Warning: If you are not okay with blood, cutting, mental disorders, drug abuse, suicidal characters, character deaths then I would not advise reading this. Even if it is just lightly initiated. Please be aware that this is rated T/M, not just T.

CiNdEr: (inspired by horse-crazy girl13's Cinderella)

Summary: Just another Cinderella story...only with a dark twist. Where does a cutter find her Prince Charming? And where does a drug addict find his Princess? The answer is not a castle, but a mental hospital. "I want to be Cinderella, but how am I supposed to find my Prince Charming in a mental hospital? And what if he's insane?" Annabeth Chase's father remarried after her mother died from Cancer, adding a wicked Stepmother, and two cruel twins. Annabeth doesn't beileve in a fairy tale ending, especially with arms like hers. Can a green eyed drug addict prove to her that there's more to life than just pain? Or will Annabeth never become the Cinderella she wants to be since she was little? Rated T/M.

"A dream is a wish your heart makes when you're fast asleep. In dreams you will lose your heartaches. Whatever you wish for, you keep. Have faith in your dreams, and someday, your rainbow will come smiling through. No matter how your heart is grieving, if you keep on believing, the dream that you wish will come true."- Cinderella.

Chapter One: Once Upon A Time
Annabeth's P.O.V:

"So you're going to leave me," I speak the words blandly. Like I'm reading out of a chapter book, stating the facts. "You promised me you never would." Her pale, thin hand reaches over and grasps mine tightly. I rip my hand away, knowing that she's too frail to attempt closure again. Tears are glistening in her eyes, that used to be a bright, lively grey. Now, they're as dark as death.

"Some things are out of my control," she exclaims slowly, and I can see the longing for my prescience in her expression. "I don't want to die, Annabeth. I want to stay here with you and your father, and live to see your grandchildren-"

"-but you gave up."

She coughs, choking on the words that she had began to speak. Her eyes are watery, and her pale face is turning the grimy color of yellow. I see my father through the shades of my mother, Athena's room, pacing back and forth. His hands keep flying to his hair, like he's trying to rip out pieces. Like he's trying to rip out the fact that my mother won't be here in the years to come.

"Mommy didn't give up." She tries to compose herself, as she's thrown into another hysterical coughing fit. "Annabeth. Please listen. You're old enough to be strong for your dad and for me, right?"

"I'm only twelve," I say flatly, leaning against her bed post. "I think that hardly qualifies me." She lets out a sigh, like she had been expecting this to be my reaction.

"Anna-banana, I love you so much, do you know that?" I freeze, at the mention of the nickname she used to say to me when I was little. Hesitantly, my ice barrier begins to melt. Mom's going to die. I finally realize this. Tomorrow, she won't be breathing. The air will be stolen from her lungs. Her body will be cast away to the stars- taken from me. Snatched away, to an unfair fate that she never deserved. "To the moon and back."

I nod curtly, trying to blink back the tears that keep swelling in the corners of my eyes. "To the moon and back."

I grab her hand and place it in mine. I want to squeeze it tightly, but I know it will only make matters worse. "I love you, mommy." My voice catches at the end of the word mommy, what I used to call her when I was young. When I was still thriving in the innocence of childhood. When I still believed that nothing bad could ever happen to those I love. "I'm sorry I was being so difficult."

My tears eventually overwhelm my fight, and I allow them to spill over. She captures my head in between her hands, pulling my thin body against her own. Despite everything, my mother still looks beautiful. Her eyes are dark, but that determination is still there. She had lost all her hair, but the wig replaced her baldness. Her face was tear streaked, but that thoughtful look was always there. I lean into her nightgown, soaking the shoulder to it.

"Don't leave me! Please, mommy. No!"

"Sh, baby girl. Calm down. Everything's going to be okay- even without me."

"I'll always be with you," she continues, trying to calm me down. "In your heart."

I scowl into her dress, leaning up ever so slightly. "I don't want you in my heart! I want you here."

"I'm going to miss you. But, always know that we'll see each other one day."

"How long?" I question, longing for the security of a mathematical number. "How long until I see you again?"

Her face is dead serious, as she runs her hand along my face. It's cold now, like it's not even alive. "Hopefully not for a long, long time. I want you to live your life, Annabeth. Don't waste any moment, because a second just as precious as a lifetime. I don't want you to die, now, or soon. I want you to die as an old lady-wrinkles and all."

