"And remember: Do what I said – nothing more, nothing less!" Taylor warned me one last time. The next day, I had gone to her room straight after breakfast (I had followed her to her room the night before and she hadn't noticed me – I was proud of me!) to tell her I would help her. She seemed to have expected that and explained to me exactly what I had to do. By the way, her room was nice; a lot of papers and pencils, oil pastels and other painting equipments were lieing on her desk that stoodnext to awindow; there were two shelves full of books, and parts of beyblades spread all over the floor.

"What if I get caught?" I asked eventually.

"That's your problem," she asked honestly. "I can't help you then – hard but true. You still want to do it?"

"Yes." My voice was shaking, and suddenly, I felt scared. My stomach dropped, turned upside down and I felt that I had to vomit. Just go through it, I told myself. I tried to think of someone who was never afraid. Bryan? – Maybe. Taylor? – Who knew what she felt! Tala? – He had been scared after his battle with Tyson. Mikael? – I had seen him scared when I had been younger. Fritz? – Bad example. Boris? – Worse example.

"Come on then, Boris will inspect the teams in the basement this morning and I'm supposed to join him at ten. So I can keep him occupied for long enough. Nothing can go wrong – or nearly nothing." Taylor put her hand between my shoulder blades and dragged me out of her room with her. She was determined to go through that.

We walked down the stairs, and I tried not to think about all the things that might go wrong. Taylor didn't appear to be the least bit nervous. She walked down to the basement, and I went down the corridor to Boris' offce.

The door to his office was open at that time of the day, and no one seemed to be near. Opening the wooden door with shaking hands, I looked up and down the corridor one last time before entering. Taylor had desribed where the files she needed would be. Without Boris, the room seemed less dangerous and less scaring, but the dusty air, the dark wooden furniture and the cold atmosphere still gave me an eerie feeling. I hurried to walk over to the desk at the far end of the room; it was scary to get so near to this place of pure horror. My hands were shaking worse as I tried to open the drawer of the desk. According to Taylor, I could find everything that was important in the drawer. And really, as I had managed to open it, I found several brown files with long numbers on it. However, I had no time to go through each file but just grabbed all of them and hid them unter my dark blue sweater (the sweater was too large anyway, so nobody would notice).

This had been too easy – much too easy. I had been lucky. But I was never lucky – not even once. Things never went that easy for me, it always ended up in a disaster in one or another way. And this time was not any different. Just as I sneaked out of Boris office again, I turned around, already relieved, and turning around my head, I faced Fritz.

My heart skipped several beatings as I looked into his face, my mouth opened. Shocked, I felt my stomach drop and thought I would scream loud enough to alarm the entire abbey. It was just a second, but seemed like an eternity to me. I stayed quiet and didn't scream, even though I really did feel like it. The thoughts of what might happen now, what might be the punishment – they vanished. My head was empty. Just the feeling of horror was worse than anything I had experienced before. Panic.

"What have-," Fritz started to ask, but I turned around and ran past him to get away. He was too slow to catch me as I was running past him; he was surprised, too. Can't be true! That just can't be true, I thought.

This was bizare. It was surreal. It was like a nightmare – but I couldn't wake up! My whole body was shaking. I was too scared of what might happen now. Adrian had been right, I had got caught, I was in so much trouble – I was dead. I was just seven and had got myself practically killed already! I was sitting on Adrian's bed, waiting for my friend to return. It was the only place I had been able to think of as a hide-out, even though it was not really safe, of course. I just felt better – a little bit better. I had not been able to sleep because of the plan last night, and now it was all over. My life was over!

Dead, dead, dead! DEAD!

Stop that, I told myself as I fell down on Ade's bed. I had to calm down, I had to wait, and I had to find Taylor. Maybe she could help me, maybe... maybe it was all a nightmare, maybe I would wake up, realizing I hadn't stolen from Boris, I hadn't been seperated from Adrian, maybe I had never been in Balkove Abbey... Stop it right now, I repeated. It wouldn't do me any good. It was reality, I had to face and accept it and I had to survive – somehow, anyhow. What was so damn important to Taylor to bring me in grave danger anyway?

I was all alone in the room. There were six empty beds, and I put all the files carefully on Adrian's to take a closer look at each of them. If I was going to die because of this stupid files, I wanted to know what they were about at least. As I opened the first one, I found the picture of a little boy – about six or seven years old. He had midnight-blue hair, nearly black, and was smiling cheeckishly. On the back of the picture, there was his name, written in bold letters: TYSON GRANGER. I frowned. That was years before Tyson had started beyblading on a professionel level. Why should Boris keep a childhood photo of him? There were more papers about Tyson in the folder; dates and reports about his beyblading training. A few more pictures. The information were ranging from the age of seven to the age of nine. I was just about to discover one of the many mysteries...

