Without wasting a second I jump out of bed and change into the exact outfit I wore on my previous attempt to make it through this tiresome day without dying. I feel no need to check my phone calendar as I shove it into the zip up pocket on my leggings.
I can’t fight so I need to try and run this time. I immediately leave the house and don’t even bother to lock the door behind me. I have an hour or so give or take to get as far away as possible but where can I go? Then it hits me and I know where they won’t find me.
I walk out of my flat and I start running to my car. I start driving at a dangerous speed down the road.
I’m only driving for five minutes before I pull over and turn the car off. I’m parked around the corner from Samsons and I’m watching, waiting to see them leaving. There’s a van parked out the front so I can only assume that they are still inside.
Sure enough as it gets closer to one o’clock I see two men not wearing their balaclava masks dragging a half unconscious Samson out of his house. They throw him into the front seat of the van. One of the men jumps up onto the seat next to him while the other walks around and gets into the driver's side.
The van begins to drive in my direction so I duck down to hide myself until I can hear the engine getting quieter and quieter. When I think it’s safe I sit back up and look down the road just in time to see the van turn the corner going in the direction of my flat.
I count to ten before I get out of the car and walk in the direction of Samson’s house. I sneak into the back garden so that I can check in the kitchen window before going in. I see signs of a struggle and the back door is open so I open it slowly just in case someone is still in.
I don’t hear anything but when I walk through the kitchen I find myself stepping over fallen knives and broken plates. Looks like fighting didn’t work for Samson either, that’s good to know.
As I walk through the house my heart is racing but I’ve determined that no one is hiding behind any of the corners.
I find my way into his bedroom and I sit on the bed to wait. The adrenaline in my blood is still running too strong for me to relax and so when I’ve sat there for an hour then two hours I can’t relax. Every noise makes me jump and the sound of a car pulling into the neighbours driveway has me jumping to my feet ready to run and hide.
It takes about three hours but eventually the front door creaks open and someone stumbles their way in. I rush to the wardrobe and throw open the door while being as quiet as I can. I hear the person making their way upstairs slowly as if they are drunk.
When they reach the bedroom I know it’s Samson as I can hear him crying to himself silently. He walks across the room and sits on the edge of the bed right in front of the wardrobe where I am currently hiding. I can see through the crack in the door that he is bloody and bruised with two clean lines running from his eyes to his chin where his tears had cleaned his skin of blood.
Seeing him cry would usually stir a protective instinct in me but not this time. I bend down to pick up two heavy boots on the floor of the wardrobe. A fit of rage and I kick the door open causing Samson to scream and crawl backwards across his bed. I throw the first boot and it hits him in the stomach, winding him and causing him to curl in on himself. The second hits him on the temple and the impact causes him to fall backwards.
I launch forward and jump onto the bed where I straddle Samson, pinning him down. I grab him by the collar and raise my fist back behind my head ready to land a punch on his nose. Samson looks at me with panic in my eyes, too scared to scream.
“Who were those people you just took to my house?”
“What?!” He reaches his hand up to try and pry my hand from his collar but I have an iron grip.
“WHY WERE THEY LOOKING FOR ME?!” He whimpers and I can feel him shaking underneath me. The reflection of my face in his eyes is unrecognisable.
“I don’t know who they are! They told me they weren’t going to hurt you.. Wait. How did you know people were looking for you?” I falter and let my guard down to which Samson takes the opportunity to throw me off and run out the room. I hit my head on the floor where I land and it causes my vision to momentarily blur.
As he is running down the stairs I hear him screaming down the phone at someone.
“She’s here! She’s in my house!” I take off down the stairs after him. Who knows how far away they are from Samson’s but I need to get out of here.
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What Nobody Warns You About Growing Up
Nobody warns you that growing up doesn’t happen all at once. There’s no clear moment when childhood ends and adulthood begins. It sneaks up on you quietly, disguised as routine, responsibility, and small decisions that suddenly feel heavy. When we’re young, we imagine growing up as freedom. We think it means staying up late, earning money, making our own choices, and living life on our terms. Adults look powerful from the outside—confident, certain, and in control. What nobody tells you is that most adults are still figuring things out, just like you were, only with higher stakes. One of the first shocks of growing up is realizing that no one is coming to save you. As a child, there is always someone to fix things—parents, teachers, elders. A bad grade can be explained. A mistake can be forgiven easily. But as you grow older, the safety net thins. Mistakes start costing time, money, relationships, and sometimes self-respect. You learn that accountability isn’t just a word; it’s a weight you carry every day. Nobody warns you about how lonely growing up can feel. Even when surrounded by people, there’s a quiet distance that forms. Friends you once spoke to every day slowly drift away. Not because of anger or betrayal, but because life pulls everyone in different directions. Jobs, families, priorities—all rearrange your circle without asking for permission. You stop expecting people to stay forever and start appreciating those who do. Another thing no one talks about is how often you’ll doubt yourself. As a child, you dream without limits. You want to be everything at once—successful, admired, fearless. Growing up introduces comparison. You see others moving faster, earning more, achieving milestones you haven’t reached yet. Social media makes it worse, turning life into a scoreboard you never agreed to play on. You learn that confidence isn’t permanent; it’s something you rebuild again and again. Growing up also teaches you that hard work doesn’t always pay off immediately. You can do everything right and still feel stuck. Effort doesn’t guarantee results, and patience becomes one of the hardest lessons. Nobody warns you how exhausting it is to keep going when motivation fades and only discipline remains. Yet this is where growth actually happens—in the moments when quitting feels easier than continuing. Then there’s the emotional part no one prepares you for. You start seeing your parents as human beings, not just authority figures. You notice their fears, regrets, and limitations. Sometimes you understand them more; sometimes it hurts to realize they didn’t have all the answers either. Growing up often means forgiving people—not because they apologized, but because holding on to resentment is too heavy. You’re also not warned about how your definition of success changes. It stops being about applause and starts becoming about peace. A quiet mind. A stable income. A few people who genuinely care about you. You learn that happiness isn’t loud or dramatic; it’s often found in ordinary moments—coming home tired but safe, laughing at something small, sleeping without anxiety. One of the hardest truths of growing up is learning to let go. Let go of versions of yourself that no longer fit. Let go of people who can’t grow with you. Let go of timelines you once believed were fixed. This letting go feels like loss, even when it’s necessary. Nobody warns you that growth and grief often walk together. Yet, despite all this, growing up gives you something valuable—clarity. You begin to understand your boundaries. You learn when to say no without explaining yourself. You start choosing what matters instead of chasing everything. Strength stops looking like loud confidence and starts looking like quiet resilience. What nobody warns you about growing up is that it will break you in small ways—and rebuild you stronger in others. You’ll lose some innocence but gain wisdom. You’ll trade certainty for understanding. And even on days when you miss the simplicity of who you once were, you’ll realize you’re proud of who you’re becoming. Growing up isn’t about having everything figured out. It’s about learning how to keep going, even when you don’t. And maybe that’s the lesson no one warns you about—adulthood isn’t a destination. It’s a continuous act of becoming.
By Hanif Ullah 6 days ago in Fiction
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