“Run Miguel, The Daddy’s onto you! Go, go, go!” My heart is racing. I gasp for air and a searing pain shoots through my lungs. I hear his thudding footsteps behind me. I am putting distance between us though. I think back to this afternoon and know I can never come back.
I make my way to the neighborhood hideout. Johnny is sitting outside the door of the old rundown shack on 27th street. He wants to know why I am running and I head inside to tell him. He hands me a bottle of water and I suck it down. “The Daddy knows he’s gonna get me man. He’s not gonna stop till I’m dead.”
“You still got the scars from the last time you ran away from a session?”
“Yeah, even though it was two months ago.” I said, showing him the raised white, snaking trails along my back, tracing them with my fingers.
“Dude, you should go to the school and talk to Mrs. Deans, or the police.”
“They aren’t going to listen to a little Hispanic kid Johnny. They’re white.”
“Yeah, they’d probably give you a session; then give you back to The Daddy for more.”
Just then, the door was kicked off its hinges. The Daddy stood in the middle of the room, like a bull, snorting and shaking the whole room with each breath. His red eyes were focused on me. Out of the corner of my eye, I sensed Johnny shrinking back against the wall. The Daddy didn’t even seem to notice Johnny; he was too busy trying to figure out how to corner me. He slowly was walking towards me, there was nowhere for me to go. Johnny now had a free path to the door. I could feel The Daddy’s breath against my face. Johnny looked worriedly into my eyes; then ran. The next thing I knew, a fist collided with my face, like a ton of bricks, the sickly sweet taste of blood flooded my mouth and I blacked out.