Hi, my wonderful readers! I'm back with another Lab Rats story. I was originally planning to post this as a oneshot but decided to split it up into two parts.
I'm really nervous to post this 'cause I feel like it's not some of my best work, so constructive criticism is welcome. But hopefully you guys will like it; I know I had fun writing it. This particular OC was awesome to write, so I hope you enjoy her character as much as I do.
For my new readers, Mackenzie Hudson, aka Selena, aka "Sly", was introduced in my story Unearthed. You don't really need to read that story to understand this one, but it would make me feel all warm and fuzzy inside if you would give Fight Forever and Unearthed a try. :)
Disclaimer: I do not own Lab Rats or any of its characters. I only own my OCs and the plot of this story.
I'm wiser now,
I'm not the foolish girl you used to know,
So long ago.
I'm stronger now,
I've learned from my mistakes which way to go,
And I should know.
I put myself aside to do it your way,
But now I need to do it all alone.
—Whitney Houston, "Try It on My Own"
Mackenzie was scared.
She didn't want to play anymore.
"Where are you, you pathetic girl?"
Mackenzie shrunk away, holding her legs tighter.
She didn't like this game.
"Get out here now!"
She winced at the bellow. He was getting closer.
She knew he wouldn't find her this time, though.
Still, she held her breath for as long as she could, shivering amongst the clutter.
The door creaked open and she nearly gasped. She hugged her legs and buried her face between her knees.
Heavy footsteps.
The floorboards cracked and groaned.
He wouldn't find her. He wouldn't find her. He wouldn't find her.
She was invisible. That was her super power. She was the Invisible Girl.
The footsteps stopped, really really close to her hiding spot.
You're okay you're okay you'reokayyou'reokayyou'reokay
Her body was quivering worse now, her muscles refusing to relax.
He can't see you he can't see you hecan'thecan'thecan't
The footsteps turned away, growing quieter.
Mackenzie sighed in relief, her shoulders dropping.
"Found you."
Mackenzie screamed when a hand gripped one of her legs and dragged her out of her hiding spot. "No!"
"Stupid girl," her father muttered and grabbed her skinny arm, yanking her to her feet and dragging her out of the attic, ignoring her cries.
"Stop it! You're hurting me!" Mackenzie tried to pull her arm free but his grip was like steel, squeezing hard enough that she was afraid her arm was going to break. "Let go!"
She fought to keep up with him as he thundered down the stairs. She lost her balance more than once, managing at the last moment to keep her feet under her. Tears stained her cheeks and her nose was running.
"That was too easy," he snapped, towing her down a hall behind him. "You're pathetic."
"I'm sorry!" she wailed. "I'll do better next time!"
One moment she was staring at the back of his head, the next she was staring at the wall.
Her breath caught in her throat, her lips parted. She blinked. Her wide eyes turned, slowly, to look up at her father. A pale hand rose to cup her cheek.
He glowered down at her, his gaze barely lucid.
She couldn't feel the sting, but she knew her cheek must've been turning red from the force of the strike. Her eyes went blurry with tears.
They were moving again, but she barely noticed. Her mind was numb, just like her cheek.
Her father shoved her into her room and slammed the door shut behind her, locking it. Then he lumbered away, muttering under his breath.
Mackenzie picked herself off the floor, having tripped over her own feet. But she couldn't stand. Her legs were weak with fear and exhaustion. So she crawled. She crawled over to her closet and she crawled inside, shutting the door.
She sat in darkness, her cheek beginning to sting.
She sat still for a long time.
Mackenzie didn't like that game.
She didn't like hide and seek.
He always found her. And he always got mad.
He wanted her to hide. He wanted her to hide good so he could look for her. But he got mad when he found her.
"You didn't hide well enough!"
"You're so stupid!"
"You can't do nothing right. You can't even hide."
"That was too easy."
Mackenzie sniffled, wiping her nose with the back of her hand. She didn't want to make him mad anymore. She would get better at hiding.
