A/N: So, here it is. Chapter 1! It's taken me a while to get up but I'm happy with how it's going so far. There's no Jommy in this chapter, but there will be in future ones. Leave a review!

Disclaimer: I don't own anything. Rosalina Manson was created by a friend and remains the property of her, as well as the characters and idea of Instant Star.


Water splashed into the sink, the sound cutting the silence like a knife. l was bent over, glancing in the cracked mirror that hung on the dirty wall. Usually people said I was a pretty girl, with my long brown hair (with various coloured highlights), apparently gorgeous blue-grey eyes, a small nose and full lips, but today... I was trying to hide the fact that I looked noticeably different. Make up was scattered all over the counter top but I was careful to keep the tiled surface tidy. Anything right now could set him off and I didn't want that to happen. Currently he was sat in the sitting room, watching the football game with a can of beer, still seething over the argument we had just had. I knew better then to get in his way, so I had just disappeared into here, partly to clean myself up and partly to just be alone for a bit. Reaching over for a pot of foundation, a noise from outside startled me and I jumped, spilling powder all over the countertop. Shit. Hurriedly, I grabbed a wad of toilet tissue and wet it under the tap, the paper going soggy in my hand. Wiping the surface, I cleaned quickly and desperately kept an eye out for any pale cream powder that was left. The last time he had found some, I walked with a limp for two weeks.

My name's Rosalina, his is Deryck. And I thought we were happy. We met at a bar a couple of months ago. Now, I know you're all wondering why a fifteen year old would be at a bar, but I was performing. Trust me; I don't drink... a lot. My family life has never been good, both parents were junkies and my brother followed in their footsteps. I fell into alcohol abuse but after finding out the details of what it was doing to me, I quit. Cold turkey. Keeping sober was hard though... very hard, and after two months I caved. Oopsie? Anyways, me and Deryck got talking and one thing led to another. No, not sex. We started to date, and after he found out about my home life, he let me move in with him. I loved him so of course I said yes, not thinking of the consequences until later.

Throwing the cloth in the trash, I inspected the white tiles, noticing they were spotless. Good. My head lifted back up to the mirror and I stared long and hard at the girl who was looking back. Praying that it wasn't actually me, my hand traced a bruise that was on my cheek and then dabbed at the cut on my lip. Once again, I picked up the powder, starting the tedious task of hiding the evidence. The sounds of the television and Deryck's victory cries could be heard clearly as I worked quickly and silently, not wanting him to have anything else to yell about. This time it had been because I had forgotten to make our bed that morning.

A knock on the door and I was shocked out of my thoughts, a commercial jingle now filling the air. I jumped slightly but then realized how stupid I was being and took a deep breath to calm myself. Opening the door, Deryck's large frame filled the doorway. When we had first met, he had been totally 'emo', with his black hair and alternative fashions. He said that he fell for my because of my 'skater girl' attitude, that he like my 'I take no shit from anyone' personality. Now that I think about it, I think he was just looking for a naïve young girl to control.

"Rosa, baby, you okay?"

Oh how I wanted to scream in his face and tell him to fuck off. There was no concern for me, not in his voice. His arms wrapped around my waist and pulled me flush against his body. The stench of cigarette smoke and alcohol covered him, my nose wrinkling in disgust. A finger lifted my chin and I found myself kissing him, my lips covered by his. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't resist and I kissed him back, my arms looping around his neck. We pulled back after a few seconds and his blue eyes found mine.

"Forgive me?"

All it took was this one whisper to make me nod my head and in an instant we were making out and heading into the bedroom… whoa wait. I certainly wasn't that stupid. Just as he began to lift my shirt, I pulled back. My foot caught the edge of the shaggy rug and I fell, my feet slipping out from under me, sending me to the floor. Deryck was scowling and I could sense the anger boiling up inside of him.

"Get out! Now! Pack your things and go!"

His hand struck my face and the sting made my eyes water, my legs automatically curling to my chest as he kicked me in the stomach and continued to strike me in the face. Tears streamed down my cheeks and I bit my lip to prevent any cries from leaving my mouth. I had shouted and whimpered before which had only caused him to hurt me even more. My eyes squeezed shut and I felt my body start to ache all over, but I desperately tried to wait it out. Breathe… in, out, in, out… count to ten.

Just as I reached seven, Deryck stopped and walked through to the bedroom, I heard the closet open. A case was thrown on the floor before he stormed out, slamming doors behind him. Slowly, ever so slowly, I pushed myself up, wincing as I did so. Everything, and I mean everything, was hurting. Blood was dripping down from a cut on my forehead, where his ring had struck my porcelain coloured skin, the red a shocking contrast to the usually pale white, and my lip was split, the tangy taste of blood striking my taste buds whenever I licked my lips. Gripping the toilet, I pulled myself up and stumbled through to the bedroom, starting to gather my things. There was no use hoping that he would change his mind, his word was always final. I guess it was back to my family home… no matter how much I hated it. It was either there or a cardboard box in the gutter.

It took me a while to collect everything I had brought with me. It wasn't a lot, but my body protested every time that I tried to bend over or kneel to pick something up. The slightest movement hurt, but I had to work as fast as I could, not wanting to risk another beating. After twenty minutes or so, everything that belonged to me was in my small case. Pulling on my jacket over the pair of ripped jeans and the old band shirt that I wore, I pushed my feet into a pair of beaten up Converse high tops, before taking my case and guitar in hand and leaving.

There was a slight chill in the air as I walked, the run down area of Toronto full of people smoking and drinking, even if it was only six pm. Every thing was filthy, the buildings, the streets, the people… I guess that would include me then. I grew up in this area and I would probably be here for the rest of my life. Silently, I traced the path I had taken for years, heading back into the area full of houses that were falling down. Doors and windows were boarded up, front yards overgrown and most were abandoned. When I arrived at the place I had once called 'home', my hand shakily reached out and pushed the gate open. It was hanging off its hinges and squeaked as though in pain. Dragging my things through the disgusting pathway of broken glass and cigarette ends, I leaned on the broken door, the piece of wood that had been used to patch it up swinging open and letting me inside.

The first sound that reached my ears was the snores of my drunken brother Brendan. He was passed out on the couch, a bottle of beer still in his hand. Not much had changed. Movements in the kitchen told me that my mom was getting ready for work. Just before I moved out, she got a new job as a barmaid at one of the local strip joints and works during the evenings. As she dashed out of the other room, wearing a very short black skirt and tight red top, she saw me and scowled. I was nothing but trash in her eyes. Always had been and always will be.

"I see you're back. Finished with him eh? You little whore."

I rolled my eyes in response and grabbed my things, dragging them up to my room. It was still the same. Posters of rock bands covered the walls and ceiling, my old bed was in the corner, a dresser was on the other side and a mirror hung crooked on the door to the built in closet. It wasn't much, but it was my personal space. I had a lock on the door and it kept me locked away from the rest of my dysfunctional world. Dumping my bag in the middle of the room, I got my guitar out of its case, grabbed one of my song journals from the front pocket of it and took out an old pencil.

The funny thing is… inspiration hits at the strangest of times.