A/N: I hope you enjoy this first chapter! Please let me know what you think in the reviews! I just recently fell in love with Shameless on Netflix and I adore Lip! This is going to be a very SLOW BURN. I mean slow. But I promise it will be full of everything you love about Shameless. This will probably be one of my most R rated story's as well!

Follow the Instagram account I created for this story here: shamelesslyemma for photos of the Gallagher's, Emma, her photography and outfit guides!

•••••

Chapter 1

Emma's Point of View

It was five o'clock in the morning and the contractors that have been working on our piece of shit house were already at it. No one should be awake and coherent this early, yet here I am, trying to make it out of the house before Andrew, my disgusting perverted foster father stumbles in from the night shift. How that man passed every inspection to become a foster parent is beyond my comprehension. Chicago Child Services needed to take a long hard look in the mirror if they were allowing men like Andrew around children. Not that I'm a child, I'm seventeen, but the next girl could be younger. Four boys and one girl living in one home didn't always go well. I tried to make myself scarce as much as possible. Foster families aren't always the American pie we'll love you and take care you bullshit you see in the movies. Trust me, I know, I've been in the system since I was ten years old.

The whirring of a power saw radiated in the bathroom, even though it was on the opposite side of the house. Andrew was having repairs made so he could have more kids brought in to make more money. The house has been under construction since I got here a year ago. I haven't seen any progress made whatsoever. Lumber filled what little front yard we had and there were rusted nails and screws littering the front porch. This house needed to be condemned not redone.

Quickly, I turned off the semi warm water from the shower and got out. As I was about to wrap a towel around myself the bathroom door swung open. Kyle wolf whistled at me and arched his eyebrow. "Get out! Perv!" I yelled, doing my best to keep myself covered as Kyle, my dipshit foster brother stood in the doorway!

"Easy! I didn't know the show started this early." He sauntered into the bathroom. I grabbed my elbow crutch I'd dangled off the sink and picked it up and shoved it into his chest.

"Get out or I will impale this through your chest!" I glared at him, shoving him backwards.

"You know I love it when you get feisty, sis." Kyle smirked, running a hand through his greasy dark black hair. Hearing him call me his sister made my skin crawl. Any relationship to him would make me wanna kill myself.

"I am not your sister! Get out!" I'd managed to push him out of the bathroom enough to slam the door in his face, rattling the entire wall. If there would have been a lock on the door I would have locked it too.

Kyle's laugh echoed down the hallway. I stayed leaning against the door for a few minutes, making sure he wasn't going to barge back inside. Kyle showed up here out of the blue six months ago. Kid is just a more gangly version of Norman Bates if you ask me.

After a moment and making sure my towel was securely around me I headed for the mirror, swiping away the steam. My worn out expression filled the glass. My blonde hair was dripping wet and made me look like a drowned rat. The bags under my eyes from lack of sleep weren't doing me any favors either. I didn't get the luxury of worrying about putting on make up and looking cute for boys at school, not when I had to sleep with one eye open at night and put all the money I made working towards food. Tears burned the back of my eyes, but I forced them to stay at bay as I brushed my teeth. Crying wasn't going to change anything. I had to make things change. I had a plan to do just that, it was just going to take time, sadly.

I hated my living situation. I hated not feeling safe in what was supposed to be my home, my sanctuary. It was more like my own version of hell. I'm seventeen and have one more year before I age out of the foster system and I can't wait for that glorious day to come. I've been trying to emancipate myself for three years, but I've been denied each time due to my disability. Seven years in Chicago's Foster system and everyone still wanted the puppy over the old dog. It doesn't help I was born with a neurological disorder, hence the crutch. No one wants a fucked up kid, least my mom didn't.

Once my teeth were brushed I pulled on my clothes and slung my hair up in a messy wet bun. I made my way into my bedroom and slid all my text books into my bag and slung it over my shoulder, glancing at the clock. It was working on five thirty, which meant Andrew would be almost home. Shit. I pulled on a cardigan and a scarf since it was still snowing outside and slipped my coat on. I pulled my fingerless gloves on and then hobbled my way downstairs.

The smell of burnt food filled my nostrils as I made my way into the kitchen. Eggs and maybe toast? I pushed past Kyle, Jack, Caleb and West as they fought over the burnt eggs in the frying pan before tossing it and all their plates in the sink. "It doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure out you cook eggs on low heat." I let the words slip out of my mouth as I grabbed bread, peanut butter and what was left of the jelly out of the fridge. That was pretty much the entire contents of the fridge, safe for liquor and beer.

"Then why don't you fucking cook breakfast?" Jack snapped out, slamming a glass into the sink next to me at the counter making me flinch.

"No, princess doesn't have to do anything around here. She's special." Caleb chimed in. I rolled my eyes and ignored them and continued to make my PB&J sandwich. I didn't wanna go without food again today, all day.

