A/N: So here is instalment number 2!!! Thank you SO MUCH to dasey1727,SlothKeeper, and melancholyblood for your awesome, and encouraging reviews! YOU GUYS ARE THE REASON THAT I WRITE!!!

So yay life and all that jazz!

Now, without Further ado, I bring you

Choices That Change Us

Chapter 2

When I come to, people are still screaming. Oh, jeez, my head hurts SO BAD! I can vaguely hear sirens through my haze of pain. OW! My dad continues to beat me, kicking my sides. My ribs are getting bruised pretty bad, but they're not broken. I've suffered enough broken bones to know when they are, or are not, broken.

The sirens are getting closer. I can see Nora sitting there, stone faced, doing nothing. Casey is screaming for help. Marti is crying and clutching onto Edwin's leg. I think Lizzie isn't even here today... maybe she's at a friends house...beats me...

"THIS IS THE POLICE! OPEN UP, OR WE WILL COME IN BY FORCE!" a voice booms, I think it's coming from the direction of the front door. My dad makes no move to open it. I think he's still kicking me, or something, but I'm not sure anymore... I've tuned myself out from the pain. There is a loud bang as the police shove open the door.

Two of them have my dad pinned against the wall and cuffed in seconds. He truly looks like a crazy man. His eyes are wild, his hair messed up. His face is bright red from anger. I would find it frightening if I weren't having remembering moments of my mom. She wore that same expression when the police took HER away.

Two paramedics come in and flip me over onto my back. I ended up on my side. They check my pulse and breathing. I can see a stretcher being rolled in with a gurney.

"No..." my voice is out of breath, like I've just run a mile.

"What was that, son?" I wish he wouldn't call me that...

"No... No stretcher..." I say. "Just help me up and I'll.... I'll walk my... myself."

"Alright," One says looking uneasily at the other. He shrugs. There no cloth put on my head to stem the blood flow, so I guess it either stopped, or they're waiting for.... something.

They each take me by the arms, and I put them around their shoulders. We follow the police (who have my dad cuffed and between them) out the door.

"SMEREK!" That yell breaks my heart... A tear threatens to escape my eye. I can't turn around, but I can picture Marti- Smarti's face. No kid should ever have to see their older brother beaten to bleeding point by their father.

I look straight at the ground where my head is angled. I can hear murmers around me and I know that Emily and the rest of the Davidsons' are part of the sea of horrified faces.

It's something I just can't face right now...

************************

When we get to the hospital, they take me into a room. A nurse walks in with an IV.

Oh no... no, no, no!

"No," I say it just as firmly as the last time. If they give me pain medication, they will have to scan me for other things in my system, thus finding out about drugs! See how that works?

The doctor looks at me, the question clear in his eyes.

"Just stitch me up and be done with it," I say through slightly gritted teeth. And stitch me up they do. They also make me take off my shirt so they can examine the bruises. I refuse to look at the damage. It'll just bring on the flash-backs like vomit. The whole time I just lay back on the hospital bed, staring at the ceiling.

"Ok there, Sport, you're all done!" God, what is with it and these fucking doctors and their pet names?!

I for one am straight, can't say the same for them though.

I sit up slightly in bed and lean back. The covers are pulled over me and soon after that I drift asleep.

... It's been a fucking long day.

************************

When I wake up it's morning. No shocker there, Shitless Sherlock.

A nurse comes in to check on me and tells me I have a visitor. I have no fucking clue who it is because I figure that Nora won't let the fam see me. But hey! Maybe someone will take the stick out that's shoved up her ass. There's still hope in the Queen Bitch.

Then a lady in her mid-thirties walks in. She is wearing a clean cut pinstripe suit, and her hair long, dark hair is pulled up into a tight bun.

Ha ha, this lady dresses like a...

AW HELL NO!!!

"Hell no..." I whisper, horrified.

"Excuse me?" she asks, one eyebrow raised. I already don't like her. Without waiting for a reply, she continues on. " My name is Andrea (pronounced An- DRAY- A) Demopolis, and I am with Social Services. I have been assigned to your case as it has been deemed by the Chief of Police, Officer Roberts, that your home is no longer suitable for you to live in. I will be taking you to live in a foster and or group home." She says this with a straight look on her face.

