I again screamed, but this time in pain. Shit, shit, shit - I had hit a stud, I had broken my fuckin' hand. After jumping around in pain for a bit, I ...almed down a bit and stuck my hand in some ice from the freezer. The stupidity of what I had done and the pain resulting from that stupidity finally calmed me down. The rage had subsided and reason began to take hold. I just sat there, my hand in a dish of ice, feeling like shit, totally empty now.I felt the tears start. I blinked, trying to. All I knew was that I didn't want to be around my mom and dad. We lived in a Los Angeles suburb and we spent many years going to Santa Monica on the weekends for fun on the beach and pier. I always felt good when we visited that place, So it was there that I decided to run away to. Being a typical surfer kid, I fit right in at the beach like I belonged there. Or at least, I looked like I belong there. You know, long hair, OP shirt and shorts, Vans "slip on" shoes. But I had no idea of the real. More

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