"I want you to fall in love, have kids. Become the famous architect I know you'll become. I want you to LIVE Annabeth. And always know, that no matter what, I'll be there for you. In heaven or God knows where else, I'll be there. You have to promise me something, Annabeth."

I nodded, more tears cascading down my cheeks, the sound of my sobs quieting until they ceased altogether. "Anything."

"Promise me that you'll live your life to the fullest. That you won't let others push you around, like you're a puppet on strings. That you'll have hope for yourself and the world. Promise me."

I swallow down the lump beginning to form in my throat. "I promise."

We hugged then, are arms wrapped around one another tightly, like we were afraid to let go. Like she would drift into the stars if I didn't hold her down, like I was afraid she was going to slip through my fingers, like sand.

She died the next day.

"What is this?" The feminine voice shrieked in disgust. "Ugh, it's disgusting."

"Absolutely revolting," the other girl sneered.

My eyes peeled open, shutting at the bright sunlight that was pouring through the bedroom window, in long streaks of yellow. The last remains of my dream were beginning to disappear with my awakening. It was a horrible, sorrow filled nightmare, but I couldn't remember the contents of it. It was fading quicker as I slowly drifted back into consciousness.

I gasped, sitting abruptly up when I realized that the two voices were not just in my subconscious mind. Fighting back the urge to curl up into a ball and fall asleep, I glowered at the two teenage girls rummaging through my closet.

Throwing myself up I snarled, " and what do you think you're doing?" I fought the urge to flop back down on my bed as blue spots danced across my eyes from standing up to soon.

My eyes flickered to the clock. Seven a.m.

They both exchanged an amused look, throwing down my plain Jane grey sweater to the floor. Mattie stared at it, like it was a bug just daring to be squashed by her designer boots. Meanwhile Barbara was having fun reading through my diary-

"I'll never forget that dream. I have it almost every night. It's a man, with bright emerald eyes, like little tiny pieces of seaweed-"

I chucked a pillow at her, fumbling with my blankets. She evaded my plush pillow easily, though, sidestepping. "That's private!"

"Not anymore," Mattie chimes in, her brown straightened to perfection. Her malicious lip gloss smile is enough to make me want to cut again. Speaking of cutting, I better pull down my sleeves. The last thing I want was for those two wicked step sisters to know about my, uh, little problem.

Barbara continues, "and he stares at the stars on some random shitty building- really Annabeth? You shouldn't swear. What would mother think?- and wishes for something. Not just something, me. He wishes for me."

Mattie snickers so loudly, she has to lean up against my dresser to keep her balance. Meanwhile, my face felt like it was igniting on fire. I blushed harder, jumping out of bed.

"Give me that- now." I glare at her, making my expression as intimidating as I could humanely make it. Was that my imagination, or did fear just flash through Barbara's eyes? She stumbled backward, waving it above her head, Barbara's look of fear replaced by smugness.

And I'll have you know, that didn't do wonders for my pride.

"Aw, come on bitch. If you want it, you're going to have to come and get it."

Making my voice high pitched and screechy at an attempt to mimic Barbara's words (I have to say, I did pretty well) I retorted, "Really, Mattie, you shouldn't swear. What would mother think?" She sent her sister a stern look, and Barbie shrugged in response. All everyone and anyone called her Barbie, transforming her name into something more catchy. I would have preferred Barbie Bitch, but we all don't get what we want do we?

Anyways, when I said 'anyone' I really meant anyone except for me.

I was a loner, the girl who sat alone at lunch. The girl who was picked on by everyone. The girl who chose books rather than looks. The girl that everyone despises, including myself.

I hate myself. I'm not proud to say it, or even think it, or carve it into my skin, but I know it's the deadpanned truth. I'd be dishonest if I stated that I loved myself.

My hair was curly and honey suckle colored, but I kept it hidden under my Yankees Cap...the last thing my mother ever gave me to me. My skin was naturally tan, the only good thing about me. I normally wore blue jeans, with a random t-shirt, and a thick hoodie/jacket. No one could know about my secret. And no one was going to. I suppose I'd have more friends if Barbie/Barbara hadn't labeled me as the school's loser when I transferred over to their private school. Yancy Academy. Though, it should really be called Mattie and Barbara Academy- the school where everyone worships the ground that they walk upon.