She was the Invisible Girl.
She just wasn't good at using her power yet.
The little nine-year-old smiled through her tears.
One day, she'd become invisible.
"You're not going nowhere tonight," he growled, standing in front of the door with crossed arms.
"Why not?" Mackenzie snapped, her hands fisting at her sides.
"Because I said so, brat."
"You're not my father."
Mackenzie dodged away from the hand that he swung to slap her. She smiled, quite proud of herself, missing the dark look of pure fury that crossed the man's face.
He slammed her against the wall and got in her face, his breath hot and putrid. "Listen here, girl. I might not be your father, but them child service runts seem to think I'm the next best thing for you so shuddup and do as I say."
Mackenzie cowered in his shadow, her heart racing. She turned her face to get away from his disgusting breath and saw her adoptive mother standing in the hall, watching them. As soon as their eyes met, however, the woman dropped her gaze and disappeared into the kitchen, not making a sound.
Her "father" backed off, straightening. She turned to look at him, at his angry eyes. He had his hands on his hips, a concentrating look on his face, like he was deciding what to do with her.
Finally, he said, "You'll go to your room early. No supper."
Mackenzie opened her mouth to protest, then paused, something nagging at her in the back of her mind. She sighed, defeated.
"Go," he ordered, and she trudged away, climbing the stairs to her room.
So she sat in her room until nightfall. And she sat in her room as her father locked her door. And she sat in her room . . . for two hours after her parents had gone to bed.
Then, at almost midnight, she crept over to her window, her arms shaking with the strain of trying to carefully lift the heavy frame. But finally she got it up, smiling because it didn't make a sound.
She stuck one leg out onto the roof below her window then ducked the rest of her body through. She closed the window once she was out, leaving a small crack for when she returned.
She grinned, breathing in the freedom as she spun around—
and froze.
The ground may have only been ten feet below, but to her it seemed like twenty.
Mackenzie swallowed, her palms beginning to sweat. She was afraid of heights. Always had been. That's why her father never bothered to lock her window. He knew she was too afraid to try to escape using the roof. Until now.
Mackenzie squared her shoulders, lifting her chin. She could do this.
The eleven-year-old got on her hands and knees and inched towards the edge, her hands shaking against her will. She paused, hesitating. What if she broke her legs?
No.
I can do this.
She turned until she was facing her window, lowering one leg over the edge, then the other. She lied down on her stomach, trying to control her breathing. She let her body slide, little by little, until she was hanging in the air, her hands gripping the edge of the roof.
She stared up at the night sky, trying to muster up the courage to drop down. Her arms shook from the effort of holding herself up.
I can do this.
She took a deep breath . . . and let go.
Time stood still.
Her hair whipped in the wind in slow motion, caressing the skin of her face. She blinked at the stars, captivated by the vastness of them.
Her arms were raised, level with her shoulders. Her sleeves danced on her arms, tugging upward as if they were trying to rip free.
Time resumed.
And she hit the ground.
She landed on her feet, her knees bending to cushion the impact. But she lost her balance, crashing onto her back. Stunned, she lied still for several moments, barely breathing. The rush of adrenaline from her fall still coursed in her veins, and she couldn't forget the weightlessness of her body when she'd let go.
Is that how the birds felt?
Mackenzie finally moved, climbing to her feet, her back aching. She paused, biting her lip. If she wanted to meet up with her friends, she would need money. And her dad never let her keep her money.
But she should just go now, while she was able to. She'd find a way to have fun with her friends without money.
But then again . . . taking his money right from under his nose would feel great.
Mackenzie breathed softly as she crept onto the porch and turned the front door knob. She winced when she opened the door too fast, a loud, squelching inhale breaking the silence as the door swept away from its frame. She tiptoed inside, but she wasn't used to walking around the house in the dark, and many times she lost her balance, gently knocking into things.
The money was in a hollowed out book . . . on the bookshelf. She found the bookshelf easily, but she couldn't find the right book, not in the dark. There was a lamp nearby. Light blinded her as she flipped on the switch.
