A/N:

I'm glad there is some interest in this story, and so here's the next chapter...please tell me what you think about the story in a review or a PM, it makes me sad to know there are people following/favoriting but not telling me what they think. :)

Yes, this one ended on a kind of cliff-hanger, too. :P

It was late on a Thursday afternoon, and Allison was laying on her bed, her Walkman in her ears. Her newest painting hadn't gone so well, and she sighed at the mess of paint and water in front of her. It was only as she took one final glance over her "masterpiece" that she saw the paint stain in cream carpet. Biting her lip, Allison tried to clear it up with one of her painting rags, which only seemed to smear the stain, making it look even worse, if possible.

Her mother would be furious, and her father would be livid. Allison and her parents weren't getting along as it were - she was failing English and scraping Cs in math, and her artwork, the one thing that kept her sane, was being threatened to be taken away if she didn't clean up her act. Now it wasn't only her act she would have to clean, it was her carpet. Her father said one more thing that upset her mother and all of it was gone, thrown away, and Allison's mother felt prouder of their six bedroom house than she was of Allison.

Briefly, she wondered if she could just hide the stain, and then she wouldn't get in trouble. Unfortunately, tomorrow was Friday, laundry day, and since Allison's mother thought she was still too young to know what needed washing, her mother always scalped her room for any laundry. Allison knew she was being checked up on, and it never really bothered her. But tomorrow, the stain would be found, and all her hard work, all her drawings and paints and precious art supplies that she'd worked so hard babysitting for would be lost, and she'd have to start all over.

Sighing once again, Allison decided to come clean. It was always best that way, she found, even if it was painful at first. Her mother would sigh and say, "Really, Allison." And then launch into a personal attack, which usually resulted in Allison being banished to her room. Setting her easel to one side, and putting her paints away painfully slowly, Allison finally stood and went downstairs, where she faced her mother making dinner.

Her mother smiled that dazzlingly fake smile and nodded at her daughter. "Hello, dear," she said, as pleasantly as she could manage. The word dear still seemed to leave a bad taste in her mother's mouth, though, by the sour face she pulled seconds afterwards.

"Mom, I accidentally spilled paint on the carpet."

The knife that Mrs Reynolds was using to chop carrots stayed poised in the air, and she sucked in a sharp breath. Slamming the knife down so that a chunk of carrot flew across the kitchen tiles, Allison's mother shook her head and huffed in irritation. "Again?"

"Yes," Allison said, faintly irritated. Obviously it was again, she wasn't telling her from the last time, now was she? "Again." Pushing past her daughter, Mrs Reynolds stepped up the stairs, treading lightly on her sensible kitten heels. Allison heard the door open and she sighed, following her mother as she heard the shriek.

"This room is a disgrace! We give you everything you could possibly want, and you repay us like this? You dress like a druggie and you keep that hair like a mop, and not to mention your paintings! They're not even good; you can't draw to save your life. This simply isn't good enough. Your grades are slipping and quite frankly, young lady, I've had quite enough of your drama. This is the final straw. Why can't you be more like me? Don't you want to have a good life?"

Something snapped in Allison. She never usually talked back; indeed she had learned very early on that pretending to listen was the best way forward. But on that day, something changed. Allison glared at her mother.

"I just don't want to end up like you."

While Allison didn't know what punishment her mother would come up with next, she assumed it would be asking her father, and he would gather her art supplies up, and make her watch them being thrown in the trash, while he went over the morals of being a good student, and not upsetting her mother. This time, though, it was different. Her mother seized a handful of clothes from Allison's closet, all the things that she never wore, as luck would have it, and threw them into a holdall. Zipping the bag, throwing it into Allison's skinny arms, and then pulling Allison down the stairs by her shoulders, all the while screaming for Mr Reynolds to get up there.

Mr Reynolds' face didn't change as he saw his wife throwing his daughter onto the street, nor did he try and stop it. "That's it, Allison. I've had enough. Maybe life on the streets will make you realize how lucky you really are. Don't come back until you do."

Not quite believing her ears, Allison slowly turned down the street, clutching her holdall with both hands, and trying not to let the hot, angry tears spill down her chalky white cheeks. Turning at the closest corner, she walked into an empty alley, put her back to the brick wall, and slid down it, finally letting the tears seep out of her closed eyelids.

Allison didn't know where she was going to go, or what she was going to do. She didn't have much time to think, as it turns out. When she opened her red, bloodshot eyes, a face leered above her.

"Fresh meat.." he thought aloud, and Allison struggled while he pulled her sleeve back. "Not even a scratch on you, let alone any track marks. We'll have some fun with this one, John..."