A/N--So I feel as if this chater isn't one of my best, but I just started writing it and honestly couldn't stop.  So here's the product of that little streak :)  Also, I apologize for the shortness of it, but since I'm on break from school and have had this insane urge to write this story, I wouldn't be surprised if I update again tomorrow or sometime oddly soon, so yeah :)  Anyways...vote/comment, all that jazz. Hope you like it!

"Hey Lucas?" I ask him, resting my cheek onto my drawn up knees so that I can look on over at him. We've been playing Mario Kart for about three and a half hours now and about ten minutes ago, my thumbs got all cramped up. Lucas, though, being the testosterone driven fool that he is, cannot stop until he beats Luigi in at least one race.  

He glances over at me, something that he's oddly been doing since we've started playing so long ago, but this time he actually pauses the game when he sees the serious look on my face. He leans forward to place the little Wii steering wheel on the wooden coffee table, his T-shirt riding up in the back and exposing a tan inch or so of his skin. "Yeah?" he asks me, leaning back against the seat of the sofa. 

"When do you think it'll be okay for me to go home?" I've been thinking about it since our fight earlier, back when he said something along the lines of not letting me go home. Now that it's been able to stew in my mind, I realize that staying away from my dad and the house will probably just make things worse. The longer I'm gone, the angrier he'll get and the worse it'll be when I get back. Although it may suck going back today, at least it won't be as bad as if I didn't go back for a week. 

He sighs before running a hand through his already disheveled blonde hair. He looks to be concentrating hard on the thought, and it takes him a couple of seconds before he answers. He looks up at me when he's figured out, though, and with clear blue eyes he says, "I don't know...I honestly don't want you to go back." 

I give him a wry grin, knowing that he's just worried that my dad will reach out and strike me again or something. I tell him logically, "I can't just stay away forever." 

He nods and says, "I know, I know...I just...I don't want you to get hurt. I saw you after it all happened and I don't want you to have to go through that again." 

The sincerity of his tone strikes me, but in the best and most belly-warming of ways. It's been a while since I've heard him talk to me with that amount of care in his voice. So that's why I reach out and grab his hand from where it's resting beside his thigh. I give it a reassuring squeeze and tell him, "I'll be fine. I'm a big girl, okay? And besides, we only have a little while until graduation. Then I'll move away and won't have to worry about it." 

As if completely abandoning the conversation about my going back home, he asks me slowly, "So you're moving away for school then?" 

I nod, "Yeah. I don't know which one, but I know I want to get as far away from this town as possible." 

He bites down on his bottom lip for a second, and then glances up at me with a guilt-stricken look on his face. He asks, "That's partly because of me, right?" 

"Duh," I tease him, releasing my hold on his hand so that I can punch him in the thigh. "Up until yesterday or so I hated your fucking guts." 

"Gee thanks, Nay," he says jokingly, but I can hear the underlying responsibility in his voice. But even though it hurts a little to see him look guilty, I'm not going to coddle him to make him feel less-guilty. I may have forgiven him, but I still want him to know just how badly he hurt me. 

"But in all honesty I have no idea where I want to go, as long as it's far," I continue, choosing to just stop thinking about him and the whole abandonment issue for right now. We've had a decent few hours; I don't want to ruin them. 

He's quiet for a moment, doing that pensive silence thing he always does, and then he sighs, "It's going to be so weird walking down the halls and not seeing you." 

For the two years after he ditched me, that was one of the main reasons I wanted to leave. I hated seeing him in the hallways, seeing that he could be happy and successful in life without me when it wasn't vice-versa. That had always been one of the major perks of me moving far away. I nod and simply say, "I know." 

He says dryly, "Let me guess. One of the reasons you want to leave?" 

"You betcha," I say in a sing-song voice. "I hated seeing you in the hallways after that whole episode." 

"Hated it?" he asks, almost sounding shocked. Does he not know of the magnitude of hatred that his abandoning me caused? Does he not know of all the tears, all the sleepless nights that he's responsible for? 