She turned back to the bookshelf, blinking away the afterimages of the bulb that were burned into her retinas. Ah, there it was. She reached up and tipped the book towards her.
"What are you doing?!"
Mackenzie jumped, pulling the book off the shelf by accident. It fell to the floor and cracked open, money spilling everywhere.
Her adoptive father stared at it for a moment before looking up at her, his eyes alight with rage.
"I've had about enough of you," he snarled, stomping over as she backed into a corner. She tried to duck, but he grabbed her hair and tossed her out onto the living room floor. "It's no wonder why no one wants you!"
Mackenzie screamed when he kicked her in the side, once . . . twice . . . thrice . . .
"You're such a pain! You can't do nothing. You ain't going to be anything but dirt." He grabbed her by the arm and pulled her up, only to punch her down again. He straightened, watching her as she curled into the fetal position.
Her whole body shook and ached. She sent out a silent plea for help, daring to believe for one second that someone would hear her.
She heard him huff then go into the kitchen, getting a glass of water. She couldn't find the strength to move, her mind paralyzed.
He was coming back!
Her breath quickened and she drew her legs in tighter in anticipation, waiting for another strike.
But it never came.
He stepped over her body and walked upstairs, as if nothing had happened.
Mackenzie released her pent-up breath in a long sigh. She couldn't even find the strength to cry. She drifted off, right there on the floor, her muscles slackening until she was no longer wound into a tight ball.
And that's how her mother found her the next morning.
Mackenzie blinked open bleary eyes at the woman, who was shaking her awake. ". . . Valerie?" she mumbled, her body protesting with pain.
"You need to get up," her mother whispered. "You need to get up now."
Mackenzie could only stare at the woman as she helped the girl up.
Valerie had become an entirely different person. Gone was the submissive, silent woman. Determination shone in her eyes, and she seemed to glow with youth.
Mackenzie didn't realize how young her adoptive mother really was. She was only in her early forties, but she looked fifty.
"You were stupid last night," the woman hissed at her, a hand wrapped around one of Mackenzie's arms. She was surrounded in an air of urgency that the eleven-year-old had never seen before. "You were careless."
They reached Mackenzie's room and Valerie unlocked the door before pushing her inside. But she didn't just close the door and lock it—she stepped into the room and then closed the door behind her.
"You were clumsy," she said, her voice quiet, as she stepped in close to the girl. "You had no control over your body. Your thumping around in the middle of the night is what woke him. If you want to survive, you need to embrace silence. And I'm not just talking about sneaking around the house."
Mackenzie's eyes widened.
Valerie was always so quiet . . . She was always following her husband's wishes without hesitating.
Mackenzie had thought it was because the woman didn't have a backbone, but now . . . She realized it wasn't because Valerie was weak. Valerie wasn't weak—she was smart.
That's what had been niggling in the back of her mind earlier! Something had stood out to her, but she hadn't realized what it was.
"The only way to get through this," her mother continued, "the only way to get out—is to become invisible in every possible way." She tossed something at the girl, a container of cover up, who caught it awkwardly. "For your face. You're going to need it for school tomorrow." Then she left.
Mackenzie stood in her room, a newfound respect for her mother shining in her eyes.
But she didn't go to school the next day.
Or the next.
Or the week after.
Or the next month.
Instead, she stayed home while her father went to work.
And she researched.
She read every article—every tip—on stealth. She taught herself how to crawl without making a sound . . . then how to walk . . . then run, until every move she made was nothing more than a ghost of a whisper.
When she was shipped from foster home to foster home, there'd been only one thing she was adamant on—martial arts. She'd taken them her whole life, up until she was nine, when she was placed into the Hudsons' care, her foster dad refusing to give her anything she wanted. She didn't know how she ended up there, or how Frank Hudson had managed to adopt her.
