I heard the bathroom door close and lock. I took a sigh of relief. The beating was over...for now. I winced as I picked myself up from the ground hobbling to my bathroom to examine the damage. More cuts, slashes and lots of more blood. It was everywhere. I had to change, again. My mom and I were always close until "it" happened.

"It" took over our lives, sending my mom into a state of which she talked to herself at night. She answered questions asked by voices that weren't there. She believed everybody was out to get her. That everybody was watching her. She couldn't speak to company, because she felt embarrassed by her thoughts. She'd think things that embarrassed herself and she saw things-images-in her head that made her feel like dirt, flit and disgrace. Thinking things like, "I love my brother" or "I hope that you die" but she wouldn't mean it. She saw things like shadows darting across the room and images of naked people in her head. People close to her that she would see every day. That, alone, drove her further away. She couldn't look at someone scantly clothed without see images and feeling the utmost disgrace of herself. She wouldn't watch TV or listen to the radio because she thought that the people she saw or heard were talking to her. She would shout and scream and throw things against the wall or at me or my dad. That's why he left.

He couldn't take it anymore. God knows he tried but it was all to much for him and he packed up and ran. Leaving me alone with-her-as I began to know her as. Because she changed, I didn't even know her anymore. She had quit drinking alcohol and smoking cigarettes when I was born. But when "it" set in, she turned to them as a safe haven. She beat me. Sometimes with a bottle, sometimes with her own bare hands. Laughing as I lay there in my own pool of blood. Spitting it out of my mouth and trying to scramble away. But sometimes she'd drag me back and do it all over again. The beatings were brutal. I used to try to believe that it was okay and let her do it without putting up a fight because I used to believe it was my mother under there, but now all I see is a monster. A monster with no feelings or emotions and a monster who didn't give a shit about her broken down, beaten daughter. And it was all because of "it".

"It" was really bad depression.

"It" was killing her, slowly but surely. And it was killing me also. I couldn't - I wouldn't take it anymore. I couldn't even sleep at my own house. So I ran to my safe haven.

A man.

A man who made me feel better. A man I hated but couldn't live without. Yes, he was my arch nemesis, and yes I said I couldn't stand him, but he was my only person who could understand. He when through it too. It had happened to his dad. He and his mom had been beaten by his dad. His dad beat his mom so bad one night, that he killed her. Right in front of him. He couldn't take it. He lost his sense of being. He lost his truth. He lose his mortality. He started doing things he wouldn't normally have even thought about. He started doing drugs and going to strip clubs. Fucking a different girl every night. When he turned sixteen, he bolted and got a place of his own. A place up the street in a block of apartments with the money his parents had put away in a college fund for him. He didn't go to college because he quit school. We met in high school and because enemies from day one. We hated everything about each other. I couldn't get over how much of a jerk he was. But one day I found out why. I was walking down the street and saw him and his dad in a car. I saw a scruffle start between them in the car so I hid around the corner. I saw his dad grab him by the ponytail and drag him out of the car and across the ground into an alleyway. I heard punches thrown and a gunshot fired and then his dad running out of the alleyway. I walked in, taking my steps carefully and saw Chad lying on the ground. I crouched down beside him to see if he was okay. I checked for pulse and found his was strong. Then suddenly an arm grab mine and flip me over. A body untop of mine with an arm pressed to my neck. It was Chad. He thought I was attacking him. He looked me straight in the eye and for the first time, since I knew him, I saw something I thought I'd never see in his eyes. Pain and loneliness. I asked him what all that was about and he just pursed his lips and refused to answer my question. But I persisted. I wanted, needed, to know. He still won't answer me. I grew angrier. I was so busy ranting that I didn't notice two things in my surrounds.

One, I was lying flat on my back with him on top of me, he pinning me down. Our faces inches apart. His breath on my face, mine on his neck.

Two, he was smirking, lick his lips and lifting my shirt up inch by inch and placing his hands on my bare skin.

"What are you doing?" I asked. He wouldn't answer. Instead he kissed me, hard. I fell into it but soon regained my composure and tried to scramble my way out. But he pulled me back and started sucking on my neck. I let a soft moan escape my lips, against my will. He heard it and started moving his hands up my shirt. I felt his hands clasp my bra. I whimpered. He sucked harder on my neck and led his hands around to the clasp of my bra, open it. His hands roamed back to the front of my body and lifted my now open bra up and let his hands caress my breast. I hated to admit it to myself, but I was enjoying this. Was it rape, yes that's what it was. But how come I wanted it, bad? I never told anybody and nobody knows today but there is something fatally attractive about him. He is like a drug. You shouldn't let yourself become involved with him, but when you do you can't tear yourself away from his goodness.

By now, he had me in my panties, my bra, shirt and trousers thrown somewhere. He lifted us into the shadows where nobody could see his intervention of me. Pulling away my panties, he stared at my naked body whispering dirty murmurs and threats into my ear. His breath in my ear making me shiver. He moved his hands down my hips as I arched my back. He moved his body with his hands and used his tongue to torture me. Licking the inside of my thighs, it was like he knew what I wanted, what I desired. He licked that place where my two legs meet and I let a blood raising scream of his name out.

Flashback

"What? You were expecting something else?"he asked as she pulled at his shirt. Ripping it off she saw his cuts and bruises.

"What happened to your body" she gasped.

"What does it matter to you?" he asked pushing her back, a face almost tear stricken staring at hers. She grabbed his arms and pulled him back down. She leaned towards him and licked his chest, tasting the sweat on his body.

"What are you doing?" he questioned sucking his breath as she kissed a wound across his toned stomach.

"I'm doing what you want me too" she whispered in between kisses on his torn upper torso.

"How'd you know I want this" he replied as she unbuckled his jeans. She pulled them down his waist and gently put her hands his chest, almost as if she was commanding him to let her make him smile. She pulled his jeans down to his ankles and saw what was growing inside his boxers. He looked at her straight in the eye as if he was silently daring her to do what she could. She took the dare. She pulled at his boxers, he lifting his waist to help her. She led them to his jeans and almost screamed in excitement and pleasure at what she saw. She licked her lips and made him gasp at her sexual gesture.

"What?" she questioned, not taking her eyes off of his man-hood.

"I never thought I'd see you lick your lips at my dick" he said laughing silently. She crawled to him and rested her head on his bare thigh, looking up at him with eyes foggy with pleasure.

"There's something you should know about me. I'm not a good girl" and with that said she continued her mission to make him smile taking him in her mouth.

He groaned in pleasure. She found herself enjoying his taste. His scent, his….everything.

End flashback.

Ever since then, she when to Chad for her ease. He was her escape. When she held her, nothing mattered. When he kissed her nobody existed, he kissed her wounds. He loved her for her pain. She loved him for his sweetness and his body. She needed it. It was her drugs. He gave her drugs and alcohol. She accepted. She take the drugs and she'd drink them down. She'd inject it to his wrist while he showed affection to her neck. They'd share the same cigarette and the same bottle of vodka, the same bed and the same pain.

They'd also share the same memories, the painful and joyful ones. And they also shared the enjoyment of making their own.

AN: So should I continue it. I know it may be a little trashy. Just tell me if it's too trashy and I'll change it. R&R. No flames please!