Love.

The one-syllable word that got me into this position starts with a 'L', and ends with an 'e'. That word would be 'Love'. That word is the reason that I'm waiting for the police officer to be able to talk to me.

Every guy that I've ever gone out with always tells me that he "Loves" me, right before he breaks up with me. My story starts with Mike Potts saying and doing just that.

Mike Potts.

Each word one-syllable. So innocent. I mean, really, I've never met a guy named Mike that wasn't nice. Or, at least not before my eighth grade year, when I transferred schools.

I moved to Middle-of-Nowhere, Colorado in the middle of the year, perfect. I quickly made friends, but they were all older than me. I met a lot of sixteen and seventeen year olds.

Mike Potts was one of them. He was beautiful. I was too shy to ever really talk to him. Everytime we were in a big group, he just sort of stared at me from a distance, he was mysterious, and I wanted to know him.

When I first met him, I thought that he was the most perfect creature on Earth, now the thought of him makes me sick. He is the only mean Mike that I know.

Party.

The two-syllable word that's easy to say, and helped ruin my life. I used to love parties in Wisconsin. After I moved, I hated parties.

The first party that I went to in Colorado would have been great...had it not been for Mike Potts.

Mike and I had been together for only about three weeks before this party. His parents were out of town, and he knew where they didn't ID for beer. I had shown up just late enough for him to wonder if I was coming or not. I was wearing a new outfit that really showed off my legs, and he noticed right away.

I brought one of the girls that I met in my grade, Amy Deere. She was beautiful and immediately went to look for guys. She left me alone with Mike. I had been alone with him before, but not when he was drunk.

We were in the driveway, and no one was around. He gave me a hello kiss, then told me that he loved me, but I wasn't "girlfriend material".

It wasn't anything new. There were three guys at my old school who said the exact same thing right before they broke up with me. This time it was different though, this time, Mike was drunk. This time, it was an insult.

I can't bring myself to say what he did to me, atleast not yet. I can say that I got scared, I called the cops, I got more scared, and I ran away.

So here I am, rehearsing what I am going to say to the officer.

Alone.

The one-syllable word that described exactly what I was the night of that party.

I knew I couldn't face my parents, who were staying at a hotel in Whyoming for the weekend. So I went home, packed a weeks worth of clothes, got all of my money, some non-parishable food items, and left. I started walking, with no idea where I was going.

From the time I was five, my dad had always told me that I should save up my money for something special, so up until now, that's exactly what I've been doing. I bet that he never would have thought that his fourteen year old would be using that money to run away.

I had saved up $4,621.98. It wasn't going to last long.

The closest town that had a hotel was ninety miles away. It took me three buses to get that far. By then, I had spent exactly $15. That left me with $4,246.98.