Even though it'd been two years since her last lesson, she never forgot her routines. They were ingrained in her muscle memory. She'd been a quick study as a kid, and had swiftly moved up the ranks.
Now, after two years, she began to practice again. For hours on end, she'd be in the backyard while her father was away, working through the sequences. She spent time searching the Net on their only computer for new moves, and she started to develop her own style.
In the backyard they had a huge oak tree, with thick branches that towered above their heads. She would use the lowest branches to swing herself up among the limbs. The first few tries, she fell on her back, knocking the wind out of her. But she kept trying. And she finally did it.
Once she was perched on one of the branches, she began to climb—up, up, and up. She climbed until the branches were thin. But she didn't stop there. She dared to go higher, the taste of freedom making her mouth water and giving her goose bumps. She didn't stop until she could poke her head through the leaves at the top, the town spreading itself out before her.
At night, she snuck out to go hang with friends at the bowling alley. She never bothered trying to get the money again. She'd been stupid then. She no longer cared about such trivial things as getting back at the monster that lived down the hall from her. She only had one goal now—getting out, for good.
She went on like this for months, never slowing down—never getting caught.
Her father had no clue that she was skipping school. Her mother knew what Mackenzie was doing, but never said a word. She called the school and pulled her out, to ensure that no stray phone calls from the faculty would ruin everything.
She still played hide and seek with her drunken father, but this time she was letting him find her. She knew that she could hide from him now. He would never be able to find her. But she also knew that his anger towards her would be worse if she hid from him forever. She had to come out sometime, right?
Better to let him call her pathetic and useless than to get beaten from frustration that had been allowed to build for hours.
But things were getting worse, little by little.
Frank Hudson's sanity began to deteriorate—he'd already had a preexisting mental disorder, but he'd been on his meds while they fostered Mackenzie (she had figured out when she was older that that was how she got adopted, because he was almost normal then). His drinking grew heavier. He became more violent, slapping Mackenzie around after their games of hide and seek.
But she didn't retaliate.
She took Valerie's advice and just focused on becoming invisible. She trained hard, pushing herself to her limits and beyond. Because she knew that one day she wouldn't be able to practice anymore, and when that day came . . .
She would truly—finally—become invisible.
She was thirteen when it happened.
Her father came home early, slamming the door with a loud bang.
Mackenzie started, freezing with fear. Then she kicked herself and cleared out the Internet's browser history that was filled with topics on surviving alone. She turned off the computer and launched herself onto the couch, landing on the cushions just moments before he turned into the living room.
He'd been drinking. A lot.
His face was flushed and sweaty and he staggered on his feet. It was a miracle that he managed to get home without killing somebody with his car.
He sneered at her as soon as he saw her. "Go'ide," he slurred.
Mackenzie didn't have to ask him to clarify to know what he meant. She jumped off the couch and ran, her socked feet hitting the floor without a sound.
She propelled herself up the stairs, keeping her footsteps light and quick. She was practically wheezing as she tore down the hallway, towards her room.
This was it. The moment she'd been waiting for.
She threw her window open silently, having perfected the quickest and quietest way to open the panel a long time ago. She was on the roof in seconds, shutting the window after her, but she wasn't interested in getting to the ground. Instead, she went higher.
She jumped up and grabbed the edge of the attic roof, her legs dangling in the air. Her face was scrunched up in effort as she pulled the rest of her body onto the roof, her teeth bared at the strain. But she did it. She crawled up the roof's slope and over the peak, down the other side. Because on the other side there was a sturdy oak branch easily within reach.
She reached the lip of the roof, about to stretch for the branch—and scrambled to pull away, back onto the roof. There was a window to the attic right below her, and she could hear Frank inside, moving about.
In her hurry to get back, her body was left in a precarious position. The only thing keeping her from slipping off the roof was her hand, gripping at some of the shingles. But her grip was awkward and her hand was sweaty. Her legs shook from the struggle of trying to keep her from falling, but gravity was pulling hard on her.
She could her him, in the attic, screaming and throwing things around.
