-[X]-

'Oh, I am what I am, I'll do what I want,

But I can't hide…

And I won't go, I won't sleep, I can't breathe…

Until you're resting here with me.

And I won't leave, I can't hide, I cannot be…

Until you're resting here with me.

{Dido: Here With Me}

-[X]-

'Oh, just.. just go fuck yourself.'

I'd half-heartedly prayed for that articulately muttered line to come out with at least some level of intimidation weaving through every growled word. Some volume wouldn't have gone amiss, either.

As it was, my voice came out as it had been doing for days now. So tired that I could barely move, it was little more than a weak croak, that one tiny exertion setting off the hacking cough that had plagued me for the last two days; a breath-stealing, eye-watering cough that tore through my aching chest, clawing at my raw throat.

I didn't know whether to laugh or cry with the inevitable copper tang that bitterly coated my tongue, trickling irritatingly slowly from the corner of my mouth, seeping through the rain-washed grime that coated my chin as much as the rest of my face and body.

How could these men, these low life, scum of the earth thugs, look down on me now and see anything remotely attractive about the sodden, filthy wreck of a girl at their feet, hacking up God knows what at every opportunity and washed only by the rain as it lashed coldly downwards?

This same rain that pounded down, every drop like a shard of glass to my bared arms, had once provided the backdrop for a moment of total freedom as I'd danced in it with my mom.

My dad had thought we were mad.

I smiled to myself, drifting in and out of this shitty life, almost giggling with the knowledge that I was piss wet through, the heavy cold of the stormy night seeping into the very core of me, my numb body as drenched as it was dehydrated.

I found the irony hysterical.

Couple that with the fact that I could barely move from this unwillingly chosen spot on the frozen, shit-covered concrete of this godforsaken alleyway and I arrived at the likely conclusion, my heart pounding painfully as the ever present fear swallowed me yet again, tears pricking suddenly at the corners of my eyes, my laughter dying on my cracked lips.

I was fucked.

Competely and utterly… fucked.

And crapping myself.

I shouldn't have stopped here. Mom and dad would have killed me for ever stopping in a place like this. I should have carried on looking, searching for a more public place to take shelter for the night – a shop doorway, a bus stop… anywhere but here. Some dank back alley, strewn with litter… rotting food, used condoms, crushed beer cans, takeaway cartons, pizza boxes and probably a whole lot worse.

I'd ended up stumbling down here a few hours previously to collapse right in the middle of it all, exhausted beyond what I'd ever thought possible, knowing damn well that, mercifully, I probably wouldn't make it through the night.

I couldn't summon the strength to care where I'd ended up. Not anymore. Not after everything that had happened. I'd been homeless for about six weeks now and tonight, finally, thankfully, my body was giving up.

Because I couldn't do this anymore.

I just couldn't.

'Dirty little slut, you need to watch your mouth!' spat the leering stranger that loomed above me, faintly silhouetted with the others against the stormy night sky by the amber glare of the streetlight on the main road, his weedy voice jolting me back before I could take the opportunity to pass out.

'You ain't got no chance, sweetheart. Not like you got anywhere else to go, is it?'

I couldn't answer, willing the burn behind my eyes to disappear as I gave in to tiredly let them drift shut.

He was right.

Horrifyingly, inescapably… right.

'Is it?'

I couldn't help but cry out with the swift kick he delivered to my stomach then, the breath knocked out of me as I recoiled away from him, instinctively, pointlessly, backing myself further into the wall until I felt it behind me, rough brick scraping my back through my thin, saturated t-shirt.

I was crying.

'Leave me alone!'

I couldn't stop shaking, my tears hot against my cheeks as I felt them slip away, lost in the icy sheets of rain that hammered down upon us.

Up until six weeks ago, my life had been pretty average. Seventeen, and working hard to achieve the best grades in college I could, I was happy. I loved sport, gymnastics coming surprisingly naturally to me considering I really wasn't that elegant in life otherwise. Tall and lean, with long, dark brown, curly hair and hazel eyes, I was nothing special. I was that idiot who dropped things, the moron who tripped over her own feet, but throw me on the ropes or the bar and it all just came together with an unrivalled, fierce body strength that continued to surprise myself and others.

