Ok I got this major idea when I read these fan fictions about Esme's baby boy who died. I am so sorry to the people who don't like this plot- I'm only 14 for crying out loud!

Please read and review- thanks!

My heart was pounding against my heaving chest. Beads of sweat dropped onto the wood floor with a silent drop drip drop drip. My head was throbbing , and I couldn't think straight. I tried with all the power the Lord gave me, but I dropped from my last pushup. I waited for hell to come over me.

And it did.

"You lazy idiot, get of the floor now!", my father yelled. I could smell his putrid , hot breath near my neck. He got his trusty cane and whacked me on the leg. I cried out in pain. I could feel blood trickle down my calf and to my ankle. I bit down on my lip hard.

I cannot lose the war.

My father always told me that my mother was a lunatic. I didn't believe him. He told me that she was a slut. I didn't believe him. He told me that she was shot to death. I didn't believe him. He told me that she didn't love me.

I believed him.

I never knew my mom. I believed him when he said that. Nobody loves me. Those girls at school who have crushes on me , don't love me an inch. My father never loved me, he does a good job of reminding me that. And worse, I don't love myself. What's good about me, other than being a useless teenager? I use to try so hard to make my father love me. But it never works. Pain hurts so much, I can't get a lick of sleep. I used to feel sorry for myself , but now me and father are at war. I know he loves to see me in pain. Simple , so I try my hardest to not show him that. To displease him. To make him lose his power. Each and everyday I wonder how the hell I'm going to get out of this hell-hole. I heard fathers footsteps fade away. So I sat up swiftly and rubbed my leg. I ran quickly to the kitchen and grabbed a rag. In the background I heard father's rusty old Cadillac drive away. I sighed in relief.

Now I know you may be thinking, "why doesn't he leave now?". Well, we have nosy neighbors who crane their necks for something to say. Last time I sneaked out, my neighbor Ivy told my father and he grabbed by the scruff of my neck and dragged me home. It was a painful night. I really didn't know how Ivy knew where I was.

I took the rag off of my cut and sat. My joints were sore, and my ribs hurt. I got up, though my body was protesting and sat again, but next to the window.

I guess I could endure another painful night.

I ran to the attic, which was really my room, and grabbed all of my tattered clothes and belongings. I ran down the stairs and yanked on my boots. I took the blood covered rag and wrapped it around my cut, and I jolted out of the door.

I had a different plan this time. Instead of going into the neighbor's view, I went to the back yard and ran through the woods. I ran without minding the fact that I was getting cut by the bristles and thorns of the forest. I wadded through the river, lucky it wasn't a stormy day.

Soon I ran to the point where my father wouldn't even think to look at. I sat against the trunk of a tree, panting. My throat burned , and my heart was wild.

"Well hello there, shouldn't a young man like you be at home?", a angelic voice whispered, lips touching the base of my throat. I spun my head.

I was sure I was dead. Or God just loved this person so much, to give her a look of an angel. Her hair was cherry red, and stopped at her neck. Her face was as pale as undiluted snow. Her lips were pink, and full. She smiled at me, waiting for an answer.

"I don't want to go home"

"What's your name?", she asked sweetly.

"Nicholas", I answered. I shook a lock of my hair back.

"I'm Gwen, and I promise this won't hurt a bit", she said. I was confused from what she said.

But the I felt it.