Just go away, she thought, desperate. She knew she couldn't hold on much longer.
She nearly sobbed in relief when she heard the attic door slam, but she didn't have time to celebrate because she lost her grip on the shingles and started to slide towards the edge.
You can do this.
Taking deep breaths, she prepared to jump, pushing off the roof a few inches to spare before reaching the brink. She soared through the air, arms stretched out.
"Oof!" She couldn't help but huff when she slammed into a tree branch harder than she expected, wrapping her arms around the wood to keep her from falling. Her legs dangled in empty space, the ground twenty feet below. She grunted, trying to hold on.
She had almost fallen to her death twice in about the same amount of minutes. Maybe gravity was getting revenge.
I'm sorry I didn't trip enough for you! she snapped, her teeth clenched as she adjusted her hold on the branch. I'll be sure to trip every day if I make it through this . . . Oh, gosh. I'm talking to gravity. Now I've officially lost it.
Mackenzie pulled herself up, struggling only when she couldn't find a place for her feet, but she eventually did. She found a sturdy branch to sit on, and she sat against the trunk, breathing deeply.
She did it.
She had to cover her mouth with her hand to keep herself from laughing out loud, her heart racing giddily in her chest.
She did it.
She was out.
She listened, softening her breathing. She heard him inside the house, yelling and throwing a massive temper tantrum. She had no doubt that the house would be trashed before nightfall.
The screen door that led to the backyard creaked open and shut with a loud snap. She looked down to see her adoptive mother striding towards one of the cars parked in the driveway, her coat and purse in hand.
Mackenzie smiled at the determined look on Valerie's face.
Jack Hudson had lost at his own game.
Valerie paused beside her car, the driver's door open. The woman looked up at the oak, spotting Mackenzie easily, even though the girl was well hidden. She had always known where to find her.
Though they had barely spoken to each other since that day two years ago, there was a deep respect between them, and Mackenzie was grateful for it. She knew that Valerie was too.
So when their eyes met—woman and girl, silent shadows, united by one common enemy—they didn't speak. They simply stared. Then Valerie bowed her head in acknowledgement and farewell to the girl, and Mackenzie did the same.
Valerie's lips twitched, as if she were about to smile, but she ducked into the car, a blank look settling on her face again.
Mackenzie watched the car pull away, then sighed, leaning back against the tree. She gasped, catching a glimpse of something through the leaves. She jumped up to climb higher, her body nimble as she moved among the branches, before settling down on a familiar branch at the top, where there was a break in the leaves.
It was the sunset. A glorious, fiery display.
Mackenzie had never seen anything so beautiful, her eyes wide in wonder. She'd forgotten what a sunset could look like. Ever since she came to the Hudsons when she was nine, she never got a chance to appreciate the sunsets anymore. Most times she was confined to her room during the evenings, and her window faced the east. While there had been some breathtaking sunrises, nothing could compare to the sunset.
Sunsets, no matter how beautiful they were, were always sad. They all had that same sense of finality, bathing everything in a warm glow that somehow made everything more beautiful.
Mackenzie inhaled softly, breathing in the fresh air. Sunsets reminded her of a quote she'd found and memorized, many years ago, by Jean Paul. "The darkness of death is like the evening twilight; it makes all objects appear more lovely to the dying."
For a long time, she'd watched the world as if she'd been dying. She held hope for others, especially her friends, but she couldn't find the strength to save some for herself. Did anyone else know what that was like? It was a question she'd asked herself many times before. Did anyone else know what it was like to hopeful and hopeless at the same time? Because it was the saddest feeling in the world.
She could never imagine her future like her friends could. Well, she knew what she wanted to do with her life. She wanted to be an architect. She wanted to design grand buildings and beautiful landscapes. But it had always seemed like there was a giant abyss in her way. In her heart, she truly believed that the abyss was her future. She'd spend the rest of her life falling farther and farther, floundering in the dark until—
Nothing.
