AN/-Disclaimer: As usual I own nothing except the plot and Briar. Expect the story to be littered with songs and lyrics. All songs are property of their respective owners. Yes, I'm aware a lot of the songs that'll be used weren't around in the time this story is set but as this is fan fiction, anything is possible, right? Usual situations apply. Violence, cursing. For the squeamish, please note that this story deals with self mutiliation; suicide attempts; some very uncomfortable slightly taboo situations. You have been warned.

Prologue -1997

Pain, without love

Pain, I can't get enough

Pain, I like it rough

'Cause I'd rather feel pain

Than nothing at all

3 Days Grace had been on repeat all morning.

Briar hadn't come down for breakfast. Nothing unusual in that. Once, she had been a fairly normal kid; an average moody teenager. Than when she turned fifteen all of that had changed. When she was fifteen, she also met her step-father, a famous wrestler by the name of Mark Callaway.

Soon after she had fallen into the wrong crowd, refusing to give up her 'new' life. Drugs, drinking and sex soon followed. She wound up in trouble with the law several times; went through boyfriends who were always as bad as her if not worse.

She was nothing but trouble. But that was the story of her life. She had always been nothing but trouble.

Sighing, Theresa looked up at the ceiling; rolling her eyes. "Briar, turn that shit down!" She screamed.

This life is filled with hurt

When happiness doesn't work

Trust me and take my hand

When the lights go out you will understand

If anything the music only got louder.

"Worthless, bitch." Theresa muttered.

***

Briar was sitting in the middle of her bedroom, a cigarette between her lips as she stared down at her wrists. The faded, cream carpet felt scratchy against the backs of her thighs. She looked so innocent. Her long black hair falling neatly down her back, over the plain white tee shirt she wore; matching white panties covering her lower extremities.

But the vision of innocence was marred. Firstly, by the cigarette that dangled off her bottom lip. Then there was her body, what was visible. Scars and fresh cuts lined her wrists and inner arms, her thighs were the same way.

In her right hand was a knife, a sharp knife; her favorite knife. She had bought it when she first entertained the idea of cutting herself. At first, she had merely studied the knife, fingering the blade from time to time.

Then as her inner turmoil got worse, she got braver. At fifteen, Briar had been sloppy with her cutting. Now at eighteen she was a pro. She knew how deep she could cut without seriously harming herself. She knew that the first slice would bring the sweetest pain, the blade cutting through her skin; the sharp stinging sensation would spread across her skin as the blade went deeper. Blood would pool for just a moment then spill, streaking her pale flesh like paint splattered against a canvas.

Physical pain was a release for her emotional anguish. Life had spiraled out of control and Briar didn't know how to get it back. Maybe she didn't want it back. Maybe she just wanted a way out.

Holding the knife steady, she inhaled deeply.

Pain, without love
Pain, I can't get enough
Pain, I like it rough
'Cause I'd rather feel pain
Than nothing at all
Rather feel pain than nothing at all
Rather feel pain

Then all was silent.

***

"What?" Mark roared into his cell phone, bolting upright in bed. His eyes widened with every word coming from his wife's mouth. "Fuck… I'll be there." He hung up and rolled out of bed, running his hands through his hair.

Briar; his step-daughter, was in the hospital.

He hastily stepped into his jeans from the night before, rolling his eyes when the woman he had picked up the night before groggily raised her head off of her pillow.

"C'mere, I'm not finished with you." She murmured sleepily, crooking a finger at him.

"Gotta go." He grunted, now lacing up his boots; a shirt already covering his chest. "Got work to do, honey." Snorting, Mark swiped up his duffel bag, his essentials having never been unpacked and walked out of the hotel room without a glance back.

"Briar, what have you done?" He whispered as he walked, knowing it was very likely she had crashed her latest car in another drunk driving accident. Or maybe a fight where she had come out the loser.

***

Theresa was waiting for her husband in the hospital parking lot, a cigarette dangling from her yellow tipped fingers. Her bloodshot eyes were rimmed in red and filled with worry. "She slashed both arms." She said the minute Mark was in front of her. "From here, to here." She gestured from wrist halfway to the elbow. "Along the vein. Doctors stopped the bleedin' but…" Her frail shoulders began to shake. "Mark, she's been cuttin' herself for years they said. They found scars and cuts all along her arms and even on her legs."

His face was growing grimmer and grimmer with each word coming from her mouth.

"They found drugs in her system, again." Theresa continued, oblivious to her husband's sudden mood change from worried to irritated. "When she's able to leave, they're recommending either a wellness program or an institution."

This was not the time for Theresa's dramatics. "It'll be fine." He stated, sounding mildly annoyed. Briar had been a beautiful girl when he had first met her, so sweet and innocent; what the hell had happened? Then again, her mother used to be a beauty too. After less than five years of marriage she was already looking more and more like a hag. Shaking his head, Mark took her cigarette and tossed it aside. "Stop that crying."

***

Briar was awake, staring out of the hospital window from her bed. She was listening as her doctor explained she was suffering from depression; wondering if he was for real. Snorting, she turned to face him, one black eyebrow raising coldly. "No shit?" She drawled, raising her heavily bandaged arms up as far as the restraints that kept her in bed would allow. A grim smile marred her otherwise beautiful face, her gray eyes cool. "Whatever gave you that idea, doc?"

"We also found cocaine in your system." He said, clearing his throat; obviously trying to ignore her tone and mocking words.

"So?"

"You'll need to go to rehab."

Briar snorted at that. Her eyes widened then narrowed when the door opened, seeing Mark following her mother into the room. "Aww… how sweet. Daddy comes running home for his baby."

Mark studied her for a moment, taking in the wild look in her eyes; the barely hidden rage and anguish lurking beneath the insanity. "What the HELL is wrong with you, girl?" He demanded, anger rolling off of him in waves.

Theresa opened her mouth and instantly clammed up when he held up a hand.

"I was dragged off the road, during a tour, for THIS? Look at you. You're sick and you need help, Briar." Mark sighed heavily, not believing this. What a waste of his time. When Theresa began crying, he all but shoved her out of the room. "Damn fool woman." His eyes were on Briar, taking in the padded cuffs on her arms. "You're going to a mental institution, kid."

Briar laughed him out of the room.