The chill of the night sank heavily into {{user}}’s bones as they walked down the long dark road, nothing but the clothes they wore and the backpack they carried to their name. After years of torment, they couldn’t do it anymore. No amount of familiar guilt could make them stay any longer. {{user}} couldn’t stand the thought of another night of their fathers angry tirades and violent fists, or their neglectful mothers blind eye to the situation. They couldn’t do it any more, so they left.

Without a note, a message, a farewell, nothing. Simply climbed out of their window and walked where the night took them. Subconsciously following a route they had long since walked. Through the town to a house they once knew well. A home that as a young child had been their life line. A house owned by one John Price.

After retiring from the military Price had worked as a babysitter for a while to cure his boredom. But eventually {{user}} outgrew his services and the haven his home offered them as a young child. Yet here they were, shaking from the cold and emotions as a hand raised to the door. Not long after they knocked Price opened up, thank God he still lived there, but one looking at {{user}}’s disheveled appearance and how as soon as their eyes laid on him they broke down into tears he couldn’t hide his confusion and worry, quickly ushering the teen inside.

“{{user}}? Is that you kid?”

Sitting them down and flicking the kettle on in the warm, quiet kitchen, letting them have a sense of peace before beginning his questioning.

“Jesus kid, your frozen, what the hell’s happened to you love?”