Hi there, Sinan here. (: I'm a newbie, if you can't already tell, to writing fanfiction. I'm quite happy that I've finally gotten the courage and attention span to start a story. This would be the first chapter, and I don't know how many more will be coming. Nor do I have a set updating time. I just write and post, that's it. Also, this story isn't too developed just yet. The idea came to me earlier so I wrote, and here it is. Woop! I do hope you enjoy it.

Three years.

On this day.

This fucking day.

It's been three long years.

Three fucking years since I was raped. Since I bore witness to my best friend's death. Since I was shot at and kidnapped and hurt and left for fucking dead.

But I escaped. I survived. Because I am a survivor. Because I have willpower. Because I am not a fucking quitter. No sir, Mari Collingwood is not a baby who cries when she gets into tough situations and wishes she had someone to save her. She keeps calm and thinks through things. She is a strong woman, and has been ever since she was seventeen.

I can say this about myself and have absolute full confidence in my words. Because on this day three years ago, I survived.

A piercing sound disrupted my thoughts. Looking down, I saw the very reason I had started thinking about all of this in the first place. On the floor by my bare feet was a child, hardly past two years of age, happily lost in the world of markers and graphed paper.

"Benjamin, I need to be able to at least see the numbers on that calendar," I said as I reached for the black marker in his hand. "Here, use this one instead," I encouraged, replacing his dark hued marker with a much brighter, lighter yellow one. He examined the new color for a moment, as if puzzled by its color. However, in a matter of seconds, he was back to his business scribbling all over the calendar, content as could be. I tried to recall why I had left that calendar on the floor in the first place. Ah, that's right. I had noticed what month it was… what day it was. I very nearly had a panic attack as my mind flashed back to the woods, three years ago. I shook my head, unwilling to allow my brain to remind me of the horrors I endured all those months ago. I couldn't think about that now, I had to feed my son.

"Alrighty, let's get you some Cheerios, mister." I leaned down and lifted my son from the floor, surveying the white carpet for any signs of stray marker ink. Seeing none, I turned and carried on to the kitchen, which was a short distance from the living room we had just been in. God, this apartment was small.

I placed Ben in his little kid's seat that was positioned next to the counter, and headed to the pantry. He made some babbling noises, eager for food. It took me only a second to locate the cardboard box that attempted to hide itself amongst boxes of rice. "Ah-hah," I grabbed the cereal box and walked back over to Ben and proceeded to unfold the cardboard flaps at the top. Ben squealed with delight as I poured a few of the round O's out onto the little tray that was attached to his seat. "Here you go, sweetie." He grabbed at the cereal pieces and stuffed as many as his chubby fingers could lift at once into his mouth greedily.

"Can you say Cheerios?" I asked him in that annoying baby-talk voice that all mothers use when attempting conversation with their children. He looked at me curiously, and I could tell that I had his attention now, even though he was still munching away. "Cheer-E-Ohs…" I said slowly, taking care to sound out each part of the word.

"Jeerows..!" he said happily, smiling with happiness, bits of cereal sticking out of his tiny mouth.

"Yes, good job, Ben!" I praised, glad that he was able to pick up so fast on language. He met my gaze and grinned, a sense of accomplishment glinting in his eyes. And that's when I saw it.

I couldn't help it. I jumped backwards, having to grab at the counter for support. I couldn't tear my eyes away. I just stared for a few seconds before kneeling to the ground, where I proceeded to turn and lie on my side, balling up on the kitchen floor. I cradled myself and blinked salty water from my eyes. Shutting my eyes, I wanted so desperately to forget what I had just seen. If only there were a way to erase memories from the brain.

My child has his eyes. My child has his fucking eyes and not mine. Goddamn it. Why? Why couldn't he have mine instead? Why couldn't they just be…well, anything but his!

It's true, I hadn't just now noticed it, but up until this point, I'd been able to turn the thought away and shove it deep down into the recesses of my mind. I'd always hoped that his eyes would lighten up and turn out bright blue like mine. But they hadn't. They never would. And I knew it. And I hated it.

The way he had looked at me just now, I'd seen those exact eyes before. And I still had the utmost despising and disgust for those gleaming snakes' eyes. Now there was no way to push the thought away. It really struck me now how similar they were. Oh, God, no. Why did he have to have his eyes?

Benjamin Collingwood would forever be cursed with Krug's eyes.

Or perhaps it was I who was cursed. Cursed because I was the one who would have to look at those eyes every day. Look at them and see the same dark blue orbs that my assaulter had.

They say the eyes are the key to the soul. The man who raped me had pupils so black and thick, like tar and oil mixed, that there was no way in hell a soul could be lurking behind those damned eyeballs. A person like him…is hardly even human. Calling him human would be a compliment, in fact. Soulless bastard who forever fucked up my life. I still had a hard time keeping him from my mind, from hiding in every room of the house, in every shadow in the corner.

I wiped more tears from my eyes. "Paige…" I choked.

I thought I could handle this and that I would simply get over my little panic attack like I normally did. But it wasn't working. I needed more help than what I was able to give myself. I needed companionship.

Slowly, I got to my feet, bracing myself with the edge of the counter, grasping it like my life depended on it with shaking hands. I spotted my cellphone in the middle of the counter and lunged for it. Flipping it open, I punched numbers rapidly. Too rapidly. I had to try again, this time focusing on not putting too many numbers in. When the phone began to ring, I began to sob again.

After what seemed like minutes on the phone, waiting for the other end to pick up, I heard the heavenly voice.

"Hello?"

"Justin…" I said, working to keep the hysteria out of my tone. "I need you to come home. Right now…Please," the last word was just filled with pleading.

Alright! First chapter done with! (: Hopefully any reviewers out there will go easy on me, but all reviews are appreciated. Ehh… this was fun, and I hope to be publishing again soon! XD

\m/o_O\m/ Rock on.