-flashback-

I quietly clicked the door shut, trying not to make a peep as my father stormed down the stairs. "Maximum, your late," he said with a smile. I knew where this was going, and I knew if I just took it without a word, he might not do his personal worst. Before I could comprehend what was happening, the words stumbled out of my mouth, across my lips, mentally slapping myself.

"Sorry, I was running late because Mr Belo-" He cut me off, his eyes daring me to make a move, utter another sound. "Maximum, I'm done with your excuses. Come to me, pretty girl," his hot breath reeked of alcohol, beer to be precise. Before I could say a thing, he grabbed my upper arm and threw me to the floor. "What were you doing, you stupid fool? Bringing shame to this family, am I not right? Deceiving everyone? Making them think I was the big bad wolf in this story?Oh, little Maxy, you are so wrong, it's you, your the horrible one in this duo, your the one who drives me to drink! Your the reason for my pain, sweet Sarah," I knew he was drunk – he always was, no matter what. The only times I've caught him trying not to look like he's downed 5 beers is at work. He worked at no other place than the New York Police Department, better known as NYPD. He knew that if I filed a claim of child abuse against him, he'd erase all files of it. Nobody would know but him, and I'd get my punishment soon enough, proving the claims. The only thing I was thankful for from Jeb was that he bought me concealer – something I'd need a lot of to cover the bruises. That, and scar cream, saved my life, literally. I didn't want or need anyone thinking I was being abused. His foot came in contact with the right section of my ribcage, leaving no time to defend myself, or get into a curled-up position. I gasped. The single blow has knocked the wind out of me, so I couldn't say a word for my life. Ironic, huh. Another blow came to the ribs, bringing me to yet again a state of not being able to breathe. He got on his knees and punched down on my back left shoulder blade, hard. I cringed, glad my breath was back. One, two, three blows came to the small of my back. His ever-so-handy pocketknife slid out of his pocket and his smiled, pulling up the blade I knew he sharpened daily. He slowly pulled up the back

of my shirt. I knew the worst was coming. First, he slowly dragged the knife up across the previous scars, not yet letting the knife slip across my back and watch the blood fall. The knife traced lines across my back, changing patterns as he traced scar to scar. I could practically see the smile on his face as he pushed down a tiny but further on the knife, right above my neckline, right in the middle. The knife flew across my back, going from there to the bottom left, then to the right. As the blood fell, he made a tiny X above my left hip. "Careful, Maxy, you could get hurt," he chuckled drunkenly as he strode out of the room.

-end flashback-

I woke up, my eyes unfocused. My legs were tangled in what I called my blanket - pieces of cloth and old clothing of mine, sewn together when I couldn't bear sleeping in the cold weather in my treehouse. I grabbed the nearest clothing, which happened to be a pale green shirt and destroyed denim capris, perfect for the fall weather.

I grabbed my school supplies - a new purple binder, a black folder, and three notepads, green, navy blue, and black. I packed them into the tote bag I'd had for years, a black one with long thin handles that said "Love is the Movement." (AN: I'm describing my sister's backpack.)I slowly trudged to school, no breakfast.

Today, of all days, was the one where I forgot my lifesaver - the concealer to hide the bruises.