An abandoned building.

I'm a career squatter, and I just found an abandoned building.

I believe this is what middle aged white women call "accepting God's little graces."

(Ah, my opinion on God. I believe in him purely out of spite; can't feel you've been screwed over by someone who doesn't exist.)

The building is a crumbling brick behemoth, an ex shoe factory, according to the rapidly disappearing paint on the front.

The interior proved to be equally dingy. All the lights were busted; I suspect poodle skirts were all the rage last time the electric bill was paid. The floorboards groan in protest as I work my way up the stairs, and I ignore them. The second floor is no better than the first, with Pagan worship symbols scrawled on the walls, which I can only assume were drawn by high schoolers, seeing as they're accompanied by the phrase "Bri sux."

I tear the plastic sheet off of the gap where a window had once been. I'd noticed it while canvassing the place, and should worst come to worst, I can at least attempt to jump to the next door building's fire escape.

I try not to think too hard about the odds of succeeding.

As I settle in for bed, I mourn the loss of my sleeping bag. It was hot pink, and considering Johnny's boys had been watching my roof, it would have been an easy identifier. I ball up my leather jacket under my head and lay down, cringing as my bare arms hit the floor, my black tee offering no protection. I'm wearing jeans, thank God, and when you've slept in some of the places I have, you learn that long socks are the only option.

You know that feeling when you're about to fall asleep, but then your brain starts blasting song lyrics? It was like that, except a real of images. Frankie's blood on my arms, Oliver's smile, the patch of skin stuck to the bat. They looped over and over until they fell into an almost comforting rhythm, and I slipped into sleep.
                                **
I am awakened by the stair creaking, a sort of groan of anticipation. I'm up immediately, my hand already in my backpack, groping for the handle of my hunting knife. I press myself against the wall behind the door, hardly daring to breathe. As the footsteps grow closer. I take note, numbly, of the fact that there is dried blood on my blade. I start to wipe it with my shirt before realizing with a cold practicality that it'll most likely be getting dirty again in a few minutes, anyway.

The door creaks open, and the man on the other side stops upon finding an empty room.

I lunge, hesitating for a split second as I register the curly blond hair.

Oliver.

**a/n: Ahhhh ok I just topped 60 reads! I know that's not a lot by Wattpad standards, but it really does mean a lot to me, because these characters have been in my heart for 5 years, and I'm so, so psyched that they get to see the light at last. Thanks so much to all of you who've been reading! Lots of love, Kelsey**