A/N: I do not own BTR, Big Time Rush, or anything like that.

I just realized I'm finally catching up to where I've written this story on my paper… I don't know if that's a good thing or a bad thing… Hahahha.

I think the rating has officially changed! I will make it M just in case. :)

ON WITH IT!

"[Review] it even if you hate it." –Michael Buckley

After we changed into our regular clothes, we got to work and splayed out onto Kendall's bedroom floor. By the time Mama Knight came home at around 6 with dinner from, his bedroom floor was barely visible under the sheets of paper and notecards. Kendall had thrown up his flash cards in frustration 20 minutes into our study session.

Neither of us addressed the hand holding, and instead focused on the Spanish work in front of us. As soon as I tried to explain the future perfect tense to him, I could tell his brain shut down, and I saw the light in his green eyes burnt out.

"So basically, you use 'haber' and the 'pepe', past participle. When you do that you're saying, 'it will have…' blah blah blah," he groaned in confusion and right then, Mama Knight came in toting bags filled with food. I took a sniff and my mind strayed away from "haber" and "pepe" to the food in front of me.

"Hey kids. Here's your food," she looked at the mess in the room and stopped, "you're going to clean all of this up, Kendall Donald Knight."

"Yes Mom," he replied.

"Mama Knight, you didn't have to get me food-" I started

"-It's fine! You're helping Kendall, so I thought I should pay you back in some way," Mama Knight replied, "I got two cheeseburgers, three orders of fries, and thirty ketchup packets."

I looked at her in bewilderment and Kendall laughed, "I'm a growing boy!"

I shook my head and opened up the bag. My stomach growled and only then did I realize how hungry I was. I hadn't eaten much in the last few days. The only real food I got was the free lunch at school, and any food Iñ a or Nicole were willing to give me when I was at their house.

My father's job was a dwindling business in this deep recession, so the income that did come in was left for utilities and the rest he used for beer and various chip products. I didn't see or talk to him much because of his work schedule, and when I did see him nothing more than a "hello" was exchanged between the two of us; he was either drunk or about to be. I didn't want to deal with him in either of those situations, so I would then lock myself up in my room with my laptop, music and the various scripts from the theatre room.

I remember the day I bought my laptop. I had saved up for 3 months during various tutoring sessions and baby-sitting, and saved up birthday money. Last year, when I turned 17, my father's mother passed away and left me a whopping 1,000 dollars. Unfortunately, because of the lack of support my father gave, most of it went to food for the house and utilities until I only had two hundred dollars left, which I set aside for my laptop.

Sometimes, a check would come in from my mother. No return address, barely her name scrawled out on the top left corner. Where ever she was with my baby brother, I appreciated that she would send me some money to take care of myself and my father. My father and my mother loathed each other. Because of this, my father and I had an understanding; he gave me my mail, and in return, I gave him his space, and I stopped caring whether or not he fed himself. I took care of myself, and no one else. I relied on no one but myself. I had been since the 8th grade.

This was part of the reason why I didn't want to fall for Kendall. I was afraid to rely on anyone but myself, I was an independent girl and I wanted to stay that way. I didn't want to hurt him if we ever got close. I didn't want him to worry whether or not I was getting fed or getting hit. And I certainly didn't need his help. I could do everything by myself.

After we finished our food, I reviewed vocabulary and different irregular verbs one last time before I asked Kendall to take me home. I was hesitant at first because I didn't want him to see what kind of environment I lived in, but I missed my bed; the warm sheets were the only solace I had in my entire house, and I was exhausted.

He drove me to my house, following my directions carefully into a neighborhood that was nowhere near as glamorous as Kendall's. But, as long I had somewhere to sleep, I was fine.

When Kendall pulled up to my house, I saw my father's car parked in the driveway, something unusual for this hour. He was usually at some bar two cities away; this couldn't be good. I gulped silently, this not going unnoticed by Kendall.

"Everything okay?" he asked, following my eyes to the house.

I turned to face him and said, "Yes. Of course. Thanks. Tell your mom I said thank you again for everything. I'll see you tomorrow." I smiled and opened the door, my stuff in hand. I heard him drive away as I pushed the door open to my house. As quickly as I could, I walked up the stairs to the right of the front of the door, headed to my room at the top of the stairs.

I put my stuff down, then heard my father coming up the stairs, screaming something I couldn't understand. I stared in horror at the door, fearing what was coming next.

He stormed into my room, slamming the door open with a loud bang, "MARIA? WHERE THE FUCK WERE YOU? I COME HOME TO HAVE A NICE FUCKING DINNER WITH MY DAUGHTER, AND YOU'RE NOWHERE TO BE SEEN," by this time, my father was inches away from my face, the smell of beer coming out from his mouth.

I stood in shock before replying quietly, "I was helping my friend Kendall with Spanish."

"A FRIEND? WHO? YOUR BOYFRIEND? DID YOU FUCK HIM? IS THAT WHAT YOU WERE DOING? YOU'RE JUST LIKE YOUR FUCKING MOTHER. A FUCKING WHORE. A WHORE!" he yelled in my face. I was shocked, and hurt. He called me a whore, for no reason at all. He was always so irrational, it made me angry, but at that moment, I couldn't do anything except fight the tears that threatened to spill over.

I shook my head, "No, dad, we're only friends!"

"TELL ME THE TRUTH!"

"I'M TELLING YOU THE TRUTH! HOW WOULD YOU EVEN KNOW IF I WAS LYING? YOU NEVER PAY ENOUGH FUCKING ATTENTION TO ME TO KNOW WHO I AM. YOU DRINK, AND DRINK, AND THAT'S ALL YOU DO. YOU DON'T GIVE A FUCK ABOUT ANYTHI-."

I felt his hand strike me across the face, stinging and painful. His fist met my face repeatedly; bursting the blood vessels in my nose, and then pushed me into the desk he backed me into during our exchange. My spine cracked into the edge, and I slid down to the floor, bleeding. He stormed out of the room without a word.

I heard him walkout the front door, turn his car on, then drive away. Tears slid down my face, coming faster and faster as I pushed myself off the floor and walked into my bathroom. I wiped my bleeding nose as I turned the shower on, my tears mixing with the water as I turned the knob.

I stripped down and refused to look at myself or at the bruises that covered my body in the mirror. I touched the bruise that was now forming on the left side of my face, wincing slightly at the contact. I stepped into the shower and sighed as the hot water pulsed into my back and unwound every tight muscle in my body.

My tears eventually stopped and I focused on the scalding hot water that was running over my body. Slowly, I began to relax, and I pushed the moments that occurred minutes earlier out of my mind.