Hello everyone. This is Xera, here. I've had this in my documents for a while now, and I'm debating whether I should continue it. Lemme know, please? I'd appreciate it:) Feel free to critic. And, I know, most of you are saying "WHY ARENT YOU UPDATING YOUR OTHER STORIES!" and the answer is: Volleyball has taken over my life. It's true, it has. I have like no free time anymore. Anyway, read and review! thanks:)

I'm lying in my bed, eyes trained on the ceiling, my book having fallen beside me. To Kill A Mockingbird. My favorite book of all time. Something about Scout and Jem's world enticed me, giving me a false hope that the world is different than my home in Destiny Islands. Ha. Home. It wasn't a home, merely a shell of a place, full of empty rooms and bad memories. I sigh, and sit up.

I glance around my bare room, void of most worldly possessions. A bed, a dresser, and my desk adorn the room as furnishings; the walls are a dull white, empty of color. I get up, hoping to sneak downstairs and get a glass of water before he comes home.

I open the door and slink down the wooden stairs, wincing at each creak. I barely make it to the kitchen before I hear the front door open. My already heavy heart drops. A single tear drips down my cheek un-noticed as I attempt to hurry up the stairs before my father sees me.

Ha. My father. He's not worthy of the name. Always drunk, high and angry. I can never catch a break. Whatever I do isn't good enough for him. Because I'm the reason my mother's dead. Well, according to my father at least.

All my hope of remaining un-noticed by my abusive father vanishes as a loud groan comes from the middle step as I put my weight on it. I stop breathing for a second. A muffled, slurred 'Get down here' reaches my ears, and I have no choice but to comply. I'm aching inside, but my face remains impassive.

I enter the living room, to see my drunken excuse for a father standing with his arms crossed, tapping his foot. 'Come here' is his single command. I step forward, my feet filled with lead. Five feet away from my father and I can smell the alcohol wafting off him, the horrid smell sickening. He stares me down, and I feel very uncovered in my jean shorts and thin t-shirt.

'Look at me' he states, his eyes burning holes in me. I look up, my face emotionless, but I know my grey eyes betray me. They give away the merciless fear in the pit of my stomach, the realization that he's more drunk than usual, and the dread of what's to come.

He grabs my chin; forcing my head up and making me look into his eyes. All I can see in his pitiless blue eyes is rage and lust. I almost cry out as his glare cuts into me, worse than any physical damage. Oh how wrong I was.

He takes his free hand and punches me in the stomach. I gasp in pain. He laughs. 'You're such a little baby' he mocks. I keep my eyes on him, so nothing comes as a surprise. He kicks out at my face, and I move so that it clips my shoulder. I grasp my shoulder, willing myself to remain silent, for sound will only provoke him.

He comes closer to me, and grabs my shoulders, shaking me profusely. 'YOU LITTLE SLUT! YOU GODDAMNED WHORE! GO TO HELL YOU WORTHLESS BITCH!' he screams at me, the alcohol in his breath overwhelming my senses. He punches me in the face, and I fall to the floor. He kicks me, screaming 'Get up, you whore!' I'm crying now, tears streaming down my face silently, and I do as he says.

He shoves me against the wall and kicks and slaps me. I struggle to get away, but my father's much bigger than me, and easily keeps me pinned against the wall. He slams me over and over against the wall, and I can feel bruises forming on my already abused body. Blood trickles down my back, and down my face where he somehow cut me.

With a sudden burst of strength, I kick him in the groin and bolt for the stairs. I hear him groan in pain, and then curse me in every language possible. I'm running up the stairs, in pure panic. He follows me, taking two steps at a time, his labored breathing getting closer and closer.

I'm not as fast as I usually am, for I'm injured badly. Adrenaline is pumping through my veins, and I sprint for one of the only two safe havens in the house: my bathroom and my bedroom. Both rooms have locks. The bathroom is the closest, so I run there.

I slam the door as I run in, locking the door behind me. I sit down on the opposite wall, facing the door. I try to catch my labored breath, but am failing miserably. Panic is overcoming me, making my vision tinted with red as blood rushes to my head. I taste the metallic flavor of blood in my mouth, and something wet is trickling down my face, but I ignore it.

I hear the stomping coming closer, and my heart rate jumps by 20 bpm. 'Come out, little kitten, or I'll come in' I hear my sadistic father whisper, no doubt a grin on his face. I pant in fear, more tears streaming down my face.

Something slams against the locked door, making it groan. The thing repeatedly throws its weight against the door, slowly forming cracks in the wooden door. With a burst, the door explodes open, my brutal father stumbling in.

'Come on' he grumbles angrily, grabbing my collar and pulling me outside. I'm shoved and pulled, my head banging against the walls. With a wicked smile, I'm shoved on the banister and thrown down the stairs. I scream as I fall, a bloodcurdling noise that had to wake up the neighbors. My back is in agony, as the banister cut a diagonal line deep across my back. I know I'll have a terrible scar from it. Blood drenches my already stained white t-shirt, and I slip in my own blood.

My father grins like a cat, and slowly starts down the stairs, the same rage and lust in his eyes. I'm screaming and screaming. I wonder how no neighbor has heard my cries. I sob. I kick and thrash, attempting to get away from the monster.

I feel light headed from loss of blood. Sirens sound down the street, and I hope my prayers have been answered. I scream louder. My father looks up, panic in his eyes as police in navy uniforms burst through the door. I point at my father and scream, blood flowing from my back.

Several of the officers rush forward to arrest my father, and the rest speed to help me. I look one last time at my father, and blackness overcomes me, consuming everything.

I wake up in a cold sweat, screaming. Of course my adoptive brothers in the next room are sound asleep. A nuclear bomb wouldn't wake them up. I look at the clock; it's 8:15 in the morning. Five minutes before the alarm would have woken me up. I get out of bed, attempting to get rid of the memory of that day, five years ago.