Author's Note: I don't know about you guys, but I absolutely love Seth Clearwater. I think he needs somebody special. So here she is.
Chapter 1: New Home
Why were moving to such a small town, I had no idea. But I did know why were moving so far away from where we used to live. My father wasn't stupid. He didn't believe that I kept having little accidents. Especially since those "accidents" hadn't started until after my stepfather had moved in with my mother and me. I couldn't understand why my mother had full custody of me when my father didn't even have visitation rights. It was obvious who was the better parent.
I was standing in front of the mirror in my new room, trying to imagine what other people saw when they looked at me. I thought I looked sick, breakable. My skin was too pale, my body too thin. A large but fading bruise covered my right cheek, while a very recent black eye marked the left side. But my clothes would cover the worst of the injuries. My long black hair made my skin look even paler, and my wierd purple eyes had a dead look in them.
I was supposed to be helping carry stuff into the new house, but I was hiding. My stepfather was angry because a lamp had been broken on the drive to the house. When he was angry, he usually took it out on me. I heard heavy, thudding footsteps walking up the stairs then down the hall toward my room. My stepfather was coming. I panicked and ran to the closet, closing the door and sliding down to the floor, shaking. I heard my stepfather enter the room.
"Where are you, you ugly, worthless piece of trash?" his voice called angrily. I didn't answer, but I opened the door a tiny bit so I could peek out. Bad move. The motion of the door caught his eye and he turned. He walked over and whipped the door open, an evil grin on his face as he saw me on the ground. He yanked me out of there by my hair, throwing me onto my bedroom floor and kicking me in the side over and over again. I moved my arm to block him from kicking the same place again, and his foot collided with my arm.
I heard the bone snap and I winced. Then the pain came. I cried out and he just smiled. He kicked me a few more times before picking me up and throwing me into the wall. His hand struck my face hard enough to send me back to the floor. I made no move to get up, just sat there, crying and shaking. He watched me for a second before throwing a heavy set of keys at me. "Drive yourself to the hospital. I've got better things to do," he growled. "Just remember, one word about this and you'll wish you'd never been born," he added.
It was a little late for that threat, but I made no comment as he left my room. After a few minutes, I struggled to my feet and walked out of my room. I heard him and my mother as I passed their new bedroom, and I knew what he meant by "other things". I walked out to the driveway and got into my car. I drove very carefully with one hand, hoping I'd be able to find the hospital soon. When I did, I parked and hurried into the ER, a fairly common place for me to be.
"Oh my!" the woman at the front desk exclaimed when she saw me. I was taken for X-rays and then taken to a small room where I lay on one of the uncomfortable beds. After a few minutes, a young looking doctor came in to the room. To say that he was good looking was the understatement of the century. "I'm Dr. Cullen," he told me. "Would you mind telling me your name, age, and what happened?"
"Well, my name is Briel Holt, and I'm fifteen years old," I told him. I still had the same last name as my father, and didn't want to change that any time soon. "My family just moved here from New York City. I was carrying a chair up to my room and I slipped and fell," I lied. It was simple, believeable, and it would explain my injuries. I didn't know if he believed me, but he nodded. "Your left arm is broken, and so are two ribs. I'd recommend taking it easy for a while until you feel better," he said.
They put a heavy cast on my arm and then let me out. I drove back to the house as slowly as I possibly could. Even though I had been told to take it easy, I would still be going to school tommorrow. I would use any excuse to get away from him. When I was eighteen, I was leaving for good. I'd live on the streets if I had to. Or maybe go to my real father. He still cared about me, even if nobody else did. But I wasn't allowed to talk to him anymore. I was alone.
When it got dark, I knew I would have to go home. And that he would be angry with me for coming home so late. I prayed that he wouldn't hit me again. I walked into the house and he instantly yellled, "Where have you been, you stupid waste of space?" "At the hospital," I answered, my voice shaking. He raised his hand as if to hit me, and I flinched away. He smiled at how he could control me. He allowed me to go up to my room after insulting and threatening me some more.
I stared out my window at the stars, pretending that I was older and all of this was behind me. I wouldn't be able to afford college, but maybe I'd be able to find a job that paid enough to rent a small apartment or something. I remembered my only friend from my old home. I wasn't allowed to talk to her ever again. I doubted I'd make friends at this new school. I wasn't exactly social, and I had always been avoided. My stepfather really had me alone this time. There would be nobody who could stop him. Nobody who would.
