• Running, clutching her pants and her ripped shirt, she could barely remember where his house was.

    "A left here? Or was it right? Wait... There's that funky lookin' m-mailbox... A left here and... Sam..."

    Jogging slowly past a few houses, a couple of passer bys looking at her as if she rose from the dead. Her hair was matted, the collar of her polo shirt was ripped.

    His house was the closest.

    The worst possible thing that could happen to a girl had happened.

    She couldn't think of anything or anyone else but him. Hoping he would come out of no where and save her; but nothing happened.

    Before she knew it, she was at the door to his house, knocking slowly but loudly.

    A boy answered the door.