Her life would be over, in the blink of an eye. She wouldn't have done anything special or impressive or awe-inspiring. She would just be a nobody, lost in the grey until she collapsed and didn't get up again. That had been her future. That had been the life she was prepared to live.
But not now.
Because she was free.
She watched the sunset with contented eyes. The sky was on fire, the clouds lit in a colorful display of oranges and yellows and pinks. The rays of the sun reached her through the leaves, and for the first time in a long time, she felt warm. She realized that the world was bigger than she'd imagined, and possibilities flew through her mind.
But she knew it wouldn't last.
As much as she loved the sun and the warmth it gave, it wasn't where she belonged. It was too easy to hide things in the daylight. People wore fake smiles to match their fake words and fake hair. The sun may be bright, but it was too blind for its own good. It's easy to lie to oneself, to others, during the day. It was easy to be ignorant.
No, she didn't belong to the light of day.
She belonged to the moon, to the darkness. The moon was reality. Its cold beams penetrated through the lies and the falsity. The moon was truth, harsh and unyielding. The moon revealed what the sun could not. It was at night that the monsters revealed themselves, removing the paste they put on their ugly faces to make them beautiful. It was at night that the monsters came out to play. She belonged there, in the veracity of life.
She hadn't been born into darkness. She could barely remember the feeling, but she knew she had been loved once. She had been born into light and warmth and love.
She chose darkness, and darkness became her ally. She realized that she did have friends that would always be in her life. They were as real to her as anybody else, and would be with her until the end. Silence . . . Darkness . . . The moon . . . She would never be alone.
She stayed in that tree until the stars came out and the moon shone brightly overhead. The lights in the house were still on, but she knew it was because her father had most likely passed out somewhere.
She began her decent down the tree, no more than a ghost of wind among the leaves. When she reached the lowest branch, she dropped to the ground, landing lightly on her feet, crouching down, her body lithe like a cat's. She could almost imagine her eyes flashing in the moonlight as she swiveled her head around, listening.
The world was quiet with sleep—not even a cricket chirped.
She grinned and jumped to her feet, racing out of the backyard and down the dark street. She danced in the middle of the pavement, where the streetlights on either side barely reached her. Her hair flared about her head as she twirled, laughing and smiling.
The moon, ever watchful, illuminated her from above.
Was it just her imagination, or did the moon shine brighter than normal that night?
She laughed again as she ran down the road, her heart lighter than it'd ever been for years.
Mackenzie Hudson had died in that tree the moment the sun dipped below the horizon. In her place, like a phoenix rising from the ashes, a new girl was born. A stronger girl that shone brilliantly like an angel in the moonlight, with nothing or no one to hold her back.
She was born in love, but she walked in solitude. She was born in warmth, but she became ice. She was born in the sun, but she loved the moon.
Mackenzie Hudson was dead. The girl she used to be was gone.
She was Selena now. Just Selena. No last name, no commitment. Just . . . Selena.
Selena grinned and tossed back her head, her arms thrown out to her sides as she spun around slowly and breathed in the cool night air.
She was the Invisible Girl. She'd finally mastered her power.
She skipped along, melting into the shadows of a broken streetlight—and never reappeared again.
As time passed by, people began to forget the little girl with the brown hair and pretty face and sad eyes.
But it wasn't until the last memory faded, like a gentle breeze that tugs at your hair and then departs, that Mackenzie Hudson was really, truly dead.
It's over now,
I can't go back to living through your eyes,
Too many lies.
And if you don't know by now,
I can't go back to being someone else,
Not anymore.
I never had the chance to do things my way,
So now it's time for me to take control.
Chapter soundtrack: Try It on My Own by Whitney Houston.
For my newcomers, I usually try to do a song to go with my chapters/oneshots. You don't have to listen to them if you don't want to, but I believe that music helps make the story more alive and memorable.
So? How was it? Hate it, love it, eh-it-was-okay? Drop a review and let me hear your thoughts. I love to hear what my readers think. :)
See you in Part Two.