Carlie's P.O.V

I was outside reading a book. That's how I liked to spend my time. Escaping into the disastrous, drama filled lives of the characters and leaving reality behind. Over the years, I'd become good friends with all sorts of people through words. When they told me their stories, their lives and the kind of things that went on in them, it made me feel better because it made me realise that worse things could happen to me then what had.
The breeze was nice and cool, taking away the shimmer of heat of the summer sun. I was lying in the long grass, nesting beneath the shade of an old gum tree, occasionally swatting at the odd fly or ant which would scurry up my arm. Beneath this tree is the only place where I felt truly at home, truly safe, like nothing else in the world mattered.
I had been an orphan for thirteen years. I'd been three when I was suddenly shipped away from my home and torn away from my life and taken to some relatives whom I'd never seen or met before. They were nice to start off with - they made a real effort but they could never measure up to my parents in my eyes. It had been so confusing - I couldn't understand why these strangers were acting and pretending to be my parents and why my real parents were never around. No one bothered to explain to me.
My new home wasn't like my old one, though my new "parents" tried to make it like it. Everything in the house was like things you'd see in a home catalogue, so fake and so pretend. Just like the people who owned it. The home is a place that's supposed to be where you can chill out and do and be anything you want. But here, it seemed that these people wanted to put on an endless show and even when they slept they were still putting on a show. Like we were always on performance.
It was hard to adjust. Eventually, I did. I had no choice. What could I do? Run away? That would be even harder to do then persevere with the new changes. All I could do was bow my head and carry on as if nothing had changed, as if I was truly happy. In other words, like my new parents, I was always pretending.
But then, everything became ruined. My uncle who was the "stranger" who adopted me lost his job and rapidly things went downhill. He began to drink, began to gamble, began to get abusive. I was burdened with new rules. No talking. No friends over. No life.
My aunt took the new arrangements hard. She began to cut her wrists and she sank into a deep unescapable depression. It was like a river that she was just beneath and even though she was close to the surface she just couldn't get to the top. And no one could pull her out. She was stuck inside the depths of mind. I began to learn that there are a lot of things you can run from. But you can't run from your mind.
I began to go through a routine. School, sleep. School, sleep. There was no social gatherings with friends, no telephone conversations, no existence. Enjoyment was a privilege and all privileges had to cease. It would be a terrible thing in my uncle's eyes to laugh or have fun.
I hated my life. I, too, felt myself sinking in the attractive depths of quick sand of depression, slowly numbing myself to feelings and emotions which I didnt' want to feel, making myself a neutral person, another body worth nothing which did nothing on this world.
I wanted to pull myself out of it though. If I sunk, there was no getting back up. No rising to the surface. No way out. And I didn't want to commit to that. I didn't want that to happen. Not yet. Not to me.
The problem was, I had forces pushing me into the quicksand - my aunt and uncle who were destroying my life, but I had no forces pushing me out of the quicksand. I knew that I couldn't do this alone. I needed help. Outside help.
That was when I met Eric. Eric Stone. He was an orphan like me. Just like me.

you can write really well, but watch out for your grammar, especially at the last few paragraphs.

Eric Stone moved in next door. He was tall for only 16 but his face and eyes had the shine of youth. As soon as our eyes met, I could see the hardships and pain he'd had to endure. In that split second moment, we understood each other. We shared something.
It began to frustrate me not being allowed out during the day at this stage. I never used to worry about it. I never had many friends anyway - they seemed to always be able to see the "Orphan" label that I tried to hide. They didn't want to hang out with a freak like me. And my shyness didn't help. Over years, I shrunk into my own little world - that was the only place I had control over what happened to me, the only place where I was boss. By opening up this world to let others in would make me vulnerable and easy to cut and kill. I did not want that to happen. Life was hard enough.
But seeing Eric made me want to get out. I felt suffocated by the four walls of my bedroom, felt like they were closing in on me, squeezing the life out of me. They used to be my safety, my protection but now they were attacking me. Just like people, once they got close and gained my trust they'd tear me apart.
Eric seemed to have been one of the lucky ones who got adoptive parents who were really proper parents. They'd let him out in the hot sunshine, let him swim in their backyard pool, let him out on Saturday evenings with a wallet of money and a smile on his face. By watching Eric leave and then sit in his backyard, was like me having freedom too. It felt like I was going on his journeys, like I was living a life I could never have through him. It was like he was letting me in, sharing his experiences with me.
But these moments were hardly enough to sustain me. I wanted more then just to be the window watcher, the one who saw but never felt. I wanted to get out there, experience the world through my own body, see the world through my own eyes. Not through someone else's even if it was through Eric's. We were not clones - we'd both been through a lot but we were not the same. We had different opinions.
But how could I escape these four walls and my uncle's abusive reign? There was no chance for me....it was merely a far out dream which I'd never reach.

Until one night. Eric Stone came for me. He tapped at my window, and I opened it, feeling like Rapunzel whose prince had finally come to rescue her. But he did not escape with me into the sunset, his horse neighing softly. He came into my bedroom, closed the window behind him with a click and sat on my bed, his eyes luminous in the dark and his intentions well, who could know?

But I so badly wanted to find out.

update please. =D though maybe you could write in shorter increments, because its hard to read all at one go

Eric Stone sat on my bed opposite me. His eyes showed nothing, his emotions indistinguishable on his pale face. He looked eerie in the lamplight and his gaze sent a shiver up my spine. What would happen if my father walked in? He'd go off for sure, probably take the punishment too far in his drunken state. I wouldn't have much hope.
"You're Carlie aren't you?" he asked me finally, after he took in my appearance head to toe.
"Yes," I replied, in a whisper. I was scared. I'm not afraid to admit it. Sure, I'd watched him from a window and he seemed like a nice enough guy, but I didn't actually know him.
"Thought so. You're the window watcher aren't you?" he asked me but it didn't sound like a question and gave me a small grin. He ran a hand through his hair and breathed in deeply.
"You don't like it here do you?" he asked me, a real question this time. He took my hand and held it in his and the warmth from his body seeped into me and for the first time in my life I felt safe. Was it safety? Or was it the want to feel something so badly that I made it up? This was all getting too complicated. I didn't even know where this conversation was going. Other girls would laugh at me - yeah I sure had a good conversation going on with the opposite sex. We were really flirting! Yeah, for sure. I was a failure.
"No. I don't," I replied, feeling self concious dressed in my nightie and stockings - a weird ensemble to wear to bed by any standards. If I'd known I was going to be in the company of him I would've put on something more appropriate, more.....what? I didn't know what boys liked, I didn't know what anyone liked. I didn't know how the youth of today operated. That scared me. What would it be like to be out in the real world with real people? I didn't know how to act or how to behave.
"Truth is Carlie that I know your parents. Your real ones," he said, squeezing my hand.
I didn't dare breathe. They were dead. My real parents were dead. What was he trying to do? Was this some kind of joke?
"Who?" I whispered.
"You'll soon see," he said and opened the window and disappeared into the night. And he left me, his Rapunzel, with more questions then answers and a yearning for a true life stronger than ever before.