"...We lost her signal, Jonah."

My chapped lips had separated just enough to let a piercing scream escape my tongue. My mind had melted into such a blur that I couldn't even recognize the words vibrating from my own vocal chords— let alone my actions. I can somewhat recall my palm's forceful contact with flesh. Maybe I had hit someone, maybe I hadn't. That was the least of my problems at the time.

I could have kicked and screamed all I wanted, but what would that accomplish? Nothing. And I'm not one to let myself sit and rot away in self-pity. In that very moment, I collected my sanity, wiped away the tears that I hadn't grasped control over for a hot minute, and began setting the next step in my future.

As humiliating as it is, I used to let people tell me what to do—

Not anymore.

However, don't ever believe that this memory didn't scar me, because unfortunately, it did. It stained my conscious and strangled my heart until a piece of it shriveled into a lifeless blue and died. I relive this dagger of a memory almost every night as it creeps into my nightmares, waking me up drenched in sweat and bloody from where I had desperately dug my nails into skin. Though I suppose that's just a part of who I am now, so I'll deal.

Probably the most painful part of all of this was that she was gone—and he didn't even care— little did he own up to it. My blood boils at the thought that I used to place so much trust into such a psychotic coward.

Any of them, for that matter. As much it would extinguish this burning rage inside of me to get my hands on all those hypocrites, I've chosen to sculpt a better life for myself. I'm only seventeen, for crying out loud. Though my youth is often overlooked and easily forgotten, no one of this age should have ever laid eyes on all that I've seen. But frankly, it makes little difference, my innocence was lost a long time ago.

Still, that day I came to know an entire new meaning to the word 'independant'. I was then my own responsibility, mine solely. I couldn't let myself be tormented and manipulated again. So I started planning my escape—

My revenge.

My rebellion.

But not yet. firstly, I have to survive.

So here I sit, pointlessly counting the cars glued in traffic below me. How many nights have I spent on this apartment's abandoned rooftop? Too many, and it feels like a useless, monotonous eternity. And to add the cherry on top of the sprout and liver cake, I fricked up—Big time.

She saw me.

Yes, Abbi Ryson, daughter of the joint owners of this suite complex. Now she won't leave me alone either—which is debatably a good thing. Such means that I can more easily monitor her, but it also proposes her return every night. Like an annoying little gnat or leg hair that just keeps growing back.

It's only been four days since she first wandered up and over to this abandoned rooftop garden. I probably should have packed my nonexistent belongings and left right then and there—but I did the utter opposite. I communicated with the delinquent.

Insert inner shutter and self disappointment here.

However, as much as I dislike it, I made my decision and I have to live with the freaking consequences.

I squint to read my watch in the lowering sunlight. The summer breeze entangles itself in my coffee stained strands as my mind gets lost in the moment. This watch—the only thing I have left of her. I'm astonished at how the batteries have even lasted this long, or how it still predicts time so precisely. I shake off the thought though. If I've learned one thing, it's not to question your blessings. They are delicate and precious, so don't wast their valuable time span—because brutally, the clock is alway ticking.

I slip the worn leather out of its silver clasp and turn the watch over in my dry palms. The message engraved into the back may be faded, but illuminates all that is left of my gaiety.

"The sky can't be the limit if that's where you started,"

I let emotion tug against my lips as I read the words that had been etched into my mind forever ago.

Back life was...simple.

This is when the newly familiar click of the building's door pricks at my eardrum, "You're early," I say, neglecting the curtesy of turning around and refastening the watch to my slim wrist.

"I didn't know there was a set time," The sentence escapes the girl delicately.

"Why would I set up a specific time to be annoyed?"

She slowly approaches me now, her olive tinted skin and dark, tight curls materializing in my peripheral vision. I rest my hands atop the chilled brick wall at the roof's edge while listening to her subtle irregular breathing.

"I still scare you, Abbi Ryson?"

"So, so much," she responds, her big round eyes dancing with humor but her lips more hesitant.

"Good. Now what are you doing up here besides wasting my oxygen supply?"

"But we are outsi—never mind," Her nose crinkles when she twists her expression, "You know, technically I own this roof, so..."

"Technically, I now own your life."

"Okay! Sheesh, Jonah. I just wanted to do my homework under the sunset. We never get any this beautiful,"

She was right. Usually Philadelphia's city lights suffocated any healthy color from the sky. Tonight was quite the exception, with soft pinks, oranges, and purples melting together to paint a vibrant scene across the dwindling evening abyss.

Abbi then seats herself and spreads out her color coordinated homework folders before her. "What grade are you in?"

I scowl at her, "Kindergarten,"

"Wait, seriously?"

""No, Ditz. I've already graduated,"

"That's crazy, you look like we are probably about the same age. I'm barely seventeen,"

"Also seventeen, and I have also finished two years of college," She bites her lower lip as the apparently astonishing words create sound. I simply shake my head. "So get your life together, and stop asking me questions like we're friends,"

I rise from my position to stretch my legs and stagger across the roof, the crunch of decaying debris crying out from underneath the pressure of my worn sneakers.