And yet it was either Policing or Nursing that I was ultimately drawn towards, the prospect of being able to work as part of a team in standing up and fighting for the wellbeing of relative strangers through the most vulnerable times of their lives both completely daunting and compelling all at the same time. I'd always been that outspoken, nice girl you find in every year group at school, the one who keeps quiet until she's pushed to far and risks getting her head kicked in for eventually biting back on behalf of others. To be able to do that kind of thing for a living, advocating the needs of people when they couldn't, I, perhaps naively, could think of nothing better. Gymnastics was only fun where I could do what I wanted, where I could break away and do my own thing just for the hell of it, and that right there was my downfall and the reason I couldn't see myself pursuing a career out of a seemingly God-given ability.

My gymnastics teacher was gutted, to say the least.

My parents, thankfully, were supportive in whatever I wanted to do and meant the world to me. Frank and Rose Jones. They couldn't have kids naturally and had privately adopted me at the age of three, never hiding the fact that they weren't my birth parents but raising me so that I knew, in no uncertain terms, that I was their daughter in every way that mattered. We didn't have a lot of money, and yet I wanted for nothing, happy with my parents and brought up with the ultimate value that family was everything.

Consequently, they'd spoken of my birth parents often as I grew up, answering my inevitable questions as best as they could and never disputing the fact that the couple who'd brought me into this world had loved me dearly, despite the fact that they couldn't keep me. They didn't really know why, either. As they'd remembered it, mom and dad had travelled a few hundred miles fourteen years ago in their old truck to an arranged location to pick me up, meeting with a kind man in a wheelchair and a pretty woman with bright white hair who was cuddling a sleeping me tightly in her arms, neither of whom were my birth parents, but two trusted individuals who were obviously held high in my birth parents' esteem to entrust me to them for that day.

Adoption made legal by the extensive paperwork brought forth by the nameless man in the wheelchair, pre-signed by my birth parents and my name given only as 'Adeleine', my parents drove home that day with a new daughter whose life before them held no official record and who was legally theirs.

They had no evidence of my birth parents' identities. No letter for me to read when I was older.

For all intent and purposes, my birth mother and father, the couple who had brought me into this world and loved me endlessly, had never existed, their two scrawled signatures all I had to remember them by.

It was unconventional, they knew. My dad told me once that all four adults present that day knew damn well that this wasn't how it was usually done. They all knew that what was going on here wasn't ideal. But he'd said he'd never forget the innate sadness that permeated the gaze of that gentle man in the wheelchair, a steely, resolute sadness for a clearly inevitable situation that spoke volumes as to how cherished I was in the heart of the family who were giving me away.

Both men had silently agreed that day to do what was right for me, that vow to protect me no matter what exchanged between them in a heartbeat. I was being given away for reasons unknown, for reasons that couldn't be explained to or comprehended by my adoptive parents, and yet my dad instinctively was under no illusion that he and mom, as much as my birth parents, were sacrificing everything to rescue me from something that none of them could ever imagine the magnitude of.

My birth parents' worlds where surely shattered that day.

My adoptive parents' assumed right to be safe in their own home was effectively chucked out of the window, their security compromised as soon as they agreed to take me on and shelter me from a danger that would always lurk no matter where I was, anonymity my best chance to lead a normal life.

My mom had asked the white-haired woman why she and my dad had been chosen to adopt me out of the endless couples desperate for a child. She'd asked why my birth parents couldn't keep me, knowing even as the question left her mouth that she wouldn't get an answer. The woman, my mom said, had given me one last kiss on my forehead before handing me over, eyes glistening and saying as she did so that my birth parents asked only that my mom and dad keep me safe.

Please, please keep me safe.

She'd revealed nothing else.

My mom and dad had promised faithfully, blindly, that they would, asking no more questions before turning and walking away with me and a small hold all with my things in it, back into the old pickup truck, back onto the road and into a yearned for family life that both of them had chased for so long now.

They never did break that promise.

Not even when I'd walked into the kitchen door a couple of months later, bumping my head and leaving a huge lump there.

Not even when I'd fallen over in the school playground and scraped the skin off my knees.

Not even when I'd gone headfirst over the handlebars of my bike as my dad taught me to ride it.

Not even when I'd come home heartbroken, crying in my mom's arms because of some idiot boy, my dad threatening to shoot him with the gun he kept in his nightstand at the first opportunity.

Not even when I'd argued with them, screaming blue murder all over the house, my temper so short that I couldn't reign it in half the time without balling my hands into fists, knuckles white and tingling as they trembled, my skin seeming to prickle all over, the nearest wall looking so tempting as I'd fight the urge coursing hotly through me to punch a hole clean through it.

Not even when our house was broken into six weeks ago by a swarm of armed soldiers in the middle of the night.