I was out of cash until I got paid on Friday.

"Yeah, specially retarded, with her walking stick and all." Kyle laughed out, stealing the sandwich I'd just made. "Princess gets her own room per the states orders just for having a vagina."

"It's called an elbow crutch, moron. I'm not the one with an IQ of 50, that's you. By the way you already have a vagina, it's your face." I spat out over my shoulder, making another sandwich quickly.

"Looks like daddy's home." West said, laughing, as we all heard Andrew Foster stomping snow off his boots on the back porch. He worked the night shift at a company that made airplane parts. I swore I'd never fly on a plane after I learned that.

"We're out! Have fun, bitch!" Kyle mumbled out, with a mouthful of PB&J. Jack, West and Caleb all made a beeline for the front door laughing leaving me behind as Andrew came waltzing in the back door.

My stomach twisted in knots.

I slung my sandwich in a ziplock bag and shoved it in my coat pocket. "It's cold as balls out there." Andrew grumbled, walking past me to get a beer out of the fridge. I waited until he was finished grabbing a beer before putting away the ingredients for my sandwich. I'd learned you don't leave shit on the counter in this house.

I was almost home free. I'd made it to the hallway leading to the front door. "Who the fuck dirtied up all these dishes in the sink. Huh? Get your ass back in here and clean this shit up." Andrew bellowed, coming up behind me and grabbing my free arm, the other was secured in my elbow crutch. He'd dragged me back into the kitchen and pushed me in front of the sink.

I knew better than to protest or say it wasn't my mess. It wouldn't do me any good. I removed my gloves and started to clean the dishes in the sink the boys had so graciously left behind. Fucking assholes. I could feel Andrew's eyes boring into the back of me and felt my entire body tense. I felt the warmth of him against the back of me and his hand on my hip. This wasn't new to me unfortunately. Andrew's grabby roaming hands found their way to my ass within the first week I lived with him.

"Get off!" I snapped out, harshly.

"I worked all night just to provide for you little fucking shits and you can't even help an old dog get warm." Andrew gripped my hip tighter, grinding himself into my ass. I wanted to vomit. Panic always rose within me when I was alone with my foster father. He was anything but fatherly. "Keep washing those fucking dishes."

I felt his cold dry lips on the side of my neck and winced, wanting to get away from him. I've had many foster fathers treat me like this over the years. It never changed. The faces did, but the sickening behavior was always the same. His one hand slipped up under my coat and sweater and shirt and grasped my breast, while the other was planted on the counter as he ground himself into my back. Bile rose in my throat feeling his erection hitting me. I couldn't fight him off. That was my parents fucked up genes fault. Having Spinal Muscular Atrophy Type 4 meant I could walk, barely, but my muscles were weak. Every task was a workout in and of itself.

I was lucky though. Funny, thinking of myself as lucky, especially right now in this moment. I could have ended up with a more severe version of the disease that made it impossible for me to walk at all.

"Please stop!" I begged, swallowing the lump in my throat. "Just stop!" I begged again, hands shaking in the water in the sink. I felt something sharp against my fingers at the bottom, a knife, maybe a fork?

Andrew groaned against my neck, sliding his hand that was on my breast down to the waistline of my jeans.

My eyes fluttered closed as my hands shook in the my sink. I had to fight back somehow. No one was gonna come and save me. No knight in shining armor was going to coming riding in on a white horse and whisk me away from all this shit.

My life was anything but a fairytale.

More like a Grimm Tale.

Something inside of me snapped as Andrew kept kissing and sucking on my neck. Every memory of being grabbed, touched, used and abused flooded my mind. In an instant without thinking I grabbed whatever sharp utensil was in the sink beneath the soapy water and plunged it into his hand on the counter. Andrew screamed letting go of me, giving me time to get away from him. "You fucking little bitch!"

I took my crutch and slammed the end of it into the side of his jaw while he was crying over the knife in his hand. Blood oozed out around the blade and spilled across the counter and into the sink, turning the water crimson. "You'd think with the last name of Foster you'd be able to be a decent one!" I yelled, before making a break for it out the back door.

My heart pounded in my ears as the cold Chicago air filled my lungs. I trudged through the snow as quickly as I possibly could and headed towards school. He was gonna kill me. No doubt about it. If I showed my face back at that house, I was as good as dead.

•••••

Large fluffy snow flakes still came down outside of the window. Chicago was having one of the coldest winters this year and I believed it. My fingers were froze by the time I'd made it to school. Mr. Peters was droning on about Newton's Laws of Physics, I'd tuned him out a long time ago. I normally didn't though. Normally I was alert and focused in classes. Getting good grades was one of the only things I was good at. But after stabbing my foster father in the hand this morning, I kind of had other things on my mind. Like avoiding the cops, finding somewhere warm to sleep tonight. Part of me wondered if Andrew would call the cops and another part of me knew he wouldn't.

