Not Good Enough//n.h

FINALLY GONE

Chapter 3 :

I step outside and the air hits my face. It's been so long since I have been outside. I walk down the steps and look up at the house. "I won't miss you!"

I look around to see my surroundings. I decide to run left. I sprint down the road. I come across a little building. Looks like a diner. I start to slow down but I don't stop running. I have no idea where I am. I see a small building. I'm guessing a gas station. 

I run in and open my mouth to talk. I can't. I grab a napkin from the counter and a pen. I write down 'where are we?'

"We're in New York." The girl behind the counter replies. 

'Thanks.' I write down and leave.

So I was in New York.

I ran and ran until I ran out of breath. I was panting. I sat down on a nearby bench.

I sat there for awhile thinking of where I was ganna go. I guess I'll just sleep here.

I laid down and closed my eyes. I was asleep.

I heard noises. I open my eyes and someone was rummaging through my bag. His wallet!  

I hit the person but he only hit me back. Harder.  

I tried to get up and grab my bag but they already got what they wanted, of corse, the wallet. 

They ran away as I grabbed what I had. 

My money, blanket, and jacket were gone. 

I sat down and cried. Cried myself to sleep. This time clutching my bag.

Someone wakes me up by tapping my shoulder. I flinch as I open my eyes. A beautiful blonde boy with sparkling blues eyes was standing in front of me.

"It's ok! I won't hurt you." He assured me.

I inched away pulling my knees up to my chest and wrapping my arms around them. He took a step forward reaching his hand out. I jumped up and backed away.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry! I don't want to hurt you!" 

I was breathing heavily, my eyes widened. I clutched my bag closer to my chest. He looked at me then my bag. "Ohhh!" He let out. "I don't want your things! I want to help you!"

I looked at my bag then at him not moving forward or backward. He wants to help?

"I saw you on the bench and thought you might need help." I took a step forward. "Can you talk?" He asked surprising me. I look up at him and shake my head no.

"Oh...."he trailed off. "Do you need help?"

To be honest, I wasn't sure. I shrugged. He nodded his head thinking.

"Are you hungry?" I was starving! I hadn't eaten in forever!  

I nod my head yes.

"Ok! Come on I'll drive us to a diner!" I hesitated and followed him to his car. How could this boy be any worse than......him?

We walked into a diner and we sat at a booth. "What'd you like?" His accent was beautiful! I wish I knew what it was! He handed me a menu. I shrugged not knowing anything besides his leftovers.

He called over a waitress and asked for a pen and paper.

"No problem honey!" She walked away to go get it. She looked like she could be around 30.

"Here ya go darling!" She handed him the pen and paper. He then handed it to me.

I knew how to write. It's one of the few things my mom taught me how to do before her death.

Slowly I wrote 'I don't know most things.' I moved the pen slowly. 'you can just get me anything im sure anything will taste good right now.' passed it over to him.

"Oh......"  i looked up at him. "Yes i'll just pick i guess."

I nodded and he ordered.

 In no time our food was here. I picked the round sandwich up and shoved it in my mouth taking a huge bite. His eyes were wide. "You sure eat a lot for a little thing like yourself!"  

But the truth was I don't eat enough.

In no time my meal was gone.

"So....tell me about yourself!" He asked cheerfully.

'Not much to tell.' I write.

"Well.....what's your name?"

'Sam.' I scribble.

"Well......I'm Niall! Niall Horan!" This guy is too happy for his own good.

"Hi." it was silent for a while. "Can I ask you something?"

I nod.

"You can tell me if I'm out of line, but where did you get the black eye from?" I remembered getting it.... It stung.

'It's nothing." I wrote quickly.

"At least tell me about those gashes you got there." I lifted my hand remembering them. I run my finger over them.

I should have known this would be coming.

Better to be honest.

But I can't.

I don't want to scare him away.

Shit.

'It was an accident.' I wrote.

"Likely story." He did not sound convinced whatsoever. "Tell me what really happened."

'It was an accident. I hit my head on the table.' I scribbled down.

It wasn't a complete lie. My dad had smashed my head against the table.  

I winced at that thought.

"What's wrong?" I shook my head 'nothing'.

He stared at my face, probably wondering about all the things wrong with it. I could tell he didn't believe my story but he was going to let it go. For now 

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