Author's Note: Hey everyone! I'm back with a vengeance, a new category, strengthened resolve, and a brand new penname! A couple of quick notes before I start this fic…First, this chapter may not seem very fanfic-ish. That's because I didn't want to jump right into the action. I do have method to the madness! Second, please don't badger me about my other fics. I discontinued We Are the Transfer, and am thinking about doing the same for Midnight's Curse. Third, I am actually considering adding a bonus chapter to Everything You Want, but I might need a few weeks to think about what should happen. I like it the way it is. Bonus chapter would just be a gift for my loyal readers.
Mild violence warnings. Anywho, that's enough of my babbling. Without further ado, here is chapter one to my newest fanfic!
Stitch
By Axel's Stalker
Chapter 1
Most stories may start out with a few typical things--hello, once upon a time, this little princess, the happy elf, etc, etc. Well, this story doesn't go that way. This story starts out with something a bit less cheerful and a bit more dismal. You may not want to hear it. But I need to tell it, so don't cry. If you're going to cry, you may as well leave now. This story is different.
"Why aren't you in here, kid?" A slurred, familiar voice echoed through the halls of a small run-down apartment building and into my room. I cringed, closing my eyes and curling up into a tighter ball. It smelled like wet feet and ancient cheez-its under my bed, and I was too used to it to care.
The door slammed open and I watched quietly as a pair of bare feet stumbled over the orangeish-yellow carpet, feeling the mattress sink a little as a hand rested on it for support. "Kid, I know you're in here." My mother hiccupped, the mattress lifting back to its normal state as she stumbled over to the closet and flung open the door. "Where's my fucking coffee?" She continued on, ranting and raving to me even though I wasn't around.
I curled up even tighter and held back a whimper. She never had the energy to stoop down and look under the bed, and I hoped today wouldn't be any different.
It wasn't.
With a curse and a few other muttered things, she left the room and slammed the door behind her. I caught, "Fine, I'll make my own coffee, but you'd better hope I don't find you!"
She wouldn't.
As soon as her footsteps faded from my hearing range, I crawled out from under the bed and tip-toed to my closet. There were many advantages to being small; for example, fitting wonderfully under my bed and being able to go into a kind of stealth mode. Opening the closet door, I yanked a small travel bag out of the mess and shoved some old shirts and baggy jeans that had been my brother's into it. No idea where I would go, but really anywhere was better than this place.
My mother would be out, more than likely, after her little outburst. I knew she always went to get vodka after her coffee. With this knowledge in mind, I pulled the strap of the travel bag over my shoulder and strode lightly out of the room. Drawing in a sharp breath, I whirled around and raced back in, curling my arms around a small doll of a creature with a big red nose, its eyes closed, and a red pompom on its head. Holding it close to my chest, I turned back around and headed for the hallway.
As I opened the only door standing between myself and the outside world, my cheek stung horribly and I stumbled backwards. It stung so that I had tears in my eyes and I held even tighter to the soft toy.
"And where the hell do you think you're going, brat?" My mother snarled, glaring at me through her bloodshot eyes. I closed my own eyes tightly and refused to look up at her. I was so close, if only I could speak. But I had learned when I was young that children were not meant to be heard. I had been silent so long, I wasn't even sure if I remembered how to speak. So I said nothing.
"You've got things to do." She continued, advancing into the kitchen and causing me to trip over myself in my hurry to back up. "Go and make my coffee, dammit, and then you can clean up the guest room. I'm havin' company tonight."
I finally opened my eyes to see a bottle of Captain Morgan's spiced rum in her fist, open and half-empty. I knew who company was. "Company" was her new boyfriend, who hated me just as much as she did. I would say more, but no one could despise me to her level.
As she continued to go on and on about her boyfriend and how I never did anything she told me to do and how I was useless and worthless and just overall nothing in her life or anyone else's, I'm not entirely sure what was happening inside me. Somewhere, something cracked. I shot a miserable glare up at her and shook my head fiercely, all I could do to disagree. I wished so badly that I could have shouted at her, swore at her; told her to do it herself and leave me alone. But I just shook my head and stomped my foot to say that I'd had enough.
She knew what I meant well enough. Her eyes grew wild and she threw the bottle to the floor, letting it shatter loudly. "You gonna defy me, bitch?" She snarled, shoving me to the floor. Being only 82 pounds or so, I fell rather quickly, but scrambled back onto my feet. Another advantage to being so small was that I was faster than her.
Without thinking my plan through first, I yanked open one of the drawers in the kitchen and pulled out the sharpest steak knife I could find. No one around this neighborhood was very organized, and we weren't an exception, but somehow I found one sharp enough to break skin. Whirling around, I felt a blazing-hot pain from my left cheek under my eye almost all the way to my temple. Holding back tears that I knew would only enflame the gash, I thrust my own knife into her arm and pulled it back out as I ran out the door, bloodied steak knife in hand.