I nod. 

He goes to say something, but is instead cut off by his mom entering the room with smile on her face and a plate of chocolate chip cookies in her hand. She smiles at the sight of the two of us sitting on the couch together before asking us brightly, "Y'all hungry?" 

"Hey mom," Lucas says to her, completely ignoring her delicious offer. I, for one, am not going to pass those cookies up because they smell absolutely delicious, so I just lean forward and snatch a couple off of the plate while smiling thankfully at her. 

She gives me a friendly little wink at me before leaning forward and placing the plate on the wooden coffee table. She asks him, "Yeah?" 

He casts a quick glance over at me, giving me an unsettling feeling in the pit of my stomach because I know he's going to say something about me, and then looks back at up at his mom. He asks her, "Do you think Naomi should go back home?" 

Mrs. Emma sighs as she also looks over at me, me just slowly munching on a cookie while thinking of the possibilities of not going back home. She wipes off nonexistent crumbs from her purple blouse before pushing the plate of cookies a bit away so that she can sit on the edge of the coffee table. Still looking at me seriously, she asks me, "How bad is it, sweetie? Only you can really be the judge of that." 

I can feel Lucas' eyes blazing into the side of my head, making that unsettling feeling arise once more, but I choose not to acknowledge it and tell her truthfully, "That was the first time...he, um...he actually hit me." Even as I mention it, I can feel the part of my cheek start to burn where he hit me last night. "So I think I'm safe to go back." 

Lucas pipes up from beside me and argues, "He's going to be pissed that you left, Nay, and when you go back he's going to take it out on you." 

I turn to face him and, just a bit annoyed that he thinks he knows better than I do, say back almost rudely, "So what? I'm just never going to go home and freeload on you guys forever?" 

"Naomi," his mom says, effectively shutting me up when I feel her reach out and place her dainty hand on my bare knee. "You know we'd never see you as a freeloader. You're welcome here whenever. But I do know that you're a very independent girl, something I really respect, and don't want to feel like you're bombarding us. But honey, we're thinking about this for your safety." 

Even though the prospect of going home does frighten me pretty damn badly, I can't let them think that this situation is so dire. They're treating it as if I'll go home and die or something, which is one of the furthest things that can happen. Sure I'll probably get hit a bit harder than I did last night, but I just can't stay here until graduation. I just need to go home. 

Urging the two of them to just drop the dramatics, I say truthfully, "I'm going to go home. I'll be fine." 

Lucas argues, "Fucking hell, Naomi. I can't just..." 

His mom snaps quietly, "Language, Lucas. Either one of your brothers could have heard that." 

"Whatever," he says angrily before jumping off of the couch and then disappearing up the stairs. The two of us both flinch moments later when we hear the door to his bedroom slam shut.  

His mom sighs sadly, rubbing her forehead with her pale pink fingernails. Feeling awfully guilty because I've brought this kind of stress to their normally perfectly happy home, I say quietly, "I guess I'll go pack my things. I don't want to cause any more trouble." 

She immediately drops her hands from her forehead as if she doesn't want to make me feel any worse, and then prompts, "Why don't you stay for dinner? I'll go talk to Lucas, calm him down. Do you want me to call your mother, tell her what's going on so she doesn't worry?" 

I nod, knowing that that's probably the best idea. Ever since last night, I've kind of forgotten about my mother. Seeing as how she's usually at work or in their bedroom arguing with my dad, I don't really speak to her much. I say, "Thank you, Mrs. Emma, I really appreciate it." 

"Any time, sweetie," she says with a kind smile, as if she's trying to make all of this disappear. She reaches out and pats me on the knee before getting to her feet and then vanishes into the kitchen. I hear her pick up the phone seconds later and, since I really don't want to hear her having to argue with my mom or something, I grab one more cookie and then head up the stairs and towards the guest bedroom. 

