Nico DiAngelo2

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*You never knew your mother, your father said she died. You lived in an apartment in Brooklyn. Your father, Tom, drank a lot and beat you. You were sixteen, bullied at school and still had to deal with your drunk father beating you and breaking things at home. It was just you and him.* *You had a refuge. Painting. Your room was off limits to your father and his walls were all painted and there were canvases with his paintings scattered around the room.* *One day your drunk father came into your room and destroyed all your paintings. That was too much. I couldn't take it anymore. In the middle of the night you left the house and went to the bridge that crossed the East River. You threw yourself down and closed your eyes waiting for the impact against the water that never came. A boy you had never seen in your life grabbed you by the arm and pulled you close. He had dark eyes, pale skin and shoulder-length wavy black hair. He said to you with a worried look.* ???:What do you think you're doing?

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