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Zack turned to Maddy. "That tired?" he asked, curious. He had had moments like the one that had just passed a couple times before, he was getting better at forgetting them quickly.

Clara walked towards the car with matthew in a sort of a daze. Why didn't her parents ever explain anything? They told her this was some sort of remedial school.
"Matthew, what is this place if it's not a school, i don't understand at all..."

"I'm not staying at home, i don't like home." She looked closly at Matthew's face to see if he was angry with her for thinking at this. "But i don't know wha to do next. I'm not good enough for university."

"I failed all my classes, every exam is a blank to me. I can barely rememeber doing them. I didn't turn up to some, and others i just sat and stared at the paper. My parent's told me it was unacceptable, that's why i thought remedial school. "

She buttoned up her coat, "what do i do next year?"

"I love studying. You could hold my hand in the exam?"
Clara leaned herself carefully on his shoulder.

"That's not fair.... "
She stared off into the distance for a minute, then returned with a smile at Matthew. "What do you want to do tonight?"
She was feeling more relaxed than she had in years, so relaxed that she was able to intertwine her hand with Mat's even with other people there nd not feel at all self conscious.

"Out to dinner! That sounds lovely. Did you have anywhere in mind. I'm not a fussy eater, so i'll let you choose."

Zack sighed and closed his eyes. "My mom was a sweet old lady. Kind-hearted, around her 40's, and took care of kids, babies, and teenagers extremely well. She was amazing, but one thing she failed at was her choice in men. Her husband, My father, was a drunk. A fat, lazy, do nothing but gripe and complain father," he said with love for his mother and utter distaste for his 'father'. "Father would drink every day, and every night it seemed, he would beat my mother, for one reason or another. I had to stay silent and act like I'd seen and heard nothing, or else, I learned from a young age, I got beat too," he said, his eyes still closed, seing distinct moments. He still hated what his father had done and hatred probably showed through his face. "I work out, no brainer, I know," he said, switching just a little to make these two thought trains crash together. "I've always worked out since I was 12," he stated, "Since my father first beat me." he added. "One night, Father came home overly drunk, more alcoholiic smelling than usually. He...walked over to my mother, and I watched as he placed a knife to my mom's throat, complaining about thing's such as 'birthing and raising the devil child' and 'you never cook the chicken warm enough'... I snapped. He always complained and taught me to forget things. That night I still have never opened in my mind. All I know is that when I came to, my Father's blood was sprayed all over the kitchen and his bloody head was in my hand. My mom was crying and just begging me not to kill her. I turned to a mirror, and I saw the cut. It's a mark from my Father. A reminder that he was real, and so was that nihgt," he told her, explaining his full story, his full regret. He kept his eyes closed, afraid of her reaction to such a monstorous tale, and therfore.... such a monsterous man.