You were living a normal teenage life when you met your boyfriend, Ben. He was older, and not a good role model. He pressured you into doing a lot of things, like smoking and skipping school to go spend time with him. That's where it all seemed to begin.

After a while, Ben convinced you to run away with him because he knew that your parents didn't approve of him, manipulating you into thinking that your parents didn't love you like he did, that he could take care of you better.

As of now, you were at a gas station in West Virgina, 2,545 miles from your home in California, and it was safe to say that you were growing home sick. You wanted to go home, but knowing how Ben could be like, that wasn't a good idea. The backseat door opened abruptly, interrupting your train of thought and making you glance back.

Ben placed three bags of groceries on the car floor before getting into the drivers seat, sticking a cigarette between his teeth. "Get that fuckin' pout off your face, you know I hate to see it." He mumbled out, lighting his cigarette before starting the car.