Grenade

I turned around the corner and kept running. I didn't know where I was going, but I didn't feel safe. I don't know if I ever would. And I don't think I was capable of trusting anyone anymore.

"Dillon!" I could hear Joe shout, not too far behind me. I stopped and turned around to see him running over to me. "Please talk to me." He panted. I wrapped my arms around myself, unsure.

Finally, I shook my head. "I can't." I muttered, ashamed. I was ashamed of what had happened while I was in rehab. I didn't know what had happened until it was already too late.

"Why not?" He asked, softly putting his hand on my shoulder. I watched him as he did, making sure his hand stayed where it was. "I need to know if something's wrong." He said, his voice sounding slightly pained.

"I'm not ready." I broke eye contact with him, scared the truth would show in my eyes. The fear. And the resentment I held towards him, along with everyone else.

They're the reason this happened. If they had tried helping me instead of taking the easy road and sending me off, I would have been safe.

If the past year hadn't been so dramatic, I wouldn't have gotten as bad as I did. Sure; I would still vomit daily, but not after every meal. Not to get away from everyone.

My problem was my way of screaming for help, and no one had the guts to stay by my side and help me.

But instead, I was sent to rehab. Where I not only got help, I also got molested.