A/N: My first story here xD Hope you all like it :)

PS: That's Iris to the right !


Living on the streets was a lonely life to live, having nothing, and nobody—though life does have a way of changing all of that in a blink of an eye. You're probably wondering what happened, right? Why was I in the streets in the first place? Who am I? Well let's go back in time, let's say a year ago?

My parents, brother, and I were going to our family summer house in California. My parents were pretty well off, we weren't rich, but not poor either, so I guess we were high middle class. Anyways, I was in the back seat next to my brother, while my mom was in the passenger seat, and my dad was driving. We were having a good time talking, enjoying each other's company, until I had asked my dad a question. I wanted to know if we were there yet. My dad turned around to face me to answer the question, but that was the biggest mistake he'd made. Next thing I know, my mom was screaming, "car!"

As my dad glanced back at the road, he tried to move out of the way, but it was too late, the other car had already crashed into us.

I saw that both my mom and dad died the second the car hit us, their bodies crushed; blood streaming down their faces, eyes going blank. By the time the ambulance came, I was a bloody mess. Tears were streaming down my face, as blood ran down the side of my face.

Trying to get over the horror of seeing my parents dead, I realized that maybe, just maybe my brother was still alive. I asked the paramedics over and over again, but all they did was look at me and shook their heads, feeling sorry for me. I guess I already knew the answer to that.

So in a blink of an eye, my whole family was taken away from me, and I was the only one who lived, with some broken bones, and cuts.

Three months later, I was on the streets, since I didn't have anymore relatives that could take care of me. I was an orphan—yes, I was in foster care for some time, but I didn't like it there. Every family I met, didn't like me; I was quiet, and depressed. I mean why wouldn't I be? I saw my whole family died right in front of me. I haven't talked to anybody since that day, and I wasn't planning on talking, unless I really needed to. So now I was on the streets, because I ran away from foster care—I didn't need them at all. I was already sixteen years old; I can take care of myself.

But boy was I wrong. I'd been living on the streets for about a week now, and it sucks! I was hungry, dirty, and I didn't really have any place to sleep. I would just wander around looking for food, and then sleep in an alleyway or anyplace with covering. Then again, I didn't really sleep. Every time I tried to, every little sound, even if it's a mouse, made me go back to the day of the car crash. 


Today was just like any other day. I was walking around town, and everyone that passed me, were probably thinking, "why is that girl here?" or, "why does she look so dirty and smell bad?" Well, it's not my fault people! It can happen to you too, if you were out on the streets for a week.

I guess I was too engrossed into my thoughts because the next thing I knew, I felt a hard chest bumped into me. Looking up was the most stupidest idea I had ever had—well beside the time I asked my dad that question.

Getting a closer look at him, the guy wore all black, had huge arm muscles, and let's just say his face was not very pleasant to look at, if you know what I mean.

"Watch it!" he said, clearly angry as veins popped out of his forehead.  

I didn't say anything at all, the fear inside me kept me frozen. Well, I guess the guy didn't know that, because the next thing I know his face turned red, his eyes blazing.

"Little girl, you better say sorry," he shouted, his stinky breath ghosting around my face.

I still didn't say anything. I was too scared to—which mad him even more angrier. 

"Why you," he roared, pointing at me. "Stop staring at me, and start apologizing."

I shook my head this time, knowing that I couldn't say anything. 

"You ungrateful, little punk," he screamed out, lashing at me.

It wasn't my fault that I didn't talk. Okay, so maybe it was, but I told myself, that I wouldn't talk, unless I really needed to. Now, I know what you're probably thinking. A guy is going to kill you, and you won't even talk back? Well, I don't really think I really need to talk. I mean this guy just has a bad attitude.

"You're dead now!" he said raising his hand up, probably about to slap me across the face from the looks of it.

Well I guess it's time to run?

And that's exactly what I did.

By the time he had realized I wasn't there anymore, I was about ten feet away from him. So, I kept running, and running. Glancing back, I saw that punk guy had friends, and now they're all chasing me. Great! I was trying to get away from them, but it's not working too well—they were only like a few steps behind me. So, I tried running faster, pushing my legs forward, until I came to a dead stop. Looking in front of me, I saw the 'leader' was smiling; an evil smile.

"Well, well, well, it looks like you have nowhere to run," he said wickedly, with a creepy smile on his face. I backed up a bit, until I felt the wall behind me. I probably looked dead scared right now.

"It's okay, I won't hurt you," he started to say, "—well much," he ended with a laughed. All his friends joined him with his laughter, and I was getting more frightened by the second. Maybe I should've of said sorry before—but I didn't. Problem is, I haven't heard my own voice in three months, and I don't even think I can even remember how my voice sounded.

Shutting my eyes, I breathed in. I guess this is it. My life ends here. At least I will be able to see my brother and parents again, I thought happily. As I got ready to be punched and beaten to death, I waited and waited, but nothing happened. Then I heard noises, like someone was punching someone—wait, that doesn't sound right though.

Opening my eyes, the sight I saw shocked me. There, standing there, was the hottest guy I'd ever seen. When I say hot, I mean hot. He was like a Greek model! He had striking blue eyes, dark brown hair, and the perfect face to go along that muscular body. He was in a business suit—I guess he was going somewhere? It took me a while before I realized this guy just saved my life, because all the guys that were chasing after me were on the floor screaming in pain. Serves them right.

"Are you okay?" the gorgeous guy asked concerned plastered on his face.

I nodded my head.

"Thank God," he breathed out. When I didn't answer back he stood there awkwardly, rubbing his  neck. "Well I guess I'll see you," he said walking away. Wait—he can't leave, I don't even know his name, or even say thank you. Even though, I haven't talk for about three months, I have to say at least thank you to him.

I ran and grabbed his hand. He turned around shocked that I touch him, but he quickly smiled.

"What? You don't have to say thank you." He grinned.

I tried to open my mouth to talk, but nothing came out. What's wrong?

"Are you trying to say something?" he asked, as he raised his eyebrows.

I tried again; nothing. Why can't I talk?

"Um . . . I'd love to stay and um, talk? But I really need to go," he said taking my hand of his, and then he started walking away again.

I have to talk, I have to talk, I have to talk, I repeated over and over again in my head.

"Wait!" I yelled. My eyes blinked. Oh my God, I did it! I finally talked. Wow, my voice sounds so weird. 

He turned around saying, "Yeah?"

"Um, t-thank y-you for saving m-me," I said, as my cheeks heated up.

"No problem," he said giving me his charming smile. 

Wanting to know his name so badly, I blurted out, "What's your name?"

When I did, he laughed, chuckling. "Richard," he said holding out his hand, "and you?"


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