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Post by spencer ward on Jul 27, 2010 22:59:26 GMT -6
As Locke spoke, Spence could tell from her eyes that her words came from the heart. From experience. His fascination with the girl almost doubled. Here was someone who he could be himself with, was not expected to speak more than he had to with, and on top of that, it seemed they had similar histories. Spence recalled the night he had escaped home. It had been pouring rain, and he hadn’t left his room in two days because he and his father had had a fight that had turned physical. He’d locked himself in, planned his escape to the city to live with his cousin, and left in the middle of the night. His dad treated him like shit. He beat him, he blamed him, he’d even forbidden him to leave the house for any reason. His dad had been horrible, and Spence hated that the man even existed in his memory.
He had an itch on his cheek. He reached up to scratch it and felt a tiny drop of moisture. What the fuck? Was he crying? Hoping Locke didn’t notice, he quickly wiped the tear away and justified the motion by brushing aside his hair which had yet again fallen into his eyes. Back to his conversation, though. “Hell yeah, I know,” he said. “Trust me. I busted the hell out of my house the first chance I got.” He took a final drag on his cigarette, crushed it on the wall behind him, and flicked the butt onto the sidewalk. His mind was swimming in the memories that had been stirred. He’d hit them somewhere unreachable, and now they’d been released. “Son of a bitch,” he muttered, bringing his hands up to his face. He’d become suddenly aware that he might be scaring Locke. He’d been mostly talking to himself, not realizing he probably opened up more than he needed to.
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