Not even when my mom had screamed for me to run as I'd fled into their bedroom, shoving me towards the window as my dad had turned on the uniformed intruders, that infamous gun in hand, firing for all he was worth even as my mom was murdered right next to him, shot through her head seconds before a bullet took his life too.

I'd done as she'd told, our old porch roof below messily taking me halfway down before I'd half jumped, half fallen, crashing noisily into the bushes at the front and rolling out onto the lawn that I'd grown up playing out on. I'd scrambled up amidst a din of frenzied shouting and took off running as fast as I could into the night, barefoot and bloodied and leaving everything I knew behind me, sobbing with the unbelievable knowledge that my parents were dead and never coming back.

I was on my own.

I ran for so long, rushing through the back streets of the city to find shelter somewhere, terrified, crying, with no family living in this part of the country and the PJs I stood in all I had.

I'd ended up taking shelter under an old bridge that night. seventeen years old, almost an adult, and I'd never felt so like a child in all my life. I'd never known what it was to not have a loving home to come back to every night, to not have a family who loved and protected you no matter what, to not have food and water readily available and a warm bed to sleep in.

I learned pretty quickly over the next few weeks, my weight plummeting as the sudden neglect took hold and my food sources dwindled to scavenged scraps at best, water collected in an old can when it rained, clothes stolen from charity bags left outside people's front doors, sleep only claiming me when I'd cried myself dry.

I didn't dare make contact with anyone.

My parents had been killed, and I was under no illusion that it was because of me. I wasn't stupid, I'd paid enough attention over the years to connect the dots, to work out the answer to that ever present question that niggled at the back of most adopted children's mind, that had never been revealed to my mom and dad… why had I had been given away in the first place? Who was it that wanted me so badly that my birth parents thought I'd be safer without them?

Because parents could be strict when it came to their child's welfare, but mine took it to a whole new level. I didn't remember once ever going somewhere without telling them first. They had my back at every turn, only just striking that fine balance between letting me live my life and watching my every move, but through it all I knew, I just knew, that they feared something unknown and that they were keeping their fear from me.

Well, trying to, at least.

When they'd told me all they suspected as I got older, arming me with the knowledge so I would understand just why they were so protective, I realized fully just what they'd given up to have me in their lives.

Turns out they were spot on in their suspicions that they were harboring a wanted child.

My birth parents had sacrificed everything and given me away to keep me safe. My adoptive parents had just paid the ultimate price for that, ruthlessly slayed by men in dark uniforms who were prepared to kill to get what they wanted.

Well, they could think again, because I wasn't about to let the two people I loved most in this world die for nothing.

And I wouldn't let my birth parents' plan, the plan that had kept me alive for the last seventeen years, that had kept me out of the wrong hands, unravel now.

I would keep running until I couldn't no more, and if that was to end tonight, at the hands of these sleazes, then so be it. At least the guilt, that overwhelming knowledge that I had caused so much damage to so many people already in my life, would end.

A selfish thought, maybe, but I was past caring.

Every waking minute, of every harsh day and cruel night, I wanted my mom and dad.

I still want my mom and dad.

'You, bitch, need to learn some manners.'

I couldn't help the sob that dislodged from my throat then as this disgusting stranger hissed once more, driving me back to reality and ragging me up by my arm until I was on my hands and knees, my head snapping back suddenly as my face collided with his knee, the back of my head thudding sickeningly into the wall as blood pooled in my mouth and streamed from my nose, the overwhelming scent of tangy iron cloying the air I gasped for, the nausea swirling as I heaved.

I fell forward, shocked and dizzy, too stunned to register that I was being beaten from every angle, punches and kicks raining down on me as I flopped like a rag doll, giving up completely.

I didn't have the strength to protest when prying hands flipped me over, weakly registering the ripping of the front of my thin t-shirt, the yanking at the waistband of my stolen jeans, the molesting fingers hooking over the frayed elastic of my underwear to pull them down in one swift, hungered motion over jutting hips.

I heaved, baulking at a reality that just didn't seem real.

I had nothing left to hide. Nothing left to give.

So I guess this was it then.

Barely conscious, pain throbbing through every part of my spent body, I was too exhausted now to give a shit; the stinging, shamed tears pooling once more in my eyes anyway.

I was too weak to fight back, my vision blurring, a steady buzzing pounding through my skull growing louder and louder until, suddenly, groping hands snatched back from my exposed body.

