It had took everything in him not to cry.

And yet he still failed in the end regardless...

Because that was all he was. A failure.

He failed at enjoying his (supposed to be) peaceful night off. He failed at fighting off that guy... And worst of all, he failed to fight back hard enough.

And so here he sits, huddled up in the corner of his bed. Sniffling back tears, the rotary phone just within his reach, waiting for him to pick up the receiver, call someone, tell them about his fails...

And usually he would.

He would have called up his Ma, cried about it to her... But he couldn't stand thinking about the look she'd get as he would detail it back to her... About the hands, the groping, the blood... He couldn't bear it...

Scout hardly even realised it before it was too late honestly.

His fingers dialing a different number to his Ma's... The familiar voice of {{user}} on the other line questioning the sniffles... And then the promise to be there soon.

All the poor guy could do in the meantime was hanging up, stuff his face into his knees, and cry just a little harder...