AN: So I recently re-read the Gallagher Girls series and I fell back in love with it. Gallagher Girls was the reason I found and created an account. I started reading the fan fictions and didn't feel completely satisfied. I was looking for a specific type of story and I couldn't find it, so I wrote one myself.

Disclaimer: I do not own the Gallagher Girls series, I'm just a teen who spends all of her time in her room wishing she could be as bad ass as Cammie.

It has been four years, four years since he left for boarding school.

It has been three years, three years since that old wench took me.

It has been two years, two years since I have escaped.

It has been one year, one year since I have made a name for myself and beat out my own mother in the CIA rankings.

It has been six months, six months since I have been on the run.

It has been three months, three months since she has captured me.

It has been one minute, one minute since she left and forgot to close the window.

-page break-

"Why don't you just give up Cammie? I can make all your pain go away," the wicked wench tells me while carving the Circle of Cavan logo into my upper thigh. I grit my teeth and grunt in response. She finishes her masterpiece and stands up from her crouching position. "Ooh smell that? Smells like burning flesh is coming through the vents from the next cell over. They are currently branding our newest member, Cammie. I think you might like him, he's just a little older than you, 19 perhaps? I don't recall. Oh well. I would always have to leave the room during branding sessions. The smell makes my nose twitch. Let me just open this window." Catherine tells me while she crosses across the room after placing the blood stained knife on her tray. She approaches the 3 by 3 window and types the code into the black keypad. The window opens with a satisfying click. I can finally breath in fresh air. I have been stuck in this cell with the stale, recycled air for the past 92 days. She turns back around and faces me. "Breathe it in Cammie, consider it your 3 month anniversary present from me. Fresh spring air, my favourite season, did you know that Cammie? Spring is my favourite season, the bright sunlight, dewy grass and the longer days," she rambles on while absentmindedly fingering the knife she pulled out of her back pocket.

"I'm feeling generous today Cameron, I'm going to end our session early. Dinner will be in 7 hours," she starts to walk towards the door and reaches out for the door handle, "oh wait I forgot something!" She crosses the distance between the door and me quickly, with ease. She raises her right hand that still held the knife and brought it down quickly, effectively slashing my face, leaving a gash that goes a centimetre below my left eye all the way down, almost completely connecting with the corner of my lip. I gasp upon contact. "Next time you won't be so lucky," she sneers at me and leaves.

I take a moment to collect myself and observe my surroundings. I am sitting on the same wooden chair as I always do with my hands loosely tied around my back. Behind me is the blank wall with my blood splattered in multiple places. To my left is the tray with the torture devices that Catherine favours. She took all but the knife she used to cut my face which is now bleeding profusely. In front off me is the locked 2 feet thick, soundproof steel door.

I start to make work of my tied hands. As I finish untying them I feel a breeze blow my hair into my face. Wait, a breeze? I whip my head to the right so quickly I am surprised I do not get whiplash. I spot the window, still ajar. Hope rises to my chest. This is my chance. I rip the bottom part of my pant legs off and tie it around my torso and apply pressure to my face. Luckily, she missed all the major arteries in my face. I stand up slowly, testing my legs. Satisfied, I quickly survey the room for anything useful. I grab the rope and the knife off of the tray and tuck them in my waistband. I make my way over to the window and look out of it. I notice that I am on the ground floor and there is a forest about 100 metres from my position. "Amateurs," I scoff. I note my surroundings and note the security measures. Two cameras, one facing East, the other West. Good thing I'm going North. I slide out of the window and sprint across the distance without taking another glance back. As soon as I am covered my the trees I slow down and pace myself. I recall Catherine complaining about how the newbie took an hour to get her a coffee from Starbucks when town centre is only ten kilometres North. I was only running 15 km/h compared to my normal 30 km/h. But, I had to remember to pace myself and not push it considering my circumstances. I reach town centre and duck into a clothing store. If there is one thing I learned through working for the CIA is that disguises are everything. I grab a North Carolina baseball cap, some blue hair chalk, a pair of black cropped, athletic leggings, blue Nikes, and a plain white t-shirt and a blue hoodie. I pay for the items with a $100 dollar bill I snagged from a business man on the way here and try to avoid the odd stares.

I make a beeline to the pharmacy and pick up creams, bandages, gauze, ibuprofen and butterfly stitches. I pay at the till.

"What happened to you?" The cashier asked me.

"I got jumped by some drunk dude wanting money for a cab. My parents are outside right now," I tell them collecting my bags. He gives me a funny look, and starts checking out the next customer. I head to the washrooms at the back of the store. I lock the door and strip down to my underwear. I wash my hair and body in the sink using the hand soap, silently cursing myself for neglecting to buy hygiene products. I dress my wounds and apply the butterfly stitches to the gash on my face. I dress in the new clothes and stash my old ones in the garbage. I dry my hair under the hand dryer and brush it out with my fingers. I tie my stick straight, blonde hair into a ponytail. I dye the tips using the blue hair chalk. Liking the outcome, I secure my hair into my baseball cap and get dressed. I take one final glance at myself in the mirror, not even recognizing myself, I smirk. I tuck the now clean knife and rope back into my pants and decide that it is best to leave through the window. I open it and pull myself through. I land on the ground with a soft thud. I see a train station in the distance. I blend into the crowds and walk up to the ticket vendor.

"Hey there little lady, welcome to Charlotte train station, where ya headed?" The 42 year old vendor asked.

"Roseville, Virginia please, I have to visit an old friend," I ask in a perfect Charlotte accent.

"The 11 o'clock train come in 20 minutes, why don't you head down to the snack bar, you look like you need it," he tells me while I pay him and take the ticket.

AN: What do you guys think? Shall I continue? Alright, that's all, please review as it's always nice to have some feedback.

Kisses,

TwoSkiesCollide