Disclaimer: I do not own Transformers, just my OC, and I am not making any sort of profit whatsoever from this, except the enjoyment I get out of writing and getting favs, reviews, and story alerts.

Thank you all so much for reading this. I hope I don't let everyone down with this chapter . . . I know it's really short.


Previously:

Her head shot up as angry voices came from downstairs, and she realized, with an ever increasing sense of dread, that her foster parents were back.


"Girl, where are you?"

Quickly, she hid her box and hurried down the stairs. "I'm here. Do you need something?"

The next instant, she was yanked off her feet, a hand wrapped around her throat.

"Need something? You useless piece of trash!" Snowflake gritted her teeth as she was violently slammed against the wall. "Do you think you can just sit around doing nothing while we're gone? Look at that! Look at that!" Her foster-father forced her face down on the floor next to a muddy splotch on the floor-mud that he'd just tracked in. "You got mud all over the floors! Who's gonna clean that up, huh?"

Even though she knew it wasn't her fault, she still had to say it. "I'm sorry."

"Sorry? Sorry?" This time it was her foster-mother screeching. "Sorry won't pay the bills! Do you know how much trouble we have to go through to take care of you? And you can't even keep the house clean? You're worthless! This is why no one will ever love you!"

"Now clean this up and get out of our sight." Her foster-father tossed her to the side. "I don't want to hear another word from you until morning."

"Ye-yes sir." She whispered, cradling her aching stomach as they left to go their seperate ways-apparently they'd had a massive arguement before coming home to beat on her, because Kain, her foster-father, went to the den with a beer, and Lisa, her foster-mother, stormed into their bedroom and slammed the door shut. She waited a few seconds before crawling over to the cupboard to get a rag, and as she did so, she wondered, What do wrong? I can't stand this for much longer . . . tonight they went easy on me but tomorrow . . . Someone, please . . . save me.

Outside, parked on the street half a block down, a seemingly driver-less cement mixer* came to life, engine roaring as it pulled away from the curb.


*I will probably switch between calling it a cement mixer and a concrete mixer. Both are the same thing, just different ways of putting it. Sorry if gets a little annoying.

The next chapter should be longer, I promise. I'm just trying to get past writers block...