AN: Okay. So this is my first fanfiction and I have no idea if I should continue writing this. So I'd really just like some feedback on this story. Pleaseeee?Thank youuuu. :)

Prologue

My mom's barely alive.

My brother hates me.

My dad abuses me.

I self-harm.

What else is there to live for?

That's until I met the boy next door.

Chapter 1

I press my back to the door of the bathroom. I can hear him screaming at me to "get my ass down there". I sigh and fling open the door. He's on his recliner, the one that he never allows anyone of us (my mom, my brother, and especially me) to touch.

"Yes, Daddy?" I answer. Short but sweet. That's been my mantra ever since I was 11. Short but sweet, short but sweet, short but…

"What were you doing up there, huh? Were you seeing someone, telling them about what I do to you, huh? Is that it, Clarissa?" He snarls at me, getting up from his chair.

"No, Daddy. I was…"

"Did I ask you to speak?" His voice was deathly calm, the way it was before he rapes me. When he hits me, it's louder, more violent.

"No, Daddy. I'm sorry."

My father smiles. "That's what I thought. Now come upstairs with me and your brother." He forcefully pushes me forwards. My dad looks over his shoulder and shouts: "Jonathan! Come on. Clary is ready to have a little fun."

In a few seconds, my brother's tall form flings itself down the stairs. He cast a glance at me, licking his lips.

"Yes, Father," he replies like the obedient son he is. Jonathan snakes an arm around my waist and pulls me to his side. I know not to fight anymore. I have the scars to show it.

They lead me upstairs to their torture room.

I know, it doesn't sound realistic. But when you live with people like my father and Jonathan, you'll learn to accept the fact that they're sadistic mutts with nothing to live for. So they take it out on me.

Anyway, I walk through the door, Jonathan beside me.

The room has white tiled floors so that they can easily enjoy the sight of my blood on the floor. The walls are white, the wallpaper slowly beginning to peel off. The room is filled with torture weapons.

In the center is the shackles. Wrist cuffs on top, ankle cuffs on the bottom. Above the wrist cuffs is a leash.

On the right, you've got the good old-fashioned whipping station. It's a large slab of wood on the floor. On the slab of wood are wrist cuffs. They let my legs free because they enjoy looking at me squirm.

Finally, on the left, you have the electrocution station. My least favorite. They have wires for every single part of the body. On the end of those wires, there is an electrocution bulb. It's small but it hurts like hell.

"So, Clarissa," my father starts. "You've been a bad girl. Not bad enough for the electrocution, unfortunately. But I think that you deserve a whipping and then we'll fuck you, alright? Alright. Now take off your clothes."

I do as I'm told. This is one of my milder treatments. I lift up my shirt, revealing a white cotton bra. I unzip my jeans and kick off my Converse. Jonathan gets to my bra clasp before I do. Daddy gets to my underwear while I lift my arms up. My brother starts sucking on my right nipple, thumbing the left nipple. My dad lays me on the whipping board as he starts licking and sucking my nether regions. I can hear my mom's own screams from downstairs. Another nightmare, probably.

"Enough, Jonathan," my father scolds. "Let's get her whipped. Then you can be the first to fuck her. I'm feeling generous today."

I roll onto my back, my wrists already captured by the thick black leather cuffs. I feel a sharp pain rip through the small of my back. Then my neck. Afterwards, it's my arms.

They roll me onto my back and take it from there.

When they're done, I quickly examine myself for bruises. They were never exactly gentle, but this was really rough this time. There were red hand-shaped marks on my waist and purplish bruises stretching from my elbows to my wrists. I look at my back and get a small glimpse of five identical red marks down my back, stretching from the small of my back to my shoulder blades.

I sigh, annoyed. I'm going to be late for school. Frantically, I run down the hall and check the fancy grandfather clock. It's 10:30. Shit! They really did make me late this time.

I run down to my room, bursting through the door. I dig through my closet, trying to find something suitable to wear without my dad screaming at me to change. I grab a pair of dark denim skinny jeans as well as a plain white long sleeve to cover up my newest bruises. I check the weather outside. It's cold enough that I can wear a hoodie. I grab a black He is We hoodie as well as the "My Forever: He is We necklace. I got it from my mom before her still-born baby girl. She became so distant afterwards.

"Clarissa!" I hear my dad scream from his recliner. "What the fuck are you doing up there that takes you so long? You're going to be late for school!"

I sigh heavily.

"Daddy, it's Sunday!"

"Are you trying to tell me what's right and what's wrong?"

"No, Daddy. I'm sorry."

"That's what I thought."

I quickly and silently creep down the stairs. I pull on some Converse and head out the door. Walking to the park just around the corner, I stop and see something unusual. There's moving van outside the abandoned mansion next door. My next door neighbor was Simon, my best friend. That is, until be moved to Alaska last year. Simon was my saving grace. I fell into a pit of despair and self-harm when he left. Daddy cut the phone line so Simon can't call me.

My eyes frantically search around for God knows what. That's until my green eyes meet with tawny ones.