Giovanni ran from home. Now you will know why.

God help me... Giovanni lay in a smeared puddle of his own blood. His thoughts were fuzzy and his vision swam. Several coughs wracked his body and a new splatter of blood was added to the floor.

What could he have done to cough up blood? His mouth seemed to be fine. He rolled onto his back with a groan, running a hand over his belly. Nothing but bruises as always... great. That meant one of two things. Either he was bleeding internally, unlikely but possible, or he had bit his lip and swallowed some of the blood.

He couldn't tell if the second option was the case. His mouth hurt too much from gritting his teeth for it to be completely clear.

He lay there, eyes closed, for quite some time before he dared to move. He pushed himself up slowly, whimpering as he put too much weight on his right arm. What had caused that slash? He didn't remember. Nor did he remember why his left leg had a long gash from his hip to his knee or why his back felt caked with dried blood. And when had he gotten cut over his right eye?

When he finally got to his feet, he began his usual ritual. He limped to the corner, where a box hid his meager bandages and antiseptic, and wrapped the worst of the wounds. At the young age of ten, he knew a horrifying amount of first aid.

The next part of his ritual included pacing the length of the basement several times, until he could walk as though nothing were wrong. Then he went to the door. He was expecting it to be locked, as always when his father left, but the knob turned easily.

Giovanni froze. He didn't trust this. His father never forgot to lock the door... but this chance was far too good to pass up.

He slowly pulled the door open. The stairs stretched above him and he grimaced. This would be the hardest part. Getting up the stairs quietly enough to not get caught and slowly enough to not cause too much pain.

He started up shakily. He had to pause several times before reaching the top. He slumped against the wall for only a few seconds before he forced himself on.

Just as he reached for the door, a shout made him freeze. "GIOVANNI PICCOLI!" his father shouted.

Giovanni glanced back and ducked as a vase flew over his head.

Without a second thought, Giovanni flung open the door and sprinted outside. His running was slightly lopsided because of his limp. His father cursed loudly and followed.

Giovanni's pain was mostly forgotten as he ran for, more likely than not, his life. There was only one problem.

A ten year old boy can't outrun a very fit thirty year old man.

Giovanni felt a strong hand grab his injured arm. He let out a sharp cry of pain. "Let me go!" he wailed, struggling desperately despite the pain.

A man walking on the opposite side of the road turned at Giovanni's screaming. His eyes found the young boy, taking in his bloodstained clothes, bandaged wounds, and matted, bloody hair. Giovanni stretched a hand toward the man, his mismatched green and brown eyes shone with terror. "HELP ME!"

The man ran across the street without a second thought. "What did you do to this child?!" He demanded, curling his hands into fists.

Giovanni's father let go instantly. Giovanni didn't stick around to listen to what was said or to see what happened. The instant he was free, he kept running.

At some point during his run, his leg had resumed bleeding. Not long after that, it gave out completely. He tumbled to the ground. He didn't move from where he fell. He couldn't bring himself to do it. His eyes closed and despite his best efforts, he slipped into unconsciousness.

Giovanni woke with a start. Something covered his right eye. The tight bandages wrapping his wounds made him think he was strapped down to something. Someone had washed the blood from his hair as well. He sat upright instantly, looking around with wild eyes. The room was windowless with no furniture besides the bed he sat on. The walls, ceiling, and floor were all blank white. He reached up to feel what was over his eye and found a bandaged taped securely in place.

Giovanni felt his fear growing. Where was he? What was going to happen to him? Was his father going to come pick him up and beat him within an inch of his life?

He ran to the door and tried to open it. He couldn't. He slammed a fist against the door with no result.

He retreated to the far corner and slid down the wall. He wrapped his arms around his knees. He couldn't run. His father would find him and bring him home and almost kill him.

Tears started to fall. After three years he had never been so close to freedom. But now that chance was gone.

Two muffled voices came from outside. Keys rattled in the lock and moments later, the door swung open.

Giovanni looked up, fear making him press further into the corner. A young woman entered with an older man. They seemed to be related. Both had brown hair and kindly grey eyes.

The woman approached slowly and knelt down in front of him. "Hey. Don't be scared. We'll get you back home safe and sound."

Giovanni's terror grew at those words. "No... no please..." he whimpered, shrinking back. "Not back there again..."

The woman paused. She gently reached out and touched the trembling boy on the shoulder. "Did someone there do this to you?"

Giovanni tried to get away from her hand, but couldn't. The corner was small and he was trapped with the woman in front of him. He nodded slowly.

The woman's gaze became sad, her face taking on a look of pity. "Oh you poor boy."

Giovanni looked at her suspiciously. "I want to go to London."

The woman stood and walked to the bed. She sat down. "Come over here and sit. Then you can tell me what I can help you with."

The older man stayed near the door. He watched and listened with a faint smile on his face.

Giovanni stood. His face was still suspicious as he limped slowly over to the bed. He sat as far from the woman as he could. He didnt say anything.

"So what's your name little man?" The woman asked.

Giovanni paused. He didn't dare give them his real name in case they were going to return him to his father after all. After nearly a minute of silence, he finally said, "Vivente."

He didn't try to mask the fact that wasn't his name. Neither the woman nor the man pushed him to say his real name.

"Well, Vivente, I am Maria. That's my father, Leonardo. Anything you need, we will help you get." The woman, Maria, smiled at Giovanni.

Giovanni remained just as suspicious. "Why? Why would you help me go to London?"

"Why wouldn't I? You've clearly been through a lot and leaving would give you safety."

Silence fell for several minutes as Giovanni thought about this. Finally, suspicion still obvious in his voice, he responded. "Well I don't have anything. Clothes, money, and a train ticket would mean the world."

The woman smiled and stood. "I'll see what I can do for you. Until then, get some rest. You need to heal."

Giovanni watched the two adults leave. He didn't hear the door lock. He could have left, but he was tired. He had a chance for real sleep. He wouldn't pass that up.

He lay flat on the bed, wincing as his wounds and bruises were pulled. After a few seconds the pain faded and he slowly drifted into sleep.