       Corbin blinked, realizing the car had slowed down to a stop. Looking out his window, he saw the white house--his house. Opening the car door, and shuffling out, Corbin murmured a thank you.

       "No problem, kid. Have a good night," the officer farewelled, accelerating the moment the passenger car door slammed shut. He stood alone on the sidewalk, his back to his house. The air was chilly, and as he took a moment to stare at the sky, he registered the lack of stars. I haven't seen stars since...

       A breeze rushed through his hair. Pulling his hoodie closer, Corbin turned around and began walking. He walked up the stone steps, across the porch that smelled of lingering cigarettes, and into the quiet house. 18 steps. He counted off.

       When he was inside with his back pressed against the door, he stood still in the darkness. Not a single light was on. He listened, not hearing any sounds. Am I home alone? Maybe mother needed a break from me. Exhausted, he reached out, flicking a light switch on. The large white-light above his head crackled to life.

       He breathed out, his body collapsing in a heap. I'm home alone, I'm safe...

...

       The creaking of an open door startled a sleeping dog. Immediately, the furry creature leapt up from her spot on the couch and raced to the origin of the sound. She barked loudly, wagging her tail ferociously. The burly man bent down and petted the dog, smiling broadly. He still had his vest on, his uniform uncomfortable and stiff.

       "Hi, dear," a soft feminine voice greeted, standing a couple feet away. 

       "Hey, hun," the man spoke, walking over to give the woman a hug.

       "Long day?" she laughed, the answer obvious in her husband's tight shoulders and tensed muscles.

       "You have no idea," he sighed out, basking in the comfort of his wife. The house smelled of good food and cleanliness. Family pictures and homely decor decorated the rooms. After a minute, he pulled away and walked toward the living room.

       On the couch, sat one of his sons. "Hey Finn," he smiled, ruffling up the boy's shaggy hair.

       "Hey, dad!" he cheered, looking up from his phone. "How was work?" he asked.

       "It was going alright till the last minute," Finn's dad sighed.

       "Oh yeah, you're a bit late today," he noted, checking the time on his phone. Tired, the man joined his son on the couch, sinking into the comfortable cushions.

       "Yeah, as I was on my way home I ran into some kid on the side of the road. Must've ran away from home, or something," the man explained, leaning back.

       "That sucks, not totally unusual though," Finn continued.

       "Yeah, I don't know why it's affecting me this much. Something's nagging at me."

       "Wanna talk about it?" By now, the teenage boy had put his phone on the cushion next to him, giving his full attention to his dad.

       "There was something about his hands...I'm not sure, it sounds weird," he chuckled. Finn said nothing, encouraging his dad to continue. "They  had these, like, scars on them. He told me they were from falling out of a tree, but...they didn't look like that."

       Finn nodded slowly, following along. "I've seen my fair share of scars from hard falls, but these were different. They, they were puffy. Like...like burn scars," he shuddered. "Gnarly scars on his knuckles! That's...That's not the kind of scar you get on accident from a careless fall.

       With the amount of scar tissue...that doesn't happen from accidentally touching a hot stove once or twice."

       "What're you implying?" Finn whispered, creeped out, yet intrigued at the story. "That, that it's deliberate?"

       "I'm not... I'm not sure. But that's what it looked like to me. He was just a teenager, your age!"

       "That's sad," Finn shuddered. "You think he's doing it to himself?" the curious boy asked.

       "I don't want to think that. I don't know which scenario is worse: him doing it to himself, or someone else doing it to him." the man sighed, running a calloused hand through his graying hair. "He was running away from home, so..."

       "Yeah, that sucks dad," Finn sympathized.

       "He was an odd kid. He had this weird skin. It was dark but there were patches of white too. Like a reverse Dalmatian, almost," he chuckled.

       Finn pondered in silence for a couple seconds before jumping up. "Oh, I know who you mean!"

       "Who?"

       "There's this guy at school. He's, like, famous for having skin like that. He has a skin condition, or something. He's super quiet though, so he's not very popular."

       "Ah, that's probably him. I've never seen anything like it before."

       "Yeah. I don't know much about him, but his skin is so cool to look at," Finn agreed.

       "Dinner!" a voice yelled from the kitchen. Finn's dad darted up and into the kitchen, leaving his son in the dust. Slowly standing, Finn scuffed his feet following behind his dad. In the Wood's household, every meal was a feast.

       The table was full, food filling every corner. The bounding of feet pounded against the stairs, two boys popping into the kitchen a second later. Their eyes screamed hunger, the brunettes running to their seats at the long table.

       The two brothers laughed, their voices deep and gravely. They were the center in every family photo. Tall, brown hair, brown eyes, fair skin: all traits the two had acquired from their parents. Vance was the oldest, graduating high school this year. Alden trailed after, a year younger.

       They were a family, a spitting image of each other. They laughed with their parents, Finn watching from the other end of the table. The scraping of metal forks on ceramic plates indicated the start of dinner.

       No grace was said, Finn's parents caring little for religion, or 'propaganda' as Finn's dad liked to call it. While everyone ate, tales from the day's events were told in between bites. Vance aced his physics test, Alden got caught sleeping in class, the list goes on.

       The piles of food on everyone's plates grew smaller, however, Finn's already small portion of food had barely been touched. He stared at the chicken, moving it around with his fork. Strategically, he waited until his entire family was engrossed in a conversation before dropping the piece on the floor. 

       The dog, which had already been waiting by his chair, immediately stood up and began eating. Every so often, he would take a small bite and nod his head, as if he was listening to his family's conversations.

       His tongue always felt too large for his mouth, blocking him from speaking and eating. His stomach clenched, aching for food, but Finn's mind didn't let it get the satisfaction.

       Finn wasn't picky. He liked the taste of most foods. It wasn't food itself, but the feeling it left afterward. Food sat heavy in his stomach and heavy in his heart. His brain would scream at him, preventing him from having peace. 

       Even now, he felt the voices crawling. They made their way up  his brain, hands gripping his cerebrum, pulling it apart. He could feel every tear, every rip in the pink muscle. He wanted to squirm in his seat, the urge to twitch strong and sudden.

       Just like that, his appetite was gone. Even the sight of the food on his plate made his head spin. He closed his eyes, but the smell alone made the nauseous feeling continue to increase. Deciding he could take it no longer, Finn pushed his chair out from under the table.

       Not one person looked as Finn stood up and excused himself. Only his dog watched as he left and walked out of the room. Once he was far enough away, nearing the open bathroom door, he looked back. His family were in their own bubble, laughing and smiling. A warm light encompassed them. On the outskirts of the room, Finn felt cold.

       They were a picture-perfect family, and he was just...

Question of the chapter: what's your favorite food to have for dinner?

╚══《Word count- 3,040》══╝

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