The days that followed were no different than before. My father and I continued to fight with one another, and I would end up losing because he would threaten to kick me out. Sighing to myself, I sat on my bed, finishing up my homework when I heard something break in the living room. Glancing at my alarm clock, it was around nine and I couldn't stop the panic that began to boil over in my body. Getting out of bed, I peeked around the corner of the hallway, confused when I saw my father picking up magazines that had fallen onto the ground.

"Dad?"

He looked up, bloodshot eyes clear from here. I was livid now and didn't understand his need to always drink. He drank before my mother left, but now it was out of control. And the fact that he was this terrible before ten in the evening was plain gross. I watched as he stood up, glaring at me briefly.

"You're drunk, and it isn't even ten!"

"S' what?"

"Dad, this is ridiculous! You're an alcoholic!"

Immediately his eyes narrowed on me, the stare that always intimidated me only working slightly now. I had only called him an alcoholic once and that didn't go well. Twenty stitches on the side of my head because I had hit the corner of a table. Now, several years later, I was sure I could manage my own if he were to try that bullshit again.

"You need help."

"D'not 'ell me what I neeeed, V."

"Dad, you need to go see a specialist. This is ridiculous! I can't spend my nights hoping you come home sober or at all. It's so stupid. You're an alcoholic and need to see someone!"

There were seconds between him standing on one side of the room and my father shoving me into the doorframe. I cried out, touching my eyebrow and seeing that my fingers were stained red with blood. Glancing back at my father, I looked at him the way a small child would if they were hurt. He was seething now, dark eyes filled with pure anger.

"Get the fuck out of my house, V."

"Dad, no, you can't—"

"You have ten minutes to grab your shit and go, Veronica."

He sounded less drunk, but, then again, aggression normally sobered my father up real quick. Blinking several times, I rushed into my room. I filled a bag with any necessary items that I would need for an extended period of time. Clothes, more clothes, my favorite stuffed animal and things from my bathroom. I made sure that I grabbed my backpack and purse, checking that I had my wallet, phone, and a phone charger. Once I had double-checked I had everything I needed, I walked out of the bedroom, my father standing by the kitchen.

"Good, you have thirty seconds to spare. Now get out of my fucking house and don't come back. Do you understand me, Veronica?"

I nodded. Walking out of the house before he could hurt me again, I sighed, freezing cold in the chilly night air. It was already October, and for whatever reason, Arlington had always been colder way before winter came. Brushing my hair behind my ear, I walked down the street, tensing up every time I heard some sort of noise that sounded like it could have been a gunshot.

Walking down the streets, I was approaching the Arlington Creek Bridge when there was a street that sectioned off. Honestly, I didn't think I had been down it before, so I took the chance, turning down the road. The buildings were not nearly as dark, but they were still terrifying, all things considered. Taking deep breaths, I held onto everything I owned a little tighter.

There was a sign, the red neon letters giving an eerie light to the street. I noticed some movement toward the entrance of the building, but it said that the cost of a room each night would be nineteen dollars—which didn't seem all that bad. I walked closer, seeing that the neon sign read: Red Rum Inn. It wasn't a place I had ever heard of but considering there were quite a few people hanging out by the entrance, I figured it must have been decent. And while I was sure all places had it now, they even claimed to have Air Conditioning and Color TV.

Keeping my items close to my body, I started freaking out mentally at the sight of familiar leather jackets, knowing of only one group that wore those. As I continued to approach, I knew exactly what group it was. Their jackets were stitched with a skull holding a knife in its mouth, along with a rose on the handle of the blade. The back of the jacket also had white stitching, claiming the name of the group: East End Executioners.

Taking a deep breath, I managed my way past the first round of people. No one paid attention to me until the third group, where a hand was thrown out, stopping me in my tracks. I kept looking forward, having heard not to make eye contact with anyone I didn't want to have a conversation with. Then again, maybe that wasn't the right decision in this case. After a couple of seconds, I felt fingers touch my face, turning my chin up and to the side so I would look at the person. My body shuddered with the contact, our eyes meeting at that moment.

He had infernal green eyes, a cigarette in his mouth, and a black beanie on the top of his head, curls peeking out of the sides. If it weren't for the fact he was in a gang, I was sure he would have been attractive. Though when I went to push his hand away, his eyes told me to not touch him. I watched as he took a drag on his cigarette, pulling it out of his mouth with his free hand, and blowing the smoke into the air.

"Can I help you, miss?"

"No."

He shook his head. "Someone's roughed you up, hmm?"

I didn't respond.

"Answer me when I speak to you."

I agreed with him.

"Hmm. Maybe my lads and I should rough you up a little more. Finish what someone started since you're on my territory."

My eyes widened, the rest of the group behind this guy laughing. I probably looked terrified, the person in front of me shining what I was pretty sure could have been classified as the Smile of Death. He truly looked like a killer in that moment, but I was surprised when he let go of me, tutting his tongue.

"Since you don't look like you're from around here, I'll let you go. But no more niceties."

Nodding quickly, I continued walking when he dismissed me with a flick of the hand. Walking past yet another group, I was thankful they didn't stop me. It wasn't long before I headed inside the Inn. There was someone sitting at the front desk—a woman who looked like she belonged to the group of people hanging around outside. The lobby wasn't anything to faint over, but I was surprised by the way it didn't look like a total dump. Even the couches looked newer, the leather unworn. Pulling out nineteen dollars, I stood in front of the desk, the woman glancing at me, and then the cash in my hands.

"Sorry, sugar, nothing is available."