"Miss. Taylor!" Mr. Peters called out, snapping my attention away from the window and to the front of the classroom. "Can you answer the question on the board please? Or is there something more fascinating outside capturing your attention."

Startled and embarrassed now that all eyes were on me, I felt my cheeks flush with heat. Everyone in the classroom was staring at me.

"I was actually fascinated by the two squirrels fucking in the tree myself." A guy sitting next to me called out. Everyone busted out laughing, well, everyone except Mr. Peters and myself. I glanced over slightly and saw Phillip Gallagher smirking, slumped down in his seat, chewing on the end of his pen.

He gave me a wink, causing me to roll my eyes and face forward. "I I don't know how to solve the problem." I mumbled, embarrassed and wanting the attention off of me. Science was my worst subject. It was the only class I was on the verge of failing.

"I expect more from you, Miss. Taylor." Mr. Peters shot out, glaring at me.

"Mr. Gallagher, would you care to answer the question since you are so eager to talk." Mr. Peters slowly walked down the row of students to reach Phillip's seat. Phillip showed no interest in answering the question. In fact he was leaning forward whispering something in Karen Jackson's ear, making her smirk mischievously.

Mr. Peters slapped Phillip's desk to get his attention just as the bell rang. Thank god. "Test on Friday! Chapters 30-36. Miss. Taylor. Mr. Gallagher, I want to speak to you both." Mr. Peters headed back to the front of the classroom towards his desk as students scattered liked bugs being sprayed with Raid.

I managed to gather my stuff and jam it all back into my bag. As I stood up I knocked my crutch off the back of my chair. Phillip caught it and handed it to me. "Here you go."

This was the most I'd spoken to Philip, well, ever. I knew he had a lot of siblings and a drunk father named Frank. Hell, the whole town new Frank Gallagher. Phillip's brother Ian was my midterm project partner last year. He was sweet, but I'd heard rumors about Phillip. He was a total player, but incredibly smart.

"Thanks." I mumbled slipping my arm back through it.

Phillip slung his bag over his shoulder and made his way towards Mr. Peters desk. I followed behind him, eventually standing next to him. We waited while Mr. Peters erased the board behind his desk. He turned around and sighed looking at us both.

"You failed your last test, Miss. Taylor. You've barely been getting by in my class since the beginning of the year. What's going on?" Mr. Peters questioned, looking at me expecting an answer. Philip was staring up at the ceiling, bored out of his mind, rocking back an forth on his heels. Why he had to be heat to hear this made no sense to me.

I shrugged my shoulders. "I'm trying really hard. I am. Honestly. I don't know what's going on. I'll get my grades back up though." I promised, and I meant it. If I wanted to get into AIC in a year, I had to have excellent grades. The Art Institute of Chicago is one of the best schools for art and design and my personal favorite, photography.

Photography was gonna be my ticket out of here. I was determined to become a professional photographer and start my own company one day. The sooner the better.

"Oh, I know you will, because Mr. Gallagher here is going to tutor you."

"Wait, what?" Phillip snapped to attention, suddenly interested in this conversation. "That's why you asked me to stay behind?" He glanced at me and then looked away.

"I know you've been tutoring Karen Jackson and her grades have improved drastically. I feel like you could really help Emma. So make a schedule and stick to it. I expect to see better results on the next test on Friday." Mr. Peters looked at me pointedly and then sat down behind his desk, gesturing for us to leave.

Great.

This was fucking perfect.

Phillip and I headed out out into the hallway together. I made my way to my locker and to my surprise Phillip had followed me. I glanced at him as I twisted the dial on the lock. "I don't need you to tutor me. I can bring my grade up on my own, Phillip."

"Really, cause that F on your last test is telling me a whole different story." He leaned against my locker. "Call me Lip, I hate Phillip."

"What kind of name is Lip." I half laughed out, finally opening my locker. Even though I kind of thought Lip was a cute nickname for him. I couldn't help but glance at his actual lips as he licked them. The were the definition of perfect. Oh god. I can't believe I just had that thought.

"Look, I can help you, but my time is precious and it's gonna cost you." Lip continued talking. He ran a hand through his shaggy almost curly dirty blonde hair and scratched his eyebrow with his thumb. "Hundred bucks a session is typically what I charge, but since your cute, I'll do it for seventy five."

Heat rose up my neck. I avoided making eye contact with him and pulled my Nikon D3400 out of my locker and secured it around my neck. I never brought it home. It cost close to seven hundred dollars and I was not giving Andrew or the boys the opportunity to pawn it.

I finally sighed, looking at Lip.

