Disclaimer: I do not own Percy Jackson.

She was numb. It wasn't long ago that she had woken up in this hell hole. She awoke with the sound of a deep, gruff voice yelling at her. She remembered nothing, not even her own name. She was seventeen and had not one memory to call her own. Her life was hell, and she was living with Satan. From as early as the day that the man that dared to say she was his daughter, she had to start going to school, being forced to cover the purple bruises that colored her body. She didn't dare tell anyone of the abuse that was happening at home, but even if she wanted to tell them she couldn't. Not because of her abusive 'dad', but because she was a mute.

When she woke, she found it difficult to speak; whenever she opened her mouth, no sound would come out. Luckily, she somehow knew how to use sign language. That was one thing that pissed off daddy dearest the most; was because she would not, and could not speak. Being that he was a drunk, with a short temper, didn't help anyone. She lived in the darkest hole of Las Angles; the school was cheap and they couldn't afford a translator; even if they could, they wouldn't.

Her step mother… she was something else. She watched as her husband bet the teenager. After her dad had one of his tantrums, the woman would tend to the abused girl's wounds. Sometimes there was nothing she could do; like when he would break her ribs from punching her to hard in the chest. The woman rarely spoke, but swore to the teen that she would help her escape; let her leave, and never fear of having to see them again. The teen believed her. On the day of her eighteenth birthday she was to run, and that day was today.

"Bitch!" the teen heard her dad yell. She walked into the living room calmly. They lived in a small apartment; beer bottles and dirty clothes littered the floor. The smell of sweat and stale beer lingered in the air. The wife stood in the door way of the small kitchen; on the other side of the room, watching with teary eyes- face expressionless. He smiled a greasy smile upon the teenager's appearance. His balding hair was combed in his sick attempt to look 'presentable'.

"It's your birthday today. Am I correct?" He slurred. The teen refused to move, her stubbornness keeping her from obeying.

"Well happy birthday." He said, not putting any sincerity in it. She didn't know what his intentions where, but the wife did.

"Please no…" she pleaded, but he ignored her.

"I said, happy birthday." He sneered, standing up from the worn couch. Silence. He took a step forward, towards her. You could hear a pen drop; it was so silent in the room. The tension was high, as the man intended to take his abuse further then he has ever before. He took another step toward her.

"Where are manners?" he yelled in her face. She winced. At the sign of weakness, he grabbed the collar of her button down shirt and slammed her against the wall.

"You supposed to say thank you!" He shouted. She could smell the alcohol on his breath. She did nothing but stare into space, her eyes glazed over. He gripped her tighter.

"I told you to SAY thank you!" He repeated. She hung there, limp.

"Why you little..." He anchored his arm back. The teen closed her eyes waiting, when a voice called to her.

"Get out of here!" the wife cried. Her husband turned around at the sound of her voice and snarled at her.

"I'll deal with you later!" He then turned around to face the girl. Before he could realize what was happening, he was bent over and clutching his bloody nose. The teen had punched him, and had already bolted her way out of the apartment.
The wind was icy and nipped at her face. The teen was stunned as the bitter cold air consumed the night; being that it was currently in the middle of July. Her lungs were burning; it wasn't until her throat started to burn that she was forced to slow down to a jog. The street lights where on and the neighborhood was quiet. When a bus stop came to view, she stopped and took a breather. She didn't sit down on the bench, because she knew that it would make the pain worsen. She was about to start running again when she heard a gasp.

"Oh my gosh! Are you alright?" A woman asked. The woman ran over to her crouching form and helped her stand up. The woman had blonde hair that was cut short; it didn't even cover her ears. She had the body of a swimmer and had golden, tented skin; your stereotypical California girl.

"Are you ok?" She asked, the teen blinked in reply.

"Look at you." She looked over the girl with wide eyes. The teen looked down to see what the woman was talking about. She was still wearing her button down and a pair of jean shorts; the teen blinked and tried to see herself in the woman's point of view. . . A girl wearing a torn, blue blouse, with many scare's and bruises covering every inch of olive skin.

"Oh! You poor thing! Here let me take a good look at you." She gripped the teen's face between her hands and forced her to look deep into her kaleidoscope eyes. A scene of a burning house reflected in the woman's eyes; people screaming and crying in mourning, filled the teens mind and then everything went black.

A/N this is the last time, I'm not going to edit this story after this. If it doesn't work this time, I'm deleting it. I hope you guys like this version of it.

-Wingedgift