My hand twitched, and I snapped back to my thoughts. I already wanted to escape to the haven of my bathroom, and cut again. These urges mostly happened when I was anxious or stressed...so yeah, every second of every day.

She chucked the book at me, rolling her brunette eyes. "Whatever, Annie. I have better things to do than socialize with...miscreants."

"Right," I said sarcastically, brushing my bangs to the side. "Because the term miscreants is totally edgibale in the twenty first century."

Barbie stepped in, hooking her arms through Mattie's. Needless to say, they were best friends and worst enemies. They were ambivalent with one another, making dinner conversations very interesting. Not that anyone talked to me anymore.

Fredrick (as I called him now) stopped speaking to me as soon as mom passed away. At first, everyone had claimed it to be his grieving time and that was his way with dealing with it. I had accepted it, and had waited and longed for the day when he would give me an Eskimo kiss and scoop me up in his arms.

That day never came. And a year later, he met Helen and was...happy.

His grieving time was over and I realized that I had mistaken grief for hate.

He couldn't even look at me without cringing in disgust and hatred.

That was okay. I was used to it.

"Oh. My. God! Annabeth, I have no idea what you just said. Try taking a charismatic class or something. You're like, totally socially retarded."

I sent her an icy glare as they sashayed from the room, their hips swaying in perfect alignment.

"Oh, and Annabeth? Happy birthday."

As soon as there skimpy asses were out of my room, I slammed the door, locking it tightly. I exhaled deeply, sliding down the door like they did in those cliché movies.

I rested my head in my hands, my forehead already beaded with sweat.

"Mom..." I whimpered, squeezing my eyes shut. "I miss you."

There was no response, other than the cackles from downstairs.

. . .

I was thirteen years old. I shouldn't be doing this. No, I couldn't be. This had to be a dream, as I held the razor with trembling hands. I stared at my reflection in the mirror. Pale as a ghost, hollow grey eyes, with no emotion cast in them. Frizzy hair, the curls messed together in tangles.

I turned away from the lifeless girl in the mirror and back to my arm, which was fully exposed.

The physical pain distracted me from the emotional pain.

I bit my lip, my teeth sinking into it as I pressed the coolness up to my flesh.

Then, I sliced.

The blood appeared quickly, and I winced in pain, but felt a rush of endorphins take the pain away. I felt relieved, better. Without my razor, I don't know what I'd do. It felt like I was floating on a cloud, adrenaline pumping through my veins. And for a moment, I forgot.

I forgot that my own father hated me. I forgot that my mother was dead. I forgot everything...except for the blood.

It was exhilarating, the rush. And the five second amnesia, too.

Even if my memory loss was only momentarily, it was completely and utterly worth it. It was worth the battle scar that I'd have forever, because for once in my life I felt completely. Whole. I was living. Wasn't that what my mother wanted me to do? Live? Well, I was living now. This was the definition of liveliness.

But, as the blood continued to cascade down my arm in a bloody river, my memory was back. My mother was dead. My own father hated me. My father was marrying a women he had only known for three months.

I sighed, leaning my head up against the glass, letting the blood drip to the floor like teardrops. In a way, they were like tears. Tears of blood that wanted to be released. And so I freed them.

The schedule was the same every day.

Deep breaths. Slice. Flesh connecting with a blade. Blood. The rush. The endorphins passing. The pain taking its place.

Then, the dark line taking the bloods place.

And finally, there's the remorse.

And depending if I'm feeling up to it, I do more than one slash.

But it was always the same. Exactly the same procedure, over and over.

And out of all the steps, the regret was the worst.

. . .

I swallow down the lump that was growing painful in the back of my throat. But, I would not cry. Not in Helen's house. I was too prideful for that. I brushed myself off, fixing my baggy, grey pants and my long sleeved blue t-shirt.

Another year.

Another day.

And another meaningless birthday.

I grab a beanie, tying my frizzy hair up, before stumbling out of my room and down the stairs. Of course, they're waiting for me, with their perfect little dresses that the girls at Yancy Academy only dream of ever getting.

"Hello, Annabeth."

"Um...hi?"

At first, I thought maybe just maybe, Fredrick and Helen hadn't forgotten my sixteenth birthday.