"I don't have any money. I can't pay you and besides I already said I can take care of this myself." I tried to explain to him. Someone walking past us punched the locker beside mine, making me flinch. "You fucking bitch!" Kyle spat, slamming my locker shut. "You actually stabbed him with a knife?"

Everyone passing in the halls slowed down and started to gawk at this sideshow of a conversation. Oh my god! Once a hood girl always a hood girl. Psycho. I heard kids whispering as they passed by and saw the look of confusion on Lips face.

"Yeah and I'd do it again." I snapped out, loud enough for everyone to hear, turning to face him, going toe to toe. Kyle towered over my five foot two body, so did Lip.

"He called me and made me take him to urgent care. He's on a witch hunt for your ass. You couldn't just put out, make all our lives easier, no, you had to go and stab the bastard." Kyle smirked, enjoying this in every possible way.

"Wait, who the fuck did you stab?" Lip butted into the conversation, surprised and intrigued. I'd forgot he was still standing there. For fuck sakes.

If I didn't know any better I'd say he looked a little impressed too.

"Can everyone stop saying the word stab? Please!" I hissed, wanting nothing more than to get away from Kyle. I headed down the hallway, thankfully alone.

"You better watch your back, bitch!" Kyle called out.

I flipped him the finger with my free hand as tears finally started to slide down my cheeks. I pushed my way into the stairwell that was now almost deserted and leaned against the wall, silently trying to calm myself down. There's no way Andrew would call the cops on me, because then he'd get in trouble for attempted rape. So naturally he would send Kyle after me.

As I tried to take deep breaths and ease the tightening pain in my chest I felt someone touch my elbow. I jumped, whipping around to see Lip, smirking at me. "Don't stab me!" He held his hands up in surrender.

"Don't give me a reason too."

"What exactly was that back there? Who the fuck are you, the Atomic blonde or some shit?" Lip questioned digging a pack of cigarettes out of his jacket pocket getting ready to light up right here on the stairwell.

"Go away, Gallagher." I motioned for him to leave me alone.

"Come on, I'm intrigued now. I mean how could I not be. I honestly don't know whether to be afraid or impressed." Lip quirked an eyebrow at me.

I hated to admit it, but he was cute. He leaned his head forward, putting his unkept blonde hair on full display, and he lit his cigarette. He took a long drag, parting his lips slightly as the smoke released from his mouth.

"Both." I half smiled out.

Lip chuckled and nodded his head. "I know not to piss you off." He took a drag off his cigarette and glanced up and down the stairwell to make sure no teachers were coming. "Look, let me help you with class. We can work out a payment schedule or some shit." His eyes twinkled as he stared at me. He was insinuating something that would never happen in a million years.

"I'm not giving you a blow job, Gallagher." I laughed out.

"Who said anything about a blow job?" He laughed, stepping down onto the same step I was standing on now. "Your head always in the gutter? I meant an actual payment plan. As fun as a hummer would be, I need the cash."

My face felt like it was on fire. "I thought you were…I'm an idiot." I covered my face with my hands and shook my head. "Please walk away."

Lip peeled my hands off my face smirking. "Relax. I was insinuating something else."

For some reason I laughed and punched him in the arm. I really did need his help. I hated to admit defeat, but I was struggling, hardly keeping my head above water in Mr. Peters class and Lip was top of the class, surprisingly.

"We'll figure it out." Lip assured me.

"Why do keep pushing to help me? You don't even know me." I shot out without thinking.

"Well, I know that you stab people. But I also know that you're a loner, like me. You eat lunch sitting on the brick wall outside rain, sun or snow and by eat lunch I mean you read. You also sneak into the photo lab during free periods."

"I don't know if I should be impressed or completely creeped out." I slowly replied. How the hell did he know all that about me? Was he watching me?

Sensing the uneasiness on my face, Lip added. "I'm very observant. Been that way since birth."

I nodded my head, a small smile forming on my lips.

"Think about it and let me know." Lip said, stubbing out his cigarette on the bottom of his shoe. He turned and started to head up the stairs, but I found my own voice stopping him. "I can pay you in weed."

Lip turned around immediately. Clearly intrigued. He walked back down the steps as I dug a green prescription bottle out of my backpack. "It's medical grade. Good shit. I get it for migraines and hip pain. I can pay you with it. My prescription gets filled every two weeks."

I showed Lip the bottle and saw him practically foaming at the mouth. He gave me a sexy sideways smirk. "I'm gonna have to test it, first, but I think you've got yourself a deal."

"When can we start." I asked, eagerly, maybe too eagerly.

Lip unscrewed the cap to the bottle my weed was in and sniffed it. "Fuck that is some good shit. Follow me." Lip grabbed my hand and led me up the flight of stairs to the old girls bathroom no one ever used.