• She sits with her face in her hands, slowly crying out tears. Black tears to be exact. I look up and smack myself in the face. There is no way I could ever write a depressing "emo" autobiography on my life. People would laugh at my hopeless writing-if you could call it that-and throw it aside as if was worth nothing. And it is. My life is worth absolutly nothing, so Mom had said in those exact words while she screams at me to get out of the house while she "talks" with Dad. More like scream at, I can hear them from out here. I hear my Dad yell and more tears flow out. Somthing crashes as I take my hands from my face to find them covered in black, from my over-applied eye makup. Right now would be the perfect time for an escape. I wonder if Sam is home yet? Doubt it. Might as well check anyway, the rage pouring through the doors of the house is giving me a headache.

    Another crash sounds as I get up to run over to my Beloved's. I pause. Silence. Oh, crap. They're done. Here comes the worst part. I am the one who ends up cleaning up their little messes they make while fighting when they just stand practically on top of me yelling at me to clen up faster. I sigh and start to trudge to the door while Mom hollars for me to come. I wish I could be at Sam's now. In fact, I could be at Sam's right now, if I was a bit faster. You know what? I'm going to Sam's. They don't need me here. Make Mom and Dad clean up their own messes, I have my own life. So I'm going. So I'll run.

    Its not that running to Sam's is far, its more like I'm so worn out and sore that this is one of the biggest things I have accomplished in my life. He only lives down the road, so I usually walk, but my parents (if you could call them that) would catch me so I had to run. I got to the front door, and only had to knock once on the door before Sam opened it up and held out his arms for me to fall in. Well I didn't exactly fall in his skinny little arms, I'm always afraid I'll break him. Even though he is three months older then me (and thirteen days to be exact) and in the eighth grade with me, he is still the size-more skinny wise than tall-of a small sixth grader. I sure hope he grows before high school starts, or if i get lucky before summer vacation.

    "I knew it was you at the door." He said as he half-carried me to his bed. "I could hear your parents screaming from here."

    "Oh my God, really?" I gasped and rolled over on the bed to make room for him. "That could be bad..." I stared him down to see if he was joking. And he was.

    "Your joking!" I choked out. "You know you shouldn't joke like that!"

    "Sorry," He said with an apologetic smile. "It is nice to see you happy somtimes though."

    "Good luck with that." I sighed and buried my head into his oversized jacket he was wearing. The tears came again. "Why don't they just get a divorce? Can't they see that they're hurting me more than themselves?"

    He stroked my hair and murmered. "It will be alright Samantha, they will realize it soon."

    "Soon isn't soon enough." I pouted.

    "Well, it will come. We are the Sams. We'll get through this together." He said and kisssed my nose.

    I manged a smile when he said our "couple name". It was a little thing that we kind-of started. When people herd we were first dating 4 months ago, they started calling us the Sams, since it was both of our names. Then they started doing it with every other couple. But we were unique. Everyone else was called somthing like "Shelliam"-Shelly and William but we were the ones with a real name and the ones who started it.

    Sam kissed the cuts on my wrists and looked up to find my smiling.

    "I knew I could get you to smile." He said with that "I told you so" look on his face. And again he said "We will get through this together."