Run Little Lost Girl

Chapter Five

"You're terrible at accents," Mia said in a perfect Irish accent. One of her best friends from preschool was from a large city in Ireland, so Mia had become a master at the distinct accent.

"Hey!" he whined childishly, shoving her shoulder. "I did a British accent; not a Scottish accent."

Mia pursed her lips, holding in a grin. "That was Irish, but good guess."

Thomas rolled his eyes. "What's the difference? They both sound the same."

Mia scoffed, more like snorted, at him.

"First off, there's a big difference," Mia told him, holding up her pointer finger. Her middle one followed it so she was holding them both up. "Second, no they don't."

He stuck his tongue out at her and she did the same.

"So are you gonna tell me?" Thomas asked with a hint of amusement after their laughter died down. There was also some nervousness, but probably only because he never got the chance to be around girls a lot or talk about feelings.

Mia calmed down and looked at him. "Uh, I guess so." She played with her fingers and looked down at them. "I was thinking about home," Mia answered quietly.

Thomas's grin fell from his face as he averted his gaze down at the soil by their feet. "Oh," was all he whispered. Thomas cleared his throat and looked back up at her. "Don't mention your home in front of Pan. He'll have you locked up or worse for that."

"Why?"

He didn't answer and instead found interest in playing in the dirt underneath his boots.

"Thomas?"

"Mhm," he mumbled, sounding sleepy.

"What was your home like?"

Thomas instantly tensed and relaxed before looking up at the woods and the sun that was beginning to peek through their branches and emerald leaves. "I don't really remember much," he responded honestly, his eyebrows lowered so there were lines between them.

"What about you mother?" Mia questioned, wondering how anyone could forget where they originally came from. It was obvious he was from somewhere in Russia from his accent, but it confused her how he could so easily forget his childhood home. "Don't you remember your own mother?"

Thomas thought for a while and seemed to have a hard time remembering from how frustrated he appeared to be. "Sometimes I think I hear her in my dreams, talking and singing to me," he said, his voice cracking at the end of his sentence and making Mia's eyes involuntarily lower. "I remember her having dark hair and bright eyes like mine." Thomas's eyes filled with tears and Mia put her hand on his shoulder, rubbing her thumb soothingly in circles. "But then she got sick and my father..." Thomas couldn't finish his sentence as he recalled the violent memories of his past and Mia pulled him in for a hug. He wrapped his arms around her waist and held her close. "I'm sorry," he mumbled into her shoulder.

"Don't be. I shouldn't have asked," Mia replied hugging him tighter.

"No. It's ok," Thomas said and pulled back, rubbing his puffy eyes. "It just reminds me that even though it's horrible here, at least I'm not there."

Mia looked back down, too ashamed and guilty to admit that she enjoyed her home life and had a very good one. It wasn't close to perfection, but it was hers and that was all that mattered.

"What's your family like?" Thomas asked, obviously trying to divert the conversation from himself to her.

"My dad passed away when I was five and ever since then, my mom and I have kinda drifted apart. But that doesn't mean we stopped loving each other," Mia said. "We just never talk. My mom is always off doing things for work. I go to school, do my homework, and only come downstairs when needed like to eat dinner and stuff. It's our routine."