Stuck With Me

The street is quiet. It's only me and my guitar at this point, and not even the late evening rain that once shimmered through the air accompanies us. Streetlights flicker over my head, as if to mock the warmth of the home I left more than two days ago. I hear a dog growl beyond a wooden fence that lines its neighboring sidewalk; probably the dog's startled response to my worn-out Converse pounding against the slick, wet pavement of the road in the middle of the night. I am running away from, not only a home, but my fears, my conscience that tries to influence the guilt it has stored away onto me.
Sooner than expected, exhaustion kicks in and I am forced to slow down my pace from a steady run to a sluggish walk. In about an hour, I know I'll have to find a place to turn in for the night. I also know that it can't be out on a bench in a park that I might happen to come across, like last night, because the dreary clouds well up again. It's going to pour down on me once more. Remembering the money I had wadded up in my pocket, I carefully sat on the edge of a curb, trying not to get wet, and pulled it out. Counting only about fifty dollars, I knew that a motel room would be out of the question; I had to save money for food. Where am I to turn now?
A light mist starts to fall, so perhaps no rain will come. If the water needed to fall, it would tumble from the stars instead of shrouding the empty boulevard in a mysterious, damp cover. I decide to wait to see if rain will come to haunt me, whether I would still be walking on this route or finding a bench and looking up into the neverending blackness. An opening in the latter option appeared when I reached the end of the street. On the corner was one lone bench, all by itself. I flopped down on the wooden seat and lifted Banana, my yellow electric guitar, onto my lap. Slowly, my gaze lingered over her entire body. The strings, the frets, the dials... they all seemed so... important now. y being with me through this rough patch, I admired Banana in a whole new way. No longer was she an instrument that occasionally frayed the chords I strummed, or even a beautiful piece of art to stare at. Now she is a companion, a friend to accompany me in life, and someone to e there for me to keep me alive.
Of course, Banana isn't my true love when it comes to music. No, I'm a drummer, and there's no question about it. Before I left, I had owned a purple, eight-piece Ludwig drumset. It wasn't the best quality, and it was ound to fall apart soon from the amount of time I had put into pounding on it daily. Sometimes my mom would burst into my room and tell me to be quiet... but then she'd call me a bitch or a lousy good-for-nothing fucker.
I shook the memory from my head and stood up. I would not stop now, I need a place to be safe. As I turned the corner, my only option in which way to go, I discovered that I was wrong, and it began to sprinkle. Unfortunately, with each step, the rain fell harder and harder, and at this rate I knew that Banana would be ruined; unless, of course, I found somewhere to stay.
The questions began to swim in my head again. The question of where to sleep was also among them, and by far the most important. But also... where the hell am I headed to? I mean... I ran without really thinking. Now what am I to do? I have nowhere to go, and I'm almost out of money.
I pushed my tired body off of the curb and continued walking, my head bent, my eyes glued to the ground. It was getting darker by the second, I really needed somewhere warm to stay.
My body froze when I heard a car pull up beside me, the headlights lighting my path. Terror filled in the pit of my stomach, and I began to tremble so much that I almost threw up. What if it's my father? Sure, he's my adoptive dad, but he never acted like one. He's the main reason I ran. Abusive, insensate commands, and dealing out cruel and unusual punishments were the lowest terms of his hatred, and there's something else that will be secluded from ever reaching the surface of my mind again, and I especially will not ever tell a soul.
I shook the thoughts from my head and a new horror was born when I realised that the faint sound of a window opening was heard.
"Hey," a guy's voice called out, "are you lost?" I ignored him; who knows what kind of creeps can be out at this time? i took a shaky breath and continued to... nowhere. I jus kept walking. Unfortunately, seeing my plan, the guy's car rolled forward at exactly my speed.
At this point, terrified, I broke into a full-on run, even though I was totally aware of the fact that he would be able to speed up to my level again and also that I'd probably collapse from exhaustion at one point.
"Hey! Wait!" He drove up to me again, but I concentrated on running. "I said WAIT!"
"What?" Anger stupidly overruled my caution.
"I... I wanted to help you." The guy muttered.