"W-what? I was expecting to have to go back with Nora... THAT would be better than this... Anything but this... Fuck you..."

Apparently I am rambling on in disbelief out loud, because she responds with a disgusted look on her face. "I am sure we will find you a decent home to live in. Your family, more specifically your stepmother, have packed up your belongings in your backpack and duffle bag. They are in the back of my car, and as you are being released today, I will be back here to pick you up in half an hour. Good day." She turns and walks stiffly out the door.

What the hell...

***********************

True to her word, half an hour later, there she is to pick me up. I still haven't looked at my reflection. It can wait a bit until I'm less depressed.

We drive around the shitty areas of downtown (which, incidentally, I am familiar with) until we come to a small house. It's pretty nondescript. It has yellowed siding, and the navy paint on the front door is peeling. The roof is missing half its sand-board shingles.

We get out of the car and walk up to the front door. (as I am being forced to call her)rings the door bell. It is answered by a short, ragged looking woman. She's probably in her mid-forties.

I can hear clanking, crashing, and even fucking screaming from inside! Kids running around inside. Two little kids are part of that noise, a little boy and a little girl. The boy is chasing the girl, trying to pull on her blonde pony tails. Another girl hops around like a frog, even though she's probably about nine.

She reminds me of Marti. A sweep of sadness washes over me and I shove my hands in my pockets and look at the ground.

"Derek?" I can hear Ms. Demopolis asking me. "Deeeerek?" I reluctantly look up. She takes note of my expression mentally, and her hand twitches as though she wants to write something. Ha, probably thinks she's a fucking therapist.

She looks at me weirdly, and I realize I'm chuckling under my breath. Oh well, let 'em think I'm crazy. I don't care! Ya hear?! I DON'T GIVE A FUCKING DAMN! THERE!

"Hello Derek, my name is Sandy. I'm going to be your caregiver." Good she didn't say- "or I guess as you kids call it now a days, you new Foster Mom!" Nevermind.

I glare at her. Her hyper smile falters and she finally stops. Thank god!

She shows me up to my small, hole in the wall room, and I put down my duffel and backpack on the bed. She leaves and I shut the door, pulling out a joint from my pocket as I do (they were already in there from school the other day, and I know that Nora doesn't care enough to actually know what she's packing for me).

I walk across the hall to the bathroom, smoking the joint as I go. Time for that mirror look. I glance up frown. It's worse than I thought it would be, but I guess it's not the worst that could happen.

A scar runs down the length of my face, diagonally. It runs all the way from my right eyebrow, across my nose, and down under my left eye. It is a dark red color, and the stitches have been taken out. They weren't needed for long.

My face is pale and my cheekbones stick out, making the red color of the scar even more prominent. I guess it's a result from not eating much, or not keeping it down I guess. There are dark circles under my eyes. Whether it's from drug use or sleep deprivation, I don't know. I lift up the hem of my loose t-shirt. Dark, angry bruises cover the area. I take a puff of smoke, and stub out the joint with the palm of my hand.

Sometimes life and depression are smudged together. Right now, for example.

All I feel is depression. There is no life left in me. Hmm... Maybe another joint will make me feel better.

************************************

Later that night, I find myself walking down my street and to the alley that I always meet Pete in. It's Sunday and tomorrow, I have to go back to school. (A/N: I dunno if that's actually right, but if it's not, pretend that I am God and that I can fix time, and control when there is no school ;) kk, back we go!)

"D!" There he is. "Man I haven't seen you since forever, how's it going?" he asks as we bump fists and start walking to the party. Then he takes a good look at me. "WHOA! Dude holy shit, what happened to your face?!"

"Oh that," I reply nonchalantly. "Nothing really."

"Come on man, cut the bull shit, I know something happened," His face is slightly worried. Despite the scenario, you know with the drug dealing and all, Pete and I have a pretty damn good friendship going on. Just as good, if not better, than my friendship with Sam and Ralph once was.

"Huh," I sigh and rub my hand across my face. I explain about the yelling match and about my mom's abuse. I tell him about how I am in a foster home now, everything. Everything. In return, he tells me about his story. It's something we never really discussed before.

