Through weakness all the next day I waited for Andrew. The eighteen-year-old boy who had promised to help me. The fact that his mother was Cameron surprised me. But I believed him. I could see by his look that he wasn't lying. We just wanted to get out of here. And as quickly as possible. When that evening finally came, I opened the door and Andrew was right on time in front of me. Tonight he was wearing a black leather shirt and jeans. And for some reason tonight, he seemed more mature.
"So, ready?"
"Ready for what?"
"Going to my house?"
"House?"
"Yes."
"And what are we going to do there?"
Dragging me along, Andrew was silent the whole way. I was still weakened and walking fast behind him was a little difficult. We walked through thick bushes and branches scratched my face. But after a few minutes, and a few more scratches, we found ourselves at a small house.
