| 𝐑𝐔𝐍𝐀𝐖𝐀𝐘 |

' 𝐧𝐨𝐯𝐞 '

Dylan's POV.

I cannot believe I'm about to tell her this. I mean, I've told John, Halem, and he most probably, no, definitely told his wife, yet I never imagined telling Quinn until much later. But she's stubborn. And I guess I like that about her.

My hands are shaking, I didn't want to remember this today. I didn't want to recollect the horrible memories of her. And then tell them to Quinn. She'll most probably leave me for all my problems.

"My mother, she um- abused me, all my life." I cleared my throat, memories of all the painful bashes, hits, bruises, wounds, flashing through my damaged mind.

I looked up at Quinn to see she was in deep thought. I could tell she was listening, but her brows were furrowed, as if telling me to continue further.

A thing I loved is that she wasn't giving the sympathetic look I saw when I told the few people this. She gave me the look the encouraged me enough to go on.

"When I was 16, or maybe 15, I don't really remember, I told my mum that I had to go to the post office to grab a parcel." I breathe heavily. "I never went back. I secretly packed a suitcase with some of my belongings, my books, clothes, a little bit of money and ran off. I didn't know where, I just wanted to get away from her." I shiver, remembering that tough time in my life where I had no one to turn to, not even a house to call home.

"I did things I didn't want to do. I've stolen, and I still have a little bit of money I still have to pay back. I've gotten involved with the wrong group of people, and I was an addict too. But, I promise, I'm sober now. I've never drunk alcohol since I met Halem. And I was to keep my sobriety that way."

I kept my head down, scared to look at Quinns face, for if I did, I thought I would see her disgusted.

"Dylan-" she started to say, but I continued.

"I lived off of small jobs ever since I was 16. I...lived on the streets, couldn't afford an apartment. Plus, if I had stayed at an apartment, my mother could've found me. I know because she found me when I first tried running away. That was when I was 14. It's a long story.

"Anyways, I ended up reaching Morocco. I'm from and lived in Melbourne, by the way. That was where Halem worked and I met him when a 'friend' of mine, signed me up for some odd jobs.
It was very hard to get into it because the job was a bit of a secret. I never knew why.

He and I grew close. He treated me as if I were his own." I managed to smile, thinking about the kindness Halem had showed me when I needed it most.

"But my dreadful mother went there. After months of thinking I was finally free from her, I saw her 'working'. When I walked in the tent and told Halem that I'd seen her, I was completely, genuinely scared for my life. But Halem didn't believe me. I was so exasperated.

When I wouldn't talk to him, and would get panic attacks when she was near, he..believed me. He didn't tell me, but I saw it in his eyes that he believed me.

He was the one who found the bomb, minutes before it exploded, too. It was near my tent. If I had been there, I would've died." I gulp, thinking about the what-couldve-been. I was a dead man then.

"There was a little tremor, obviously because, well it was a fucking bomb, and so many people died, Quinn. People died because of my fucking mother.

"The tremor, hence, explains my nose," I continue, pointing to the scar across my nose that Quinn didn't seem to comment on, at all, I realized. Why?

"And Halems leg. Only ten people survived." I inhale deeply, the fresh scent of a flower shop nearby filling my nostrils.

I kept my head down, I still didn't want to see her face. She's probably so disgusted with me.