"You know, those aren't my real parents. They're my adoptive parents. My real mom and dad were fucked up, Yo. My dad would get drunk every night and come home and beat the living shit out of me. If I cried, he doubled it. This all started when I was 3. The cops came and caught him when I was 10, but it didn't matter because by then, I had already gone through 7 years of hard core abuse. 7 years. They raided the house, you know, just for good measure, and they found my mom's drug stash. They arrested her too and so here I am."

We are quiet until we get to the street the party is on, each lost in our thoughts. People stare more than usual when we walk in and a lot of people go quiet as they catch a glimpse of my face.

"What's wrong with your face?!" Some dude shouts. Pete picks him up by the collar.

"You think there's something wrong with his face, boy?" he says threateningly.

"N-no," the guy stutters. What a whimpy ass! Mind you, Pete is quite intimidating... Wait, what the hell? What am I, frigging Oprah?

"Good," Pete says, throws the guy down. He gets off his ass and scampers away. "Anyone else think there's something wrong with my boy D's face?" No one dares respond. We both nod and the party continues like normal.

************************

BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!

I slam my hand down on my alarm clock. Ugh, school today. I wonder how everyone will take my "transformation".

Instead of pulling out my leather jacket and a polo shirt, I pull out a white long-sleeved shirt. I put a black one with red and silver graffiti on it over that, and pull on a black beanie over my now shaggy skater hair. I look in the mirror, and I see myself. I don't bother trying to hide my scar. The rumours are probably flying around. I wear my mark of pain proudly. It symbolizes the abuse that tore my family apart.

I walk downstairs and into the kitchen. Lily (the little girl who reminds me of Marti) is reaching on her tip toes to try and get down the carton of orange juice. A pair of fuzzy frog eyes rest upon her little brunette head.

"Whoa, hold on a second!" I say, lifting her up. She likes to be independent, but sometimes needs a little help. "There, how's that?"

"Good," she giggles. "Thanks, Derek!" she puts it down on the counter and bounds away. I shake my head. What a weird kid... and yet I find myself getting more and more attached to her with each passing moment.

I go outside and catch my bus just as it pulls up to my stop. I plop down in a seat near the back. There are few people on the bus, and yet I feel like a fucking zoo animal! I glare at them and they look away, pretending they hadn't been looking in the first place. Huh, yeah right.

I sling my backpack over my shoulder and walk into school. People stare at me (again) and at the scar marring my face. I ignore them. They whisper and point but I don't give a shit what they're saying about me. Let them think what they want.

"Derek?" Sam asks in disbelief.

"Sup?" I ask.

"What's with the get-up?"

I glare at him, and he flinches. Sissy. "You, Sammy Boy, are looking at the real me. You know everything I was before? Ya, that was a lie. Had you actually given a fucking damn and cared, you would have known that."

"So...um... I heard what happened over at your house on Saturday," he says scratching the back of his neck awkwardly.

"What did you hear?" I ask. I want to know what people are telling other people, who know it from other other people. (A/N: Props to you guys who got that!)

"Well, I heard that you and your dad had a big blow up about, you know, your mom and, uh, what happened and that your dad hit you. Emily says she saw you being dragged out by two paramedics, with blood all over your face, while the police arrested your dad," He replies indifferently. I could shoot him right now. But I don't have my gun with me. He doesn't know how lucky he is that I don't have it on me or I swear...

"Is that all you heard?" I ask, wanting to know more.

"Uh, no," he says, awkward now. "I also heard that you got put into a foster home. Casey said that Nora said that it was somewhere downtown."

I turn and look at my locker as I put my books in my backpack.

"I'm, you know, I'm sorry, man," he says. Yeah right, like you mean it dumbass.

"Whatever," I uncaringly throw over my shoulder, as I walk away. I turn back around. "Oh, and you can have my captains position. I won't be needing it since I'm quitting hockey."

Other people heard and I can hear my sneakers squeaking on the floor as I trudge through the shocked crowd to homeroom.

A/N: So what did ya think? THAT GREEN BUTTON IS GONNA CRY PURPLE COW TEARS IF YOU DO NOT REVIEW SO REVIEW!!!!

Don't betray it in such a way...

~Alanna XD