"I used to come up here all the time before Dad and Mom let the garden slip,"

"Slip? I thought the look of garbage, rust and dead plants is what you guys were going for," I retort, kicking an old mangled beer can and watching it skid against the concrete.

"Somehow, I feel like that's sarcasm," Abbi trails the can with her pupils whilst fiddling with her pencil.

"Yeah, sure. I guess my friend That's Freaking Obvious is running pretty late,"

"You have friends?"

"Touché," I shake my head with a small smirk. Oh teenagers, dumb sarcastic little trash they are indeed.

After only ten short minutes of glorious silence, Abbi then releases a groan and throws her head backwards in disgust, "It's barely a month into the school year and I'm already sick of it. I can't believe summer is officially over. I mean, it's not even five-thirty and it's almost completely dark out here,"

I bite a dry fleck of skin off my lip at the chilling thought— literally. Winter is coming all too quickly. Great season, really, it is—for everyone who doesn't live outside with no heating system.

"You have been sleeping in the supply shed, haven't you?"

I sigh and motion for her to follow me. I enfold my hand over the door knob, the cemented rust having only given way from my palm's imprint. The door's creak sings its accustomed pitch as my nostrils are instantly contaminated with the dust and mold saturated air, "Home sweet home,"

Abbi brings the sleeve of her oversized sweater up to shield her scrunched nose, "You realize you are basically a rat, right?"

"I can live with it, what's your excuse?" I mutter whilst unsuccessfully attempting to switch on the light, "Great, my last bulb's burnt out."

"How are you going to see?"

"With my eyeballs."

She huffs and crosses her arms, "I'm trying to be helpful here,"

"Then give me your pencil," She only responds in the expected confused expression, but I snatch the writing utensil from her bubblegum pink manicured hands anyway. Then, after rummaging through a tote of sticky tools, I finally come across a dull knife.

"You take my pencil and now you are going to murder me?!" Her eyebrow raises as she takes a step backwards.

"Funny. I actually need all your pencils,"

"No! I just got a new pack! Do you understand how difficult it is to find and keep a single pencil in high school?!"

Now I shoot a weird look of my own in her direction.

"What? It's true!"

"I still have a knife in my hand, you know that?" I say, accompanied by a state of the art eye roll, "Any chance you have a car battery on you?"

"There's a generator in the corner, aren't they basically the same thing?"

"Not at all. And what about speaker wires?"

"Like headphones? I used to hide in here all the time when I was younger so if I remember correctly...Aha!"

She removes a bag of garden soil from its leaning against a shelf and reveals an old pair of her headphones. After I've finished stripping both the wire and her pencil, I attempt to hook the coiled contraption up to the generator. Abbi intently leans over my shoulder like a curious five-year-old and I have to strain every ounce of self-control in me not to kick her in the shins.

I accidentally bump the connected wire and hiss in the pain of the shock as a couple stray sparks scatter to the ground. Abbi screams and I clench my teeth, praying nothing will catch fire—because that's just what I need right now.

I successfully finish my little project and stumble back in admiration. Abbi squeals and claps her hands in amazement as the pencil lead starts emitting a steady glow, providing a fair amount of light in the shadowed room. "It would be brighter if I actually had the right ingredients. However, will get me through the night if needed, until I can go buy new bulbs tomorrow."

"You have money?"

"I had two hundred cash when I ran away."

"And you still aren't broke? How?"

"It takes being careful, smart, and fugly but not giving a sh—"

"And before you finish that sentence," She interrupts, "Can I say again how freaking cool this pencil light thing is?"

"You need to go home now."

"How did you learn to do that? Is it going to explode in the night or something? You must be like a modern day—"

I slap her across cheek.

What? She shut up.

Abbi stares at me, rubbing her freshly flushed skin, "Who the heck are you, Jonah?" She finally gawks.

I sigh, "Firstly, you aren't the first person I have slapped and you won't be the last," I find myself explaining. Usually, I don't believe in owing anyone anything, therefore slaps didn't need to be justified. But tables turn in life and sometimes, you surprise yourself. "Second, never interrupt me again, peasant,"

She just laughs.

Did you hear that? Laugh. As in—hahaha. Like, finding humor in the situation.

"You're one heck of a bad chick, I love it. We are going to get along nicely,"

"Oh, I get it!" I throw my arms out in discovery, "You're retarded! It all makes sense now,"

"Can I ask you one more question?" She now looks down towards her nervously dancing thumbs.

I huff, bracing my palms against her shoulders and applying force, pushing her out the doorway. I was done with this girl, she had caused enough vulnerability to resurface in me for one day.

"Who are they?"

I abruptly stop, the question innocently grabbing my attention by the throat, "They is a pretty generic term," The whisper rolls softly off my tongue.

"Who is after your—our lives?"

I interlock my stern gaze with her own, each set of brown eyes analyzing the other, mine trying not to show any kind of weakness.

"Look," Abbi continues, " I understand that I probably already know tons more than I should but in a way, we are kind of in this together now because—"

"My father."

"What?"

"They, is my father."