Disclaimer: I do NOT own anything, except for my OC.

Author's Note: I've been wanting to do this story for a while, just haven't really gotten around to it. I hope you like it, but if you don't then sorry about that.

WARNING: This story is rated T for drug and alcohol use, sexual content, language, physical abuse, and sexual abuse. The following is not for young viewers. You have been warned, so enjoy! ;)

To walk alone on the streets of Detroit at night, people would say you've got some balls. For a girl to walk alone on the streets of Detroit at night, they's say you have a death wish. But what the hell? Maybe I like living on the edge, maybe I like the danger, or maybe the dark streets are safer than being in my house. Whatever works for you.

A night in early November wasn't the best time for walking. Especially when you're wearing a short sleeved shirt and your skirt is as thin as paper. It worked well enough though.

There was a car up ahead, parked on the side of the road. Four or five men was standing around it. A warning sign to most, but a prayer answered to me. I kept going toward them, they finally noticed me. The five black men in sweat shirts and leather jackets watched me walk up to their car. I was a regular to them, that made me feel a little less afraid.

"Hey, girl. Looking for something?" One in wearing a black beanie said. When I got closer, he had a look of recognition on his lightly shadowed face.

"I might be. Got something for me?" I answered confidently.

"How much you got?" Another asked, stepping closer to me. He wore a black hoodie and grey sweats.

"Enough for an eighth. Wanna do business or what?" I shrugged. The young man in the beanie and the other in the hoodie exchanged glances. Even know I had bought from them before, I knew that you can never be sure when someone could turn on you.

The boy in the hoodie moved in front of me, he studied me for a moment. None of the others attempted to move as he motioned for me to walk with him. The deal was a success, I knew that already. The two of us walked up the street, maybe half a block. That's when he wrapped his arm around my waist, pulling me to his side. He reached down my shirt, taking the wad of bills and replacing them with a small, plastic bag.

"Thanks." I said as we walked a few feet further.

"Yeah." The boy said as he slowed and began to turn. "Watch yourself now."

I heard the footsteps behind me fade with distance, soon the wind in my ear was all I could hear. Just knowing that I had my fix, it made the need for it even greater. The only shitty part about it was that it was too risky to light up a blunt in the middle of the street. I'd have to go home. Not something I was looking forward to.

If only I had somewhere to go, a friend's place maybe. That was the thing about me though. I had no friends. I didn't need any, and I didn't really want any either. I was perfectly fine just the way I was and I wanted it to stay that way.

xXx

I was just across the street from my house when I could hear the muffled sounds of yelling and fighting. I walked across the road slowly, trying to prepare myself to enter the Hell that I had lived with for most of my life. By the time I reached the porch, my heart was pounding inside my head.

"I work my fuckin' ass off all day long to come home to this?! A fuckin' junkie?!" My drunken father grabbed my mother's wrist and pointed at the needle scars in the bend of her arm. Mom jerked free of his grip.

"You think you're any better you damn drunk? You're nothing, but a fat, fucking pig!" My mother had barely finished her sentence before my dad's hand came down on her cheek.

I winced at the scene, quietly closing the front door behind me. My goal was to slowly go for the stairs up to my room.

"And where you been?" The alcohol made my dad's voice raspy and threatening. My whole body froze. "Hey! I'm talking to you!" He shouted at me when I didn't answer.

"Nowhere." I muttered meekly. My eyes watched the heavy-set, scruffy man that was my father. He took a long drag from the cigarette in his hand.

"Don't lie to me, bitch." He said quietly.

"I went for a walk." I answered honestly, but he still didn't seem satisfied.

"Yeah, I know where you been. You been whoring yourself out to every fucking cock you see. Ain't that right?" He growled, taking another drag. I was numb to the things he called me, that part was nearly bearable.

"No. I was just walking." I whispered, just loud enough for him to hear me.

"What was that?" My father raised his voice a little. "Come here, girl!"

I felt my stomach begin to twist itself as I slowly walked toward him. The smell of liquor was strong before I was even arms length from him. I couldn't bring myself to look him in the eye, I didn't like to know what he was thinking.

"You wanna lie to me some more?" His raspy voice throbbed inside my head, almost as loud as my heart beat.

I shook my head no at him, keeping my eyes focused on the floor. Out of the corner of my eye, my father flicked the ash from his cigarette. I knew what was coming, but I didn't want to think about it. It's only pain, I said to myself.

"You're a fucking whore, everyone knows it. So, I don't wanna hear anymore of your damn lies, you hear me?!" My father shouted in my ear. I winced at the loud booming of his voice.

"Yes." I muttered.

"Yes, what?" He demanded.

"Yes, sir." I repeated.

"Good. Now, the next time you're out whoring on the streets, remember this." My father said as he took my wrist and pressed his cigarette onto my scarred skin.

A scream tore from my throat, but I knew it would only be worse if I jerked away. It's only pain. It's only pain. It's only pain.

"That's what's gonna be waiting for you next time I find out that you've been riding dick and choking on fucking cocks! You hear me, girl?!"

"Tom, you're hurting her." My mother screamed. My father released my arm and turned to my mom.

"What? You want some too?" He shouted at her.

I took my chance and darted for the stairs. I didn't stop until I was in my sorry excuse of a room. I pushed my dresser in front of my door after I locked it and threw myself down on the mattress that was laying in the middle of the room. This was the only place that I felt remotely safe. Well, safe enough to cry.

Tears mixed with mascara ran down my face. God, how I wish I had the fucking guts to just end it all. I had thought about it countless times, but I could never bring myself to do it. I always had some excuse. Either I didn't have a gun to do the fucking job, or I was afraid a razor blade would hurt too much. That was the ironic thing about me. I was terrified of pain, and yet I had lived with it my whole fucking life.

I sat up on my bed and took the bag out of my shirt. I stared at the weed in the bad for a moment, feeling of it under the plastic. Then, I reached under the mattress and pulled out a packet of rolling papers that was almost empty.

I always concentrated when rolling up a joint. It helped me take my mind off of everything else. I got the lighter out of my scratched up converse and lit end of the paper.

One. Long. Drag.

I loved the way it burned in my throat, the bitter taste it left in my mouth, the big white cloud it made when I breathed out.

xXx

I laid back on the bed, feeling completely numb. No more Amanda, no more of her drugs, her self-pity. No more Tom, no more of his alcohol, his yelling, his fucking cigarette burns, his hitting. No more pain that he'd ever brought me. This was my God. This was my Devil. This was my Heaven. This was my Hell.

There was always the easier, painless solution: run away. God knows I've thought that over plenty of times too. To run somewhere and never come back. Just the idea made me happy.

I had dreamed that I had someone who cared, someone who gave a shit. They would let me come to them and help me get away from this place. However, the reality was that I had no friends. Nobody cared. How long could I possibly last on the streets? Where would I go? Where would I go?

I raised my arm to look at the fresh burn. Just another page in the story that my body could tell. The early chapters were the scars and faded bruises. The newer chapters were made of vibrant purple splotches and fresh circular burns on my skin. That was Tom's doing. But the straight cuts on my wrist, that was my own destruction.

"Fuck it." I whispered under my breath as I rolled onto my side. Outside my window, I watched the night sky. The stars were covered by dark clouds, even they couldn't stand the sight of me.

"Fuck you too." I sighed before closing my eyes, allowing the distance sirens and cars lull me to sleep.