Run Away

I wake up to a loud bang, echoeing through the old house I now live in. The house is probably about one hundred years old and vacant for about fifty. The floor boards creak with every small step and the ancient ceiling has started to crumble in in few areas. There is no heat in this large house or air conditioning, just a large fireplace in the living room and my bedroom. It isn't the best place to live, but it's home for me and has been for three years. I ran away when I was fourteen. My father beat me everyday, I even have the marks to prove it, and my mother dies of a heart attack when I was eight. As you probably would have guessed, my father blamed me for my mother's death. I spent my days trying to earn enough money to run away. On my fourteenth birthday, I ran. That's when I found this abandoned old house. For a day or two I watched the house just to make sure it was empty. I haven't talked to anyone I knew before since I left. Now I spend my time painting, writing, and finding new ways to make money. I can't get a job since I never finished school, so I usually sell my paintings but I don't get much from it.
Yesterday was my seventeenth birthday and once again I spend it alone. I sat in the dining room and ate a cupcake the baker gave me as a present. Afterwards, the butcher gave me some ground beef to make saying "You need your meat to make those paintings of yours". He's one of my regular buyers of my paintings.
I try to fall back asleep, figuring the noise was thunder. Almost asleep, the noise comes again, like someone banging two pots together. With a grunt I roll out of bed, slipping on my slippers. I walk towards the stairs, avoiding where it creaks the most, and walk down. The stairs are a spiral of old maple wood with a railing of the same style going all the way down. It leads towards the living room where I make all my paitings. I peek around the room before I fully walk down the stairs. The grandfather clock ticks 1:14 a.m., my paintings are still along the wall, my notebook on the floor next to the loveseat, and the embers of the fire slowly fading. Nothing out of the ordinary, I cautiously walk to the entrance of the kitchen/dining room. The light is on when I walk in, illuminating the room. The sudden light makes me squint and sheild my eyes. As I look down, I realize that there is a large black suitcase by the door that I don't remember being mine. Panicked, I look up and see a boy about my age at the stove, like he was cooking something. He had straight black hair that hung just under his ears, gray jeans, a black t-shirt, dark blue converse, and three black bracelets with words I couldn't read from this far away on them. I freeze up for a moment before I gather myself and begin to think logically. It seemed as if he didn't notice me so I decided to do something. I quietly walk up behind him making sure he didn't hear me. Right behind him, I grab his arm and twist it backwards, kicking the back of his knee in the process, making him fall to the ground yelping in pain. I flip his body over to his back and pin him down. I stare down at the boy's soft features, his shimmering blue eyes that are darkening from fear, and his silver lip ring.
"What are you doing in my house?" I ask through gritted teeth.
"Y-you live h-here? I thought i-it was abandoned", his deep voice says quickly, stumbling through his words. He's scared to death, I thought, maybe i should let him up. i hesitantly get off him and he scrambles up, stepping back a few steps.
"Well you thought wrong", I say sharply and after a pause I say more softly,"Why did you come here?". He seemed to relax a little and sat down in one of the wooden chairs, me following. Putting his arms on the table, I was able to read what was written on his wrist bands. Averting my eyes to the words I notice that they are band names-Three Days Grace, Black Veil Brides, and Escape the Fate. I smile to myself because those are a few of my favorite bands.
"So?" I question because he still hasn't answered my question. He looks up at me and his ocean blue eyes lock with my moss green ones, and sighs, defeated. He hesitates but finally answers the question I'm sure that if this was a TV show, everyone would be anticipating.
"Well first off, my name is James and I'm seventeen". So I was right about him being about my age.
"Clary. Seventeen", I say quickly so he could continue.
"I ran away about three months ago. I ended up living in my caruntil tonight when I saw this, what I believed to be abandoned, house. i work at a restaurant to make a living, but I don't make very much", he says, "So what brings you here? i know you don't own this house". Damn it! I was hoping he wouldn't notice. What gave me away? My suitcases still unpacked or the cobwebs that I never bothered to remove? I give a big sigh and tell him the shortened version of what happened.
"Well, um, stuff happened at my house about three years ago so I ran away. I make paintings and write to make money but it's not enough to make a living, it's enough to not die of starvation".
"I could kinda tell you were an artist since there were a bunch of paintings in the living room. They're really good", James tells me once again looking into my eyes. I search his face to see if he was joking or really meant it. i return my gaze to his eyes to find him staringinto mine as if they hold all the answers. He doesn'y break the stare and I was beginning to feel unconfortable so I abruptly stand up.
"I'm going back to bed but you can stay here. Up the stairs, first door on the left, is the spare bedroom. It's right across from mine. You can either sleep there or on the couch in the living room if you want a fireplace", I say and turn to leave.
"Wait!" I hear James yell after me. I turn around.
"Thank you, Clary", he says. I smile a 'Your welcome' and go to bed.