A/N: I don't usually do these but anyways.
I wrote this last night, and I think it's pretty good. But remember R & R, its much appreciated.
It's not finished I don't think. Tell me whether you like it like this or to continue it.
She was alone on the brittle winter night. Her parents were out, her friends ditched her, and her brother left long ago. She wasn't expecting anyone or anything to show up. She expected herself to become secluded into the dark damp darkness in front of the fire. The warmer it got, the further she drifted off into a deep sleep. She had to pinch herself to stay awake and even that was difficult. The later it got, the warmer she got, and the fire became red, hot coals. By the time she had finally drifted to sleep she was already in a deep trance of beauty and wonder. It was her escape from the world, the place she felt she belonged, where she wasn't judged, and was welcome. It was where everything was opposite. Her parents were around and cared, her friends weren't fake, and someone was there that thought she was smart, beautiful, and cared for her. Adventures followed adventures; it was her dreamland, her utopia, and he was always there.
...X... HER P.O.V. ...X...
"Why must you leave?" It was a question I had to answer in my utopia frequently, but it was me saying this to my parents. They were going out, again, this time for a month. It was a 'warm getaway'. It seems that all they do is getaway.
He was always with his friends. He didn't want to be home when his dad was beating his mother and sister, knowing he couldn't do a thing about it. If he did he'd be killed, no warning, and after himself would go his mother, then his sister.
He was drinking beer after beer. He couldn't stop. He was uncontrollable. He knew that each drink brought him closer to a bother less sleep. He would return to his favourite place, his dreamland, his utopia. Everything was the complete opposite. His father was nice, caring and didn't beat his mother and sister. He wasn't a teenage drunk and his friends; well they just weren't there. Period. Excitement followed excitement; he knew that falling asleep, escaping to his utopia included her. She was always there.
...X... HIS P.O.V. ...X...
"Hand me another!" I was now yelling at my friends.
"Dude, I think you've had enough." One of my sensible friends, maybe I should listen. NO! I can't. I have to see her again.
"Just pass me another." With that said another beer was thrown my way.