Second SLAT fic. Rated T for very coarse language, disturbing and frightening scenes, and some drug reference. Fun. Wrote this in like twenty minutes by hand really fast (you should see my handwriting, it's so sloppy). Ricky's story. The last time he gets abused.

Disclaimer: Don't own this Secret Life stuff. Belongs to Brenda Hampton or some shit.

"Let Me Die Tonight"

Night time in the hood. So I'll climb onto my mattress. Let these gunshots be my lullaby. And I'll try to fall asleep before he comes. So maybe I'll stay safe tomight.

No such luck.

I can smell him before I see him. Alcohol. I shift uncomfortably in my bed. Shit.

"I know you're awake, you piece of shit!" he slurs savagely. I feel my eyes close tighter. Desperately trying to fall asleep.

"Don't you fake it, you little bitch," He's in front of me now and the smell of alcohol suffocates me. Drags my shaking body off the mattress.

"Dammit! Working my ass off, and when I come home, do I get a hello? Don't I deserve that much son?" he slrs nastily. I feel a rush of pain on my face. Blood. I try to open my eyes but his foot meets my face for a second time. Blood rushes out my nose.

"Ungrateful little shit!" he roars. More pain. More blood.

"Fight me! Like a man! Dammit, Ricky, be a fucking man!" River of red, flowing in all directions. Before I can breathe another kick in my chest. Tears threaten to fall.

"I'll teach you a lesson! About being a man! Do you know how damn hard it is to be a fucking man, Ricky?" God, no, not this. I feel a tug at the leg of my pants. Pulling at my dignity at any vision I had of hope. Pulling at everything. Please, God no. Not tonight. Just let me die tonight.

Please God, please, just let me die.

Right here, Ricky Underwood, age thirteen.

I can't live on these broken streets anymore.

And this marijuana air is choking my lungs.

Please don't let me wake up covered in blood any longer.

I don't want anymore pain.

I don't wanna be a man.

Please, just let me die here. Take it all away.

It stops. He leaves the room. So much pain so much blood. No dignity. No love. My lungs barely work. I reach for the mattress. The strength escapes me. I die.

HOURS LATER

Police lights. Outside the house. Distant voices.

"Fucking liar! Sexual abuse? What a damn lie...."

"Abuse or no abuse we found over 4 oz. of heroin in your room, that entitles you to a trip downtown..."

Black again.

I open my eyes. At the police station. Covered in bandages. Oh shit. They know. They know and they're gonna put me in prison with dudes ten times worse than my dad. They know about the time me and Jimmy got high on my dad's pot. Dammit.

"Ricky, we need to talk to you about your father. We found evidence in your room that he was abusing you, " a black officer says. No shit. "We don't think you should stay with him anymore."

Can't think. Confused. "Uh, what?"

"Foster care is probably the best option. You can live with a loving family that cares about you. In a nicer neighborhood, too."

Before I can reply, it goes black again.