I'm almost to the door, though, when I hear the loud thudding of something coming from Lucas' bedroom. Feeling a sinking feeling in my stomach because I know he's angry because of me, I think about what the consequences would be if I just walked in and tried to get him to understand my point of view. I know that his mom was going to talk to him, but I can't just...I can't just let him stay in there being angry with me. I hate when he's mad at me. 

So with that thought in mind, I hesitantly walk over to his bedroom door and put my ear against the door. I hear nothing but silence for a moment, but then I jump back when I hear another thud, this one much louder, closer to where I'm standing. Thinking that he may hurt himself, I put my hand on the doorknob and twist.  

But the door doesn't budge. 

Of course the angry ass hole locked it. 

I pound my fist against the door and yell, "Lucas let me in!" knowing that if I'd spoken quieter, he probably wouldn't have heard me. When he gets angry like he is now, he has a hard time concentrating on anything other than the major head rush he gets. Back when we were in eighth grade and the P.E. coach picked on him because he fell on the bleachers, I remember it took me screaming in his face to get his attention. 

He doesn't come to the door to let me in, but I also don't hear him hit anything else, so I know that he's heard me. Feeling annoyed that he's being so childish about this whole ordeal; I pound on the door once more and say, "Lucas I swear to God if you don't..." 

But I don't have time to finish my threat because he's already thrown open the door. When I see that crazed look in his eye that I know I'm the cause of, I have to avert my eyes down. But then I see his bloodied knuckles on his right hand. That sinking feeling in my stomach going completely hollow, I reach for his hand and ask in a hoarse voice, "What the hell did you do?" 

His usually flawless tan skin has now been marred by open wounds and dried blood, making the back of my throat burn in guilt. I had no idea that he'd be this upset over my going home...no idea whatsoever. All my dad did was hit me. There are fathers out there that do so much worse to their children, and I know that Lucas is aware of this. He could have done something so much worse. I'm lucky that I got away with just a slap. 

Tears start pooling in my eyes, not being able to comprehend that Lucas cares about my safety and well-being enough to do this to himself. I run my fingers over the unbroken part of his hand, not caring that this might just be too touchy-feely for a guy with a girlfriend. He, obviously feeling the same, jerks his hand out of my grasp, making me feel like maybe I shouldn't have even come in here.  

I take a step away from him, wanting to just escape from the intensity of all of this and disappear into the guest room, but before I can, I hear Lucas say in a throaty tone, "I don't...I just...I hate that you'd rather be with your dad than here. Like do you really hate me that much?" 

"Lucas," I say, feeling the wind get knocked out of me due to the sincere hurt in his voice. I shake my head, not caring that I probably look like a crazed person. Even though there is some truth in his statement, I don't hate him, I could never hate him. "That's not why..." 

He cuts me off, "Then why?! He hit you, Naomi. What if he does it again? I would hate myself if I let you..." 

"Naomi, honey?" I hear his mom's soft voice whisper from behind me. I jump a little bit at her surprise entrance, but quickly turn around. I know that she probably wouldn't have come up here and interrupted this whole thing unless it'd been a big deal.  

When I see the paleness of her usually perky, cheery face, it makes that once hollow feeling in my stomach intensify by thousands. What's wrong with her? Why does she look that way? She's usually so happy, so nice, so excited with life. What's made her turn into a ghost?  

"Yes?" I ask her breathlessly, knowing that her answer cannot be good.  

I feel Lucas' arms wrap around my waist from behind, as if trying to help support me because he's just as aware that this isn't going to be good, so I sink into him and his ever-present body heat and brace myself. 

She swallows, the loud sound of it clashing with the silence of the hallway. She says, "Honey your father, he...he..." 

The fact that she cannot even finish the sentence terrifies me, making me clench on to Lucas' hands as if they're my only life line.  

"He what, mom?" Lucas asks from behind me, the reverberations from his speaking weirdly calming me down just a little bit. 

She says, "He's...he's killed himself."