Chapter 1
From Fayes POV
Everything's changing so quickly now. Ed just packed up and left
taking Ein with her, and none of us knew if she'd ever come back or
not. And now Spike's probably dead. Holding his precious Julia up in
heaven, laughing, as I sit her in a pool of my own tears and blood.
He's probably saying that I deserve this life. That I deserve to be
bundled up in this corner, my knees meeting my nose. I never knew the
copper taste of blood, until now. It had all started when Spike had
left. I remember the first time that Jet had touched me. Spike had
just left, gone to fight leaving Jet and I alone. His first attack of
anger had began with him just grabing me by the shirt collar, telling
me that he didn't give a damn about what Spike did or what happened to
him. But I knew it was a lie. Spike's the one who lead us into this
mess. Since the departure I had met the back of Jets hand, at least 20
times. With each hit the force would get stronger, always leaving me
with the dreadful thought that this was what I deserved. At first he
would hit me when I talked back to him, or messed up something on the
Redtail. Then it turned into dumber things like hitting me just
because there weren't any good bounties, or something had gone wrong
with his cooking. It just resuled into random beatings. Hitting me
just because I yawned or cursed when I stubbed my toe. I'm begining to
feel as if the taste of my own blood is what is keeping me alive. Jet
was always like my father and starting to be just like a dad who hit.
I can't talk to Jet anymore without a gun pointed at my head, telling
me that I was scum. I made Spike leave. How could of i had made spike
leave? I told Jet that I had loved him, but he only hit me, saying
that it was my fault! That I ruin everything! so now I just sit here
on the floor. Jets looking at me, the smile that he always flashed
right before a hit. But this time his fingers aren't made into a
first. This time a silver knife just sits there. He's rubbing it back
and forth on his hand, occasionally licking away some of the blood. I
can't help but look and him and think, 'this is how I'm going to die...
this is how Im going to die.'
From Fayes POV
Everything's changing so quickly now. Ed just packed up and left
taking Ein with her, and none of us knew if she'd ever come back or
not. And now Spike's probably dead. Holding his precious Julia up in
heaven, laughing, as I sit her in a pool of my own tears and blood.
He's probably saying that I deserve this life. That I deserve to be
bundled up in this corner, my knees meeting my nose. I never knew the
copper taste of blood, until now. It had all started when Spike had
left. I remember the first time that Jet had touched me. Spike had
just left, gone to fight leaving Jet and I alone. His first attack of
anger had began with him just grabing me by the shirt collar, telling
me that he didn't give a damn about what Spike did or what happened to
him. But I knew it was a lie. Spike's the one who lead us into this
mess. Since the departure I had met the back of Jets hand, at least 20
times. With each hit the force would get stronger, always leaving me
with the dreadful thought that this was what I deserved. At first he
would hit me when I talked back to him, or messed up something on the
Redtail. Then it turned into dumber things like hitting me just
because there weren't any good bounties, or something had gone wrong
with his cooking. It just resuled into random beatings. Hitting me
just because I yawned or cursed when I stubbed my toe. I'm begining to
feel as if the taste of my own blood is what is keeping me alive. Jet
was always like my father and starting to be just like a dad who hit.
I can't talk to Jet anymore without a gun pointed at my head, telling
me that I was scum. I made Spike leave. How could of i had made spike
leave? I told Jet that I had loved him, but he only hit me, saying
that it was my fault! That I ruin everything! so now I just sit here
on the floor. Jets looking at me, the smile that he always flashed
right before a hit. But this time his fingers aren't made into a
first. This time a silver knife just sits there. He's rubbing it back
and forth on his hand, occasionally licking away some of the blood. I
can't help but look and him and think, 'this is how I'm going to die...
this is how Im going to die.'