I blearily tried to raise my head, trying to see them, trying and failing to curl up in an instinctive bid to protect myself, dithering in the cold that tore at newly exposed skin and bracing myself for the sordid act that was surely inevitable now…

Please, just get it over with…

Just get it over with and leave me be.

The buzzing seeming to radiate through my shivering body, thrumming loudly through my head, tears now rolling down my cheek as I closed my eyes to resignedly let them run into the dirt of the grimy cobbles below.

The buzzing stopped.

And I realized it wasn't in my head at all.

The sound came again, louder this time and so ferocious that I fought to stay awake, a fresh wave of paralyzing fear crashing through me for this totally foreign noise.

A snarl.

I couldn't describe it as anything else.

A snarl so brutally fierce that it bounced off of every wall, the potency of the blatant possessiveness that danced through every inflection as soothing as it was petrifying.

Swiftly followed by a strangely familiar growl that rumbled so deeply, and so violently, that I felt the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end, the air charged with lethal promise.

And then all hell broke loose.

My attackers scattered, yelling in absolute terror as they fled, heavy feet thundering past me as I lay there, battling to stay conscious. The silver glint of six, unbelievable deadly claws seemed to come from nowhere, shining threateningly in the amber light of the distant streetlamp and springing forth from my savior's knuckles like unsheathed knives to rhythmically sink into any man within reach, the guttural roar that echoed through the shadowed alley with every merciless stabbing bringing tears of utter relief to my eyes as I felt myself slipping under, giving in to the welcome darkness that dragged my heavy eyes shut… giving in to just make it all go away… please, just make it all go away…

'Addy?'

It seemed like only seconds later, but I could hear him, a man, his voice thick with barely contained emotion, the dark alley now ominously silent save the rainfall and the heavy breathing of this earthy scented stranger as he crouched beside me, his strong arm holding me so close to him as he gently stroked my cheek.

I was slightly warmer, registering faintly that he'd wrapped me in his jacket somewhere along the way, my shredded dignity now held together by this single, caring thread.

It was an act of such simple decency, of such inherent humanity, that I realized I'd forgotten what it was to have someone look out for you in the six long weeks that had robbed me of anything remotely close to love.

I'd forgotten what it was to matter to someone, to not have to rely on yourself, to have someone care about you.

The relief was overwhelming.

'Addy, look at me!'

I realized I was crying. I was crying so hard, needing so much to fall into the darkness that threatened, the darkness he was denying me, to escape the sheer agony that had held me captive long before the events of this brutal night, needing desperately to cling to him and never let him go.

'Come on, darlin', stay awake. Stay with me, sweetheart.'

I could only just open my eyes, blinking through the rain to find my own hazel eyes staring straight back at me through the shadows; kind, intense, hazel eyes so acutely devastated that his tears mingled with the rain as it dripped from his plastered hair, drenching the anxious contours of his pale face, his skin starkly white against the contrast of his dark mutton chops.

And yet, even then, something else swam behind the horror that clouded his wide eyes, something that looked strangely like… pride? Relief?

I couldn't tell.

I couldn't do it.

As much as I longed to, I couldn't stay with him.

'Adeleine!'

My eyes snapped open again at the sharp sound of my full name ringing through my aching head, barely able to comprehend that he'd picked me up until I sensed my bare feet dangling into nothingness, the early winter air surely biting into skin that I couldn't feel anymore.

Someone was crying, and I couldn't work out if it was him or me.

'You just hold on for me, alright kid? Please… God, please darlin', just hold on.'

His choked voice rumbled demandingly in his warm chest, pleading with me to do the impossible.

He must've thought I was some miracle worker, rather than just plain, old Addy Jones.

My heart broke for him.

This man, or mutant, had just ruthlessly wounded, if not slaughtered, at least five men without a second thought, savagely slashing every one of them in one of the most ferocious displays of violence that I'd ever witnessed.

And yet, when he cradled me so tightly to his shirted chest as he carried me from the alley into the brighter light of the main street, wrapped tightly in the warm confines of his leather jacket against the torrent of rain, I trusted him with my life.

This feral stranger, whose voice was so comforting, whose scent was so intoxicatingly, inexplicably familiar, whose deadly claws protected me like nothing else could, whose powerful hold was so natural, the softness of his broad chest and arms so soothing as he enfolded me close, meant something to me.

In fact, with every surefooted step he took, my head lolling against the warmth at the crook of his neck as he carried me to safety, I was certain of one thing.

Even through the haze, through the pain and confusion, I was certain that this heaven-sent man was perhaps the most important man in my life.

I was certain that he was my father.