His little sister told on him again. As always, it did not matter if he had done anything, or what that thing had been. The trouble started, as always, when she went to their mother. Their mother, with smoldering eyes and an exploding voice, began the judgment by declaring the sister right. Then Lance's sister told her story, true or false, exaggerated or not; their mother interrupted her to ask Lance vague questions to which he was only allowed to respond with "yes Ma'am" and "no Ma'am," and exaggerated wherever his sister did not. Once his sister was done telling her story and had been told to leave the room, their mother stated again that Lance should not bother his sister, and all the reasons that Lance was wrong. Usually, judgment is pronounced then, but this time Lance was allowed to tell his story. His mother made sure the door was closed, and no one else was in the room.
None of his sentences went uninterrupted. His mother vehemently complained that he was taking too long, although it was she who interrupted, and never let the conversation settle into peace. It was a long interrogation, and afterwards his little sister was called in to retestify against him; she denied everything, and was sent out of the room. Their mother again made sure no one else was around before she proclaimed judgment, the proclamation harsh and drawn out.
Lance thought of telling a close friend of his of this newest incident, and knew her reaction would be indignation and shock, as always. He thought of explaining similar things his parents did; when was he ever treated like a human being, like his siblings were? He couldn't see any real difference between him and his siblings, and concluded that this harsh differentiation his parents placed on him was not the way things were supposed to work: if he had been the one with the complaint, he still would have been the one punished. In a few months he would be 17, and able to legally quit school where he lived, but he couldn't wait that long. Four years of this sudden, unexplained treatment was unendurable. He had people he wanted to see and wasn't allowed, places he wanted to go, degrading ideas and comments he didn't want to hear anymore.

Lance typed in, "I don't think I can do this," and hit send.
The computer made a pleasant noise into Lance's headphones as it received the reply. "I understand you're scared, but I know you can do this."
"I have to do this."
"It's a good plan. You'll do fine."
"Pray for me," he typed, almost reluctantly.
"I will," she typed back. "I'm already praying for you."
"I should get off now, unless you want me to stay on...."
"That's OK; you should pack, and I should go to bed. It's 9:15 here and I'm tired."
Lance smiled nervously at his friend's comment and looked at the clock: 8:15pm. "OK. Good night."
"Sweet dreams. I guess I'll see you soon!"
Lance signed off, closed his laptop, and placed it in its case. He placed a few disks carefully into the case, then set a pair of clothes over top, thinking that no matter where he ended up it would be better than this place. Even foster parents would be better, despite his introverted tendencies. He looked up, then around the room at his bed, the door to the very small bathroom, and the door to the rest of the house. Both doors were opened halfway, but he heard no one approach his room. He placed money and a few other things into his laptop case and zipped it shut. His hands shook slightly as he slid the case under his bed where it normally lived, but he forced them to stop. He remembered with a shutter the times he had thought of and tried to kill himself in this place, then taking a deep breath, he left his room and joined the rest of the family.
None of them noticed anything different, just like any other time something went terribly wrong. When he was younger, they could tell when things they wouldn't like would happen, but he had learned for his own sake how to hide that and thus to avoid any physical or mental punishment. He had been the only one that had changed in four years, and now he couldn't believe it had actually taken this long for him to realize the definition of abuse. None of them looked any different to him; his changing view of them had finalized the day before and would not change again. Lance realized with a sense of dread that the rest of the day would be as normal as it ever was in this house, and that as always he would not be able to sleep at night, and so he was determined to act normal, reducing maddening interactions with his family as much as possible and ensuring he would be allowed to go to work the next day.

Mariana was the first to see Lance walk into the restaurant, and waved to him. "Hey, over here, kiddo. You're working the headset today," she informed him, referring to the headset used to take drive-thru orders.
Lance paused in the doorway, clutching his laptop with white knuckles. He walked past the restaurant’s few customers stiffly, trying not to run into anybody. Once he was stopped in front of Mariana, he stood as if speechless, and quickly averted his eyes.
"What's wrong, Lance?" Mariana asked him, pushing her duties to the back of her mind for the moment.
"Mariana, I... I'm not working today...." He paused, but Mariana said nothing so he continued reluctantly, "I'm quitting."
Mariana glanced outside, but could not see the van that Lance was always dropped off with. She looked around at the tables, but did not see his parents waiting anywhere for him. "I guess this is your two weeks notice?"
"No, I'm quitting today. Right now. Mariana I need to use the phone... and I need you to do me a favor."
She nodded, regarding him with serious eyes. "OK, I will. What is it?"
"Don't tell my parents I quit. I don't want them to find out until they come to pick me up...."
"OK... any reason?"
Lance glanced at their surroundings and lowered his voice. "I'm not going home."
"But--"
"No 'but's. If you try to stop me I'll just run faster." Lance stood up straighter and looked her in the eyes. "I mean it."
Mariana shook her head. "You have to tell me what happened. I want to know why."
Lance narrowed his eyes. "Take a wild guess. You already know why." He stepped back,g sure that no one watched him, Lance dialed the number. There was a lot he wished to tell the center, and a lot he wished to do once he arrived there. He fully anticipated walking as his transportation, but wasn't afraid of being found because his parents would not know he was missing until later that afternoon, when they came to pick him up and he was not there.
The person who picked up the phone greeted him kindly, and Lance was screened almost before he realized what was happening. The man helped him go through all the possible reasons that teenagers usually want to run away, and finally came to a single, finalizing question. "Are your parents abusive?"
"Yes," Lance confirmed, fighting himself not to whisper. The man had no problem giving him the address.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

See Also:
Lance's Profile
Mariana's Profile