My Little Bird

by imfallingforyoureyes102

Max, foster child who lives in the shadow of her foster sister and an abusive foster dad. Fang, friend of the foster sister and Max's worst nightmare. The catch? No one knows that Max exists in the little family. No one knows that after school she goes home to a huge mansion and an abusive hand. Max is the shy little bird that no one cares for. And without her wings, she can't fly.

Hey, this is a new story I am trying out. Please read and review and give me feedback. This chapter is short because it's kinda like a prologue, and I'm also just testing the idea out. Also, please check out my other story, "Sergeant Nikolaus Salvatore." It's also a Maximum Ride fanfiction and in the new. So, yeah guys, thanks!

Disclaimer: If I owned Maximum Ride, I would be Maximum Ride.

Max's P.O.V.

I'm Max. 5'7 and invisible. My hair falls long and straightish/wavy down to my waist and my eyes, as I was told when I had friends, were chocolate brown. Now, as I hear in the hallways, they resemble poop. I would say I have a sucky life, but then I think about the kids starving and not having a place to call home. Though my situation may not be the most ideal, it isn't as bad as some. You see, I live in "foster" home with me being the only "foster" kid – and the eternal outsider to the perfect little family. Mrs. Steele is nice enough, but I can tell she only puts up with me because she used to be close friends with my mother. Now all I see in Mrs. Steele's eyes is regret of being the friend who ended up with me. Maya, her daughter, however, was much worse. Practically a beautiful human version Barbie doll, Maya runs the world. The house, the neighborhood, the school, you name it. Anything that had anything that could be shaped into followers was anything that Maya could control. We were once best friends, but all I am to her now is one of her punching bags. Needless to say, I keep my distance and stay out of her way. Mr. Steele, however, is the absolute worst. Whenever he has a bad day, I'm the one who takes his anger full force. I'm the one who really knows how he feels, and sometimes worse. Punches, kicks, anything he throws, I take. Mrs. Steele and Maya don't know about the nightly rituals, or at least I would think that if they did, they wouldn't be as pig headed as to not intervene. But, then again, I highly doubt they would have honestly cared.

Take now for instance. It was a typical Saturday night – and by typical, I meant Mr. Steele had his poker buddies over in his lavish mansion, and Mrs. Steele and Maya were away at some fancy spa. And me? Let's just say I was the one to call when things were needed.

"Maxine!" I groaned as I heard Mr. Steele – James(A/N: Not Iggy) - call my "name." I hurried over to him with a cold beer, silently praying that that was what he had wanted.

"Who do you think I am, you whore?! Some kind of sick drunk. Did I ask for a beer? No! Did I want a beer? NO! You and your little assumptions about people," James bellowed, taking the drink and throwing is against the wall. I flinched, definitely not expecting that reactions. Jeeze, someone needs to chill. "Answer me!" he yelled.

"I…I….," I stuttered but found it hard to find words, not knowing what to say to the obvious drunk. I didn't want to say the wrong thing and anger him even more, so I just stayed quiet.

"Answer me, you piece of shit!" he screamed, spit flying from his mouth. Disgusting, man. Just plain out gross, I thought. He picked up a shard of glass that had broken off of the bottle and quickly grazed my cheek with it. I let out a loud yelp and grasped at my cheek, feeling a warm dampness. The gravel on the driveway could be heard crunching under the arriving car of Maya and her friends. That was my queue to hide – and Mr. Steele's queue to let up for the night.

"Go on, get lost," James whispered, crouching down to pick up the broken shards. He looked lost and broken – like me – and I almost felt sorry for him. Almost. "Get lost, I said! And clean that up!" he said gesturing to my cheek, "You know the routine." Hearing him say that made my eyes prickly. It made me realize that this, the constant picking at, beatings, and bullying had gone on so long, that we had a special "routine."

"Right, I ran into a window while gardening," I whispered pulling myself off of the ground and running to my room.

As I as leaving, I heard one of James' poker friends mutter, "James, man, you gotta give the girl props. She comes up with some pretty good excuses."

I lost it then, the tears freely flowing into my open cut, burning the damn wound. Just as I shut the door to my room, I heard the deep rumbling laughs of girls and boys and knew Maya had finally come home. With friends. Joy to the freaking world.