There's this boy, barely over the age of 15 I guess, that sits by a lake everyday at midnight. I've seen him, he doesn't talk to me, but the occasional flick of his green eyes under those choppy bangs allows me to believe he sees. The hair that sits on his head is a pitch black, matching that of his hoodie that falls tightly against his thinned out, lanky frame. It seems that he's always wearing black, from shoes to the hood that constantly adorns him. Maybe it's a way to block out all of the words that float around him, things people have said, because I get those too.

Whoever he was, I knew he had a terrible life. It was a feeling that was too strong to ignore. At the age of 14, you'd think imaginary friends would play out, but he was far from imaginary. I could feel him, almost like I was in his head, or, better, he was in mine. My life wasn't perfect, he knew that. Every bad thing that happened, I'd feel his presence contort into one of anger, pain...sadness.
-

As the days turn to months and months into years, I feel everything grow stronger. He grows stronger. It's now my window that he so gracefully perches himself on. There's still no words coming from him, but the stares grow longer. Almost like he's my protector, someone to watch over me, if that's even possible. Maybe I'm just crazy though, like everyone says. But does that mean when I wake up and see him with tears glistening down his face I am crazy?

It can't be too real for me, he listens. To have someone to await me at home, to have someone to go home to. He hasn't aged, but I have. I'm 16 now, hair black, I dyed it myself. I needed a new change, but it didn't wash away everything. My mother called me stupid for dying, called me goth or emo. She doesn't understand self expression, she doesn't know what this life is like. She had a father, one who may not have said it all the time, but one that truly did love her.

What about me? What am I left with? A family who'd rather have it their way or die. One that doesn't understand the term depression because it doesn't exist supposedly. I'm in therapy, have been for a few months now. Of course, I get to hear them complain about how therapy is nothing but for crazy people. Hypocritical when they think I'm crazy anyways.
-

“Oh that's stupid! Why would you do that?!” I'm cornered to the side of my bedroom wall, mother screaming at me as my step father stands and watches.

I say nothing, what could I say? The cat scratched me? I hit my arm on an old rusty bed railing? No, they're too deep and too many to believe any of that. So I take everything and try to store it, but because everything adds up, I crack a tear after she leaves. I'm told that sending me to a mental hospital is for the best, but I know she won't do it. We're all falling apart, we're growing tired of each other and right now, I think the best thing would be to go out and runaway.

“Hello?” His voice, I know it. I've never heard it, but I know that's who it is coming from. I remove my hands and stare it him, eyes swollen.

“Tsk, don't cry,” His jacket sleeve comes up and dabs away the straying tears. “They're not worth it. People are never worth it, no matter who it is.” I'm still in shock that he is even speaking.

“B-But, why are you...”

“Shhh, don't talk for now. I waited for this moment, I waited before I came to your verbal rescue.” He takes my hands into his, bringing them to his face and melting at the contact.

“What's... What's your name?” I breathe, almost in denial that this is even real, but it always was, it is now.

“Alex, that's all you need to know. How would you like to come with me? Get away from here? From this broken home where you live in misery?” Those eyes, as green as the dampened earth outside grow hopeful, he wants an answer.

“Can I?” Maybe it was said a little too hopeful, but all I wanted was to leave.

“Yes, you've always been able to. So why insist in living here when you can be anywhere in the world?” Before I know what's happening, we're on my roof. The wind chilling my spine and whipping hair across my face.

“I-It's...beautiful.” The creek behind my home, my old home, the trees surrounding it, the feeling.

“Yes, yes it is. But no beauty is worth your pain.” He drifts his eyes shut, so swiftly, so mellowly and peacefully as the grip on my wrists get tighter. I, too, close my own eyes, clawing at the wind and fighting the urge to open them.

“W-Where are we going?” I ask, biting my lip nervously. And even though I can't see it, I can feel the smile that graces his lips.

“Home... To your real home, where you belong.”