"Who ARE you?" I couldn't see him, not in the dark. But it was scary, and even if he didn't sound so kind, and slightly familiar, I'd still be frightened.
I knew for sure he wasn't my adoptive dad though. His voice wasn't rough or violent, it was kind.
"I..." He hesitated for a moment. "Just... would you like a ride? I could get you to somewhere safe."
"Where, like in your fucking pants?" I asked almost inaudibly, and more to myself than him.
"What?" The steady rumble of the car's engine suddenly halted and I heard the faint click of the door unlocking. He was getting out.
"Listen, buddy, don't mess with me. Those six years of Tae Kwon Do training weren't for show!" I threatened.
"I don't think that's such a good idea." he said. "You might scratch your guitar. You know, they're really expensive. I have several of my own." At this point, I started to make some connections. How would he know exactly how expensive a guitar can be? Of course, I guess people can infer that by the fact that it's electric and all that, which makes me remember that I have no amp.
"I'm just going to go now..." I told him as he started advancing. I backed up a few steps. Noticing that it made me uncomfortale, he stopped moving. Now I could really survey him. Under the light, I realised that he's about my age, or maybe a bit older; I think about 19 or 20. Black hair that flopped and spiked every which way concealed his forehead and most of his eyes, although dark, squared sunglasses accomplished the task more easily. He wore a gray, striped shirt. Hanging around his neck was a pick on a chain. Also, he wore black pants that were almost the opposite of baggy, and a thin silver chain hung from the front right pocket. I didn't retreat any more, and that came as a sign to him to step a few feet closer, and with each step came a soft thud from his black Converse, which were identical to mine minus the green-starred laces. What intrigued me the most, though, were the intricate patterns of colorful tattoos that covered his arms. They looked strangely familiar, but I wouldn't make a single sane bet on whose they were.
"Come on, it's dangerous out here!" he finally pleaded. "You know how many kidnappings and rapes happen out here? A lot." His voice sounded sincere, but I really couldn't tell. And this is all coming from a guy that wears sunglasses at night, WHILE he's driving, apparently!
"I'll think about coming with you on one condition." I mentally slapped myself, but I needed to know who was trying to lure me in, even if it meant risking my safety. As I've said before, he seems really familiar, like I've met him before.
"What is that?" he inquired, taking one step closer. I followed suit and took another step back.
"Tell me who you are."
"I..." Suddenly, he smiled as if he knew something I didn't. "My name is Asshole." The smile grew bigger and bigger until I finally thought it would drown out his entire face.
"That's nice. By, Asshole." I began to walk the way I was already heading; there was no way that I'd be getting into some stranger's car, especially not if he called himself Asshole.
"Wait!" he called out. I turned on my heel and waited. "No... I... I didn't mean it like that. My name... My name is... My name's BJ."
"BJ, eh?" I rolled my eyes. "What does that stand for, Blow Job?"
"Oh... I never thought of it that way." Under the dim trickle of light from the streetlight, I could tell he turned a slight shade of red. To me, it seemed that it was either embarrassment or pleasure. If it was the latter of the two, I'd better be on my way, and fast.
I continued to back up. My heart was beating hard and fast in my chest, and the rain mimicked me, falling to the ground in the same rhythm. I worried immensely about Banana.
"At least tell me your name!" the guy, BJ, shouted. His messy hair was now plastered to his forehead, it looked like someone had poured ink on his head.
I bit my lip, my eyes narrowed slightly in anger. Couldn't he take a hint and leave me alone?
"Call me Haushinka." I muttered.
As if out of habit, impulse, or maybe just to be a smart ass, he started singing the song quietly.
Usually I would pick up Banana and play along to the song, it took all my self-control to keep the instrument hanging at my side.
His head was hanging down now, seemingly deep in his own thoughts, his own world.
I turned around now, kept walking, determined to get away from this man.
"Wait, please wait! I really don't want you to get hurt." His voice was softer, all humor drained from his words. I hesitated. Why would I go with him, a stranger? "Your guitar... it will be ruined in seconds. Please... let me help you." I don't know what in me snapped, but, against my better judgement... I stepped forward... and I didn't stop until I was in his car.