My shirt falls to the floor as I strip myself of it, getting ready to tuck myself into the bed and pass out. It’s been a long day with school, practice, and then the hours of chores and homework I had to do when I got home. My eyelids are already so heavy.

But the second I slip underneath my covers, I hear a creak in my quiet room. It has my ears perking up and my heart beating just a little bit faster. And when the sound comes again, I’m reaching for the baseball bat in the corner of my room.

Surveying the place, I watch as my window slowly opens. Must’ve been a lucky guess for an intruder to know that I always keep my window unlocked. But they don’t know that I’m ready for them. I wield my weapon in preparation.

Though, all defenses fall when I spot a very familiar head of hair pop up through the crack in the window. The window pushes open further and I drop my bat, walking over to help you crawl inside. This isn’t much of a surprise, you’ve climbed through my window countless of times. But it’s not really an exciting reoccurrence either.

You and I have been best friends since the concept of having a best friend formed in our minds. We’ve lived across the street from one another our entire lives, so we’d always play out in the street or get into trouble together. We know each other like the back of our own hands.

Which means I know all about why you’re showing up so late tonight.

Your family life has never been the best situation, that I know. Your mother passed when you were just one years old, not even having any memories of her. It left you with just your father since you don’t have any siblings. And just like you don’t have any memories of your mom, you have no memory of what your father was like before her passing. All you know of him know is how he treats you.

We all know your father’s reputation.

He’s a drunk, to put it mildly. He’s the type of man to stay far past final call at the pubs and get into fights over the smallest things. He’s crass and unreliable. I can’t imagine what it’s like to live with him.

You don’t tell me everything that happens in your house, but I know enough. Enough to hate the man that you share blood and DNA with.

We used to always talk about running away when we were younger. Truth is, I never had any reasoning to run away. I just agreed with you because I wanted to stay friends. I didn’t know back that how much of a reason you had.

When you finally make it into my room, practically collapsing onto my floor, I can tell that tonight was not a good night in your house. The tear tracks still stain your cheeks, even if you’re trying your best to hide them. You look closed off and fidgety, toying with the hem of your sweatshirt as we both wait for you to garner the courage to say what you need to.

“Tonight’s the night,” you practically whisper, not wanting to wake anyone up in my house.

“The night?” I question, staring back at you with sleep still hovering in my eyes.

“I’m leaving tonight,” you reply, like it explains everything.

“Wh-what? You’re leaving? Where are you going? How long will you be—“

“I’m running away, Harry… Just like we always talked about.”

God, you’re serious. I can see it in your eyes, hear it in the tone of your voice. And you’re stubborn, there’s no way I could talk you out of this—even if I wanted to. I know you need out of that house, and I know there’s no way I could make you stay.

But I need you to be safe, and this… This is crazy. You don’t even have bags with you, or a plan, or money! I can’t let you do this.

I can’t let you do this alone.

“I’m coming with you,” I try to mimic your confident tone.

“Harry, no. No, you’re not—“

“Yes, I am,” I cut you off. “We can take my mom’s car and- And I have some money in my piggy bank we can use. I’m coming with you.”