A/N: Hi! This is my first FF, and I really need feedback. I'm not a great writer, I'm aware of that, but my aim is to improve. And to enjoy doing it! (By the way, a whole pile of this was written after three in the morning, if there are any mistakes, please tell me! I'm not a wonderful editor)

I own nothing except my OC.

From Your Lips

Abandon

To leave completely and finally; forsake utterly; desert.

My name was Ariel. I was lost, but I was found. This is my story.

I leaned my head back, letting myself stare at the snow dancing through the air, in some fatal and intricate ballet. Lethal. I swallowed and winced when I tasted blood on my tongue, the metallic bitterness threatening me to bring up an empty stomach. My palm hit the rough wall, eyes screwed tight to continue living. To find will.

But my body slid down the brick, so fast it ripped the skin on my back. The relief of sitting was not matched by anything, not escaping Them, not that night I found the unpicked bakery, when I could see the outlines of all my bones and the skin just hanging there, loose and useless. And surviving sure as hell didn't bring any relief.

Surviving was punishment.

Snow had come, falling deadly and beautiful. A few months after They invaded, when there was no one left and I was crying and broken, the cold draped itself over the city. The first day it fell, I was in the street, feeling the loneliness call out in that ghost-town with each solitary step. Each breath. And then, as if some majestic hand touched my cheek, a snowflake landed on my skin, cold and melting slowly. The despair was crushing, the realisation both brutal and strangely comforting. I was going to die. I could not have survived the winter, I didn't want to. So much death was in the air, burning my lungs. So I painted. I searched for art shops, stole some sketchbooks and paint, pencils and erasers. I painted until everything else didn't matter, and the world faltered in its misery. Until I was delirious in the frozen air and staggered in an alleyway. The watercolours bled prettily into the blizzard.

Cold whipped around me, biting at my hands and face, leaving them red and angry. My feet stuck out in front of me, barefoot in the ruthless chill. I saw the grime, the bones protruding nastily. I thought of wildflowers and honey, of pleasant rooms and blank canvases. Images of unopened paint tubes, of primary colours, and the flawless shade you stumble upon after hours of pedantic mixing drifted through my mind.

I thought of my mother, her huge personality and ridiculous skirts. I thought of the way she put on lipstick, blotting repeatedly, instead of putting on one coat. Her eyeliner, dramatic and fabulous, much like her departures, me in the corner, looking after the door she just slammed, telling me don't wait up. Of her popping yet another button on her work blouse, her bra neon under the white shirt, her waitress outfit looking more ready for a bachelor party than actual work. Sexy to get tips - "You have to give them what they want, Ariel, just to get what you want. It's win-win."

Win-win.

My brain slowly drifted into darkness, and broken black filled my head.

I surfaced confused and tangled in sweat-drenched bedsheets.

My breathing was hard, my were hands fisted to fight off some forgotten nightmare. When my eyes first opened, it was dark, in that unchartered time before dawn, where you have another day to face. More mistakes to make.

Watery shadows were thrown across the room, distorting hospital beds and machines. It felt like a dream, or a nightmare, that stillness that's almost eerie. You know something is coming, something is wrong.

The wait.

I cleared my throat, the sound coming out warbled and rough. I tried to move my arm to my neck, to give some comfort, but pain shot up my limb. A small noise escaped me, a mixture of pain and pathetic feelings bubbling over. I knitted my eyebrows. I felt too happy, too painless. Worry made it's way through the mist.

A small-boy made a small-boy noise, one where they're having a nightmare. It's a cross between a whimper and a cry, making you feel like the worst person in the world for letting them sleep on. He made it again, and a little thing broke inside me.

"Hey..." my hoarse voice broke a tightly-spun silence. "Hey, kid."

Someone else shifted in their sleep, made a tired noise. I glanced over, the moon lighting another boys face, maybe a little older than me. He rubbed his eyes, mouth open and shirtless. The moonlight hit his scars weirdly, illuminating them violently. They spiraled down his torso, erupting at his neck. I blanched, drew back as if I was burned.

He noticed me, frowning. "Sorry." he said, his voice strained. He reached over and snatched a shirt off the nightstand, started buttoning angrily. I made a neutral sound, which felt unnatural in my throat, it was too small, too intimidated. He looked at me, his fingers still working on his shirt. The moonlight was hitting the side of his face, setting silhouette shadows on his skin, making him look beautiful and dangerous all at the same time. I wanted a camera, to keep this second alive.

Our breathing spilled into the quiet, it became a game. His dark eyes locked on mine, and somehow I didn't look away, just watched the tightness between his eyebrows, and wondered if he ever relaxed. The blooming bruise across his cheek, dark on his pale skin. Two statues in the night. He still kept his hands on the collar of his shirt even after it was done.

That is, until small-boy let out a cry in fright. His eyes still closed, his eyebrows were crumpled and folded, and a smattering of baby-tears appeared on his cheeks. The older boy was on his feet instantly, half jogging over to the bed where small-boy lay sobbing. He put his hand on the small boys back, seemingly huge on something so tiny. Making slight, calm sounds with the back of his throat. Shaking the boy, he murmured "Matt... Matt wake up."

"Mom?"

A small, little second of horror flickered through the older boy's face. He took a breath, "No, Hal." A little pause, and Hal, the older boy, frowned. "Your brother?"

Fresh tears escaped the boys eyes, downcast and folded. "Oh." his voice broke.

I tried to clear my throat. It came out mangled, too loud. Hals head snapped over to me.

"Where am I?"

"You're safe." He seems to doubt his own words.

A flare of fury started within me, and I was hissing the words before I could think.

"No one is ever safe." They sounded menacing, low and dark. I was startled for a moment, it didn't seem like they came from my mouth.

But he just nodded, slow and thoughtful. Approval. The small-boy, Matt, slung his arms around Hal's neck, and closed his eyes.

"You know, no one told me your name."

"Ariel." He raised his eyebrows, but ignored it.

"I'm Hal."

He offered his hand out, releasing it from his brothers back. I grasped it tight, it felt right, as if my hand was born to fit in his. He was cold where I was warm, my hand soft where his was calloused. I smiled softly at him, let him go.

"You should get to sleep, Ariel."

"You should too."

Hal smirked. "I will if you will."

"Deal."

What do you think? It's a bit short, I know. Needs a lot of improvement. Be as critical as you like, (I'm a big girl, I can take it) but no non-useful/practical/constructive anger please! Really, I would love to know thoughts on it.

(Also, Hal's scars are a creative license)