And of course, I was proven wrong when a long list was practically shoved in my face. The list.

The dreaded list. I practically cringed whenever I saw the paper, Helen's sloppy cursive all over it. I mentally counted the list of chores on the paper 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, etc, etc.

"There's twenty chores to do?"

"Yes, sister. In fact," she pointed at an invisible watch. "You better get started right now. They might take you a while."

"But-but it's my... birthday." Mattie and Barbie glanced at each other, before erupting in a fit of giggles.

"Like mother cares. Honestly, Annabeth. I thought you were smarter than that to have actual hope." I sighed, slowly sinking down to the last step of the stairs. I groaned quietly, pressing my back against the wooden step. Even though it was covered by a rug, it was still uncomfortable.

"Oh," Barbie said, clicking her tongue in a petty fashion. "I think Annie thinks that because it's her sixteenth birthday mother will cut her some slack."

My mouth fell open, half ajar, as my cheeks heated up with anger. Slowly it clamped up when I recognized the truth behind they're words. They were right. I was expecting something different. Maybe just one birthday wish; "happy birthday, Annabeth. Even though I hate you, you are sixteen." Or maybe, "because it's you're sixteenth, you don't have to do any chores." I had hope.

And hope was the enemy.

Mattie giggled, swinging herself around on the staircase ledge. We were all in the same grade at Yancy, and I sometimes found myself thinking that if the twins were younger, my life would be bearable to say the least. "Silly, Annie."

"It's a school day, too!"I protested, pulling my knees up to my chin. "How does Helen expect me to finish all these chores before school starts?"

"Helen expects you to do it after school," a cruel familiar voice sneered from the kitchen. I really wished that it wasn't familiar...

Helen strut into the room, her brown eyes glazing over my appearance. She had a fiery red dress on, that hung in frills at the ends. She had on a black work jacket, with red heels strapped to her faux tan legs. Her brown hair was in a bun, that stylists would call perfection. Helen Troy was the perfect image of step mother, and I could see why Fredrick had fallen in love with her so quickly. She was beautiful, but not as beautiful as my biological mother. While Helen looked like something that came from a bottle, Athena didn't need to try. I cringed as I noticed that Helen had on her signature scarlet red lipstick, making her resemble the queen of hearts.

Once I composed myself, I managed, "It's the last week, Stepmother! We have a lot of homework, and we're reviewing study guides for the exams. There's no possible way that I could finish my homework and clean the house!" She eyed the girls meaningfully, and they gave me a knowing smile, before exiting the room stifling there laughter.

Helen approached me, pursing her blood red lips. "Look at me, Annabeth Chase." I stared at the floor, smirking darkly. She didn't deserve my gaze.

Sharp fingernails grabbed my chin, tilting my head around sharply. I stifled my cry of surprise, as I was physically forced to look at her.

"Was that attitude I just heard?"

"Are you deaf- or just plain stupid?" That's what I wish I would've said. But, I didn't. Instead, I kept my mouth clamped shut, shaking my head, signaling a no.

"That's what I thought," she stared at me smugly, before her high heels clamped away, seemingly shaking the entire room. "Don't forget to finish that list. If you don't- you'll regret it." She said it in a playful, lacy tone, like she couldn't care less. But I got the meaning behind it. The list was just the messenger- sending me a painful reminder. My hand traced the scar on my collarbone, right above my breasts.

The day when I tried to fight back, the day when I refused to do the dishes, refused to be polite, refused to clean the house, iron her dresses, do Mattie and Barbie's homework for her. The day I refused to be her puppet.

It had resulted with her stabbing me with a kitchen knife.

The wound didn't hurt that bad- after all, I was used to cutting myself. It hurt, though, worse than just the razor blade. I was fourteen, and knew then, that there would be no escaping from her grasp. At least, not until I was eighteen.

"Three years," I whispered to myself hoarsely. "Three years until I'm out of this hell hole."

Little did I know that this year would be different. Much different.

A/N: Yep, depressing. Just like I promised! :) Thanks for all the reviews, follows, and favorites. I know I say this every chapter to every one of my stories, but I really sincerely appreciate it. I basically check my email every hour to see if anyone liked it. So, I hope you did! Next update will be next week Monday because I have to study for the Entrance Exam to get into High School. Life of the party right here. R&R.