Greta's house (Rob would never call her house home) was blisteringly hot. Rob opened both windows to his room before he turned in for the night. He lay on top of the thin sheet, a light sheen covering his body. He didn't usually sleep naked. He wasn’t comfortable doing that in Greta’s house. But tonight, the thought of even wearing underwear made him sweat more. His door had no lock on it. So far, no one had ever entered his room without knocking, even Greta.

He must have fallen into a fitful, dream-filled sleep. He dreamed he was having sex. But not just having sex. He was having sex with Greta. She was touching him inappropriately, placing her mouth where it did not belong. He tried to push her away. She held his hips with her hands.

The caressing she did with her lips and tongue aroused him. He grew hard despite himself. He heard the rain coming in from the windows, felt it landing gently on his face. The night had turned chilly. The breeze was refreshing.

Rob tried to move away from the dream. The sheets beneath him felt damp. His pillow felt damp. He opened his eyes to the rain pouring into the window and Greta in his bed.

It was too late. The release Rob felt as the orgasm hit made him cry out loud.

Suddenly, his bedroom door slammed open.

His dad stood there, his face red with rage.

Greta sat up in Rob's bed and wiped her chin with the sheet.

She smiled at her husband. "Oops," she laughed.

The old man grabbed Rob's legs and pulled him from the bed. His head struck the footboard, leaving him dizzy from the impact. For a moment, he saw stars. Then his vision returned.

"Dad, stop!" he cried as his dad continued to drag him off the bed and out of the room. "I didn't know!'

"Get out!" he spat. "Get your shit and get out of my house!"

"It was her!" Rob cried, rising to his feet. He pointed a finger at Greta as they stood face to face in the kitchen. "I was asleep. I didn't do anything!"

"You did enough!"

"I didn't do anything, Dad!" Rob shrieked. "Where am I supposed to go?"

"That's not my problem."

"Oh, let him stay," Greta interrupted. "It's the middle of the night."

Carl turned on her. He opened his mouth to shout in her face but was stopped cold by her stare.

"It's not your house, Carl," she reminded him coolly. "Or did you forget?"

For a moment, he glared at her, his face red with anger. Then he shrugged his shoulders, turned, and left the room.

Rob could not look Greta in the face. He was still nude. There was nothing to hide his nakedness with. Not that it mattered.

She had already seen all, done it all. She had passed the point of no return.

Rob could never go back.

And he could never forget.

"Go back to bed, Rob," Greta said lightly. "Get some sleep. Your father can take you wherever you want to go in the morning."

"Where am I supposed to go?" he whispered more to himself.

Greta shrugged. "You'll find somewhere."

Rob knew he would never be able to sleep in that bed again. The rain and the damp sheets had nothing to do with it. He returned to the bedroom only to throw on some clothes. He grabbed a duffle bag from the top of his closet and threw it on the bed. He tossed in everything he could fit into it. What couldn't fit would have to stay behind. He had no intentions of ever returning to this house.

He felt sorry for the girls. They would have to find their own way out. He sent a silent prayer up for them.

Closing the bag, he went to the living room and sat down on the couch. He placed his duffle bag between his feet on the floor. He folded his arms across his chest and waited for the sun to come up.

***

Sleep did not grace Rob with its presence the rest of the night. He sat in the living room, dry-eyed, staring into the darkness, unable to believe what had just happened. He was numb from the inside out.

He was only seventeen. He had no money. No car. Nowhere to go. Would his father wake up and suddenly have a change of heart? Deep inside, Rob almost wished for that. It would make everything so much easier. But he knew even if that were to happen, he still couldn't stay here. He had almost come to the end of his rope before this incident.

Greta had been throwing hints his way ever since his dad had married her. She was never satisfied with a kiss on the cheek. She only wanted kisses that she forced on his lips, with her fishy breath turning his stomach.

She always would hand him his guitar while his dad was playing his own guitar. "Here, Robbie," she would coo. "Sing Jim Reeves. You know the one I love. You have such a beautiful voice."

He hated doing it for her. He hated her. He wanted to take the guitar and smash it over her head. He wanted to rip the disgusting plastic tablecloth from the table and strangle her with it. He wanted to shove the green hot dogs down her throat until she choked. Then he wanted to take care of his father in the same way.

He would do none of these things, he knew. He would sit here like a good little boy and wait for Daddy to get up and take him... somewhere.

The bus station. That was a good start. If dad would buy him a ticket, he could take a bus all the way to the west coast. Get as far away from this place as possible. Then he would decide what else to do.

If his dad wouldn't help him buy a bus ticket, fuck it, he would hitch a ride. He had a thumb. He could ride it all the way to the coast. As a matter of fact, that sounded like the best idea yet.

It was still dark outside when Rob left the house. He had no desire to face his father or his father's wife. He hated them both too much. The things he wanted to do to them were criminal, and he didn't feel like going to jail.

He didn't want to face his sisters and see the condemnation and fear in their eyes. They would beg him not to go because they wouldn't understand. There was no way to make them understand.

It was better this way for everyone concerned.

Rob walked the lonely streets, his mind filled with different scenarios, wondering how everyone would take him being gone. Once he got to the interstate, he shifted his guitar onto his back. Switching his suitcase to his other hand, he stuck out his thumb, hoping never to see Pennsylvania again.

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