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I struggled up to my feet and stumbled down the street, and found my neighbor's house.

I didn't know her name, either. I knew that she was middle aged, with no children, pets, or spouses. She left her big house alone all day. It was the perfect place for me to do what I had to do.

I staggered into her yard, and slid into the house through the unlocked basement window. After wading through the piles of junk, I got to the stairs and dragged myself up them. I entered the bathroom and stripped down to take a shower, washing off the caked on blood. The hot water bit visciously at my wounds.

Afterwards, I washed my clothes in the laundryroom, and ate a little food from the kitchen while I waited. I managed to doze off for a few moments while I waited for my clothes to get finished.

My mind warned me, and yet my curiosity was overwhelming. I looked in the mirror, and was surprised by the grotesquely thin, beaten boy that was looking back plaintively at me. His head had a huge bruise blooming over the side of his face, and his lip and cheek were cut. There were scattered, yellowish blue bruise over his chest, and he was painfully thin; that, and the dark circles under his eyes, betrayed his lack of sleep and food.

It was difficult for me to accept that that boy was me.

I sighed, and the painful realization that my ribs were broken finally hit me.

I got dressed again, and carefully cleaned up everything before slipping out of the house.