Half an hour later, I had learned that Tyson had been in Balkove Abbey for a little less than three years when he had been a child. However, he had been an average blader. According to his files, Boris had never expected the boy to become world champion. Now I was asking myself why Tyson's training years in the abbey had never been mentioned. Boirs would have been able to use that fact to his opportunity. "World champion began his career in Russian abbey" – in Biovolt's abbey. Why was it kept a secret? Did Taylor know? A look into another one of the files answered my last question: I found many photos of Taylor when she had been a child; on some, she was with Tyson, and there were a few of her and Voltaire's grandson Kai, and of Tala. I looked at a picture of Taylor and Tyson on the abbey yard. The two of them were sitting cross-legged on the gound, each of them holding a beyblade.

"They looked so much alike...," I whispered to myself.

"That's because they're first grade cousins," a familiar voice behind me answered.

I had been kneeling on the bed, bent over the papers to read them. Now, I got up and turned around just to see the owner of the voice standing behind me with a slight grin on his face. He went on: "By the way, she's angry because you didn't bring her the files immediately. And I'm sure she'll skin you alive for reading it, yet she'll have your head off because your brother saw you sneaking out of Boris' office." As he saw the upset expression my face, he said: "Don't worry, Taylor and Mikael take care that Fritz won't say a single tone to Boris about it. But next time you want to help revealing the mystery of Balkove Abbey, please ask me first, kay? And never ever again let Taylor talk you into somethig like that. Got me?"

I nodded slightly. "What- what are you doing here?"

"Well, that's my room, too. The rookies can get kind of out of control if there's no one to watch them. The others are already searching for you, and your little friend has worried himself to death by now, I guess. Come on, we'll give Taylor what she longs for so desperately. And if you want to keep your skin, you'd better don't tell her that you read it."

I didn't move. "Bryan, what do you mean with Taylor and Tyson being cousins? Why did nobody ever tell that Tyson has been raised here, and why isn't he here anymore, but Taylor is?"

"If I tell you, you'll promise to keep quiet about it? You won't tell Taylor that you know it?"

"Promise." I sat back and Bryan sat down next to me on the bedcover.

He sighed again. "Okay, look: Taylor and Tyson grew up together since the age of four. Tyson's mother lived with her sister-in-law, who was Taylor's mother. And when Tyson's mom died, he stayed with his aunt and cousin. Taylor's mom was a close friend of Boris', and rumours even say he might be Taylor's biological father." He laughed as he saw the shocked expression on my face. "It's just rumours, squirt. Taylor has inherited her semi-dark skin from her real dad, for example – there's no chance she's Boris' daughter, even though he would like it if she was, and there were and are times when he treated her like his own flesh and blood. Well, he took the both of them in: Taylor and Tyson, even though Taylor was the more talented blader and had much more potential – much more potential than everyone else maybe. When they were nine, Tyson got ill – he nearly died. His grandfather came to take him home, but they left Taylor. That's why she's angry at her cousin, because he left her alone, or so she thinks. And she thinks that her grandfather didn't want to take her with him. I don't know much about that, she never talks about it. Tala once tried to force her, but it ended up in a six-week-argument between Taylor and the rest of us." I wanted to say something, but he interrupted me just as I had opened my mouth: "No word about it. Never. Neither to Taylor, nor to anyone else!"

"Yes."

"Come on, now. Let's find out what the others are doing."

I expected Taylor to be angry, but I hadn't thought about Mikael's reaction to what I had done. Taylor was sitting on her bed, and my brother was standing next to the desk when I came into her room with Bryan. Neither Adrian, nor Fritz were there, it was just the two of them. I felt nervous, and still panicked deep inside though I tried not to show really hard. Now, Taylor looked kind of calmed down when I gave her the files.

"I found her in her friend's room, scared like the little mouse she is," Bryan told her.

Taylor, however, just cared for the files. She mumbled something under her breath as she took them and walked over to her desk with Bryan.

I felt a little bit better, until Mikael said: "You and I talk – now!" He sounded angry – really angry indeed. I had no choice but to obey. He grabbed me by my upper arm and dragged me out of the room. Bryan and Taylor had turned their backs towards us and were busy looking through the files. Mikael's grib was so strong that it was going to leave a bad bruise behind that would look like a band all around my left upper arm.

"What did you think you were doing? Well, I guess you didn't think at all, did you? Of course not! How could I be so stupid? Nobody wants you, so why didn't I knew better and kept you here, though you cause nothing but trouble for anyone!" He mumbled a few more swearings under his breath – some more to himself than to me. I tried not to feel too offended by what he said, even though it did hurt.

Why couldn't he be my brother and be nice to me, and proud of his little sister? I would often try to understand him – why he used to beat me, say harsh words to me, tell me off – and I tried to be better, I tried to be good, I wanted to please him, get his affection, make him proud and fond of me! He was my bother after all! Truth was, I wanted to become a blader for him. I wanted to be like him. Even though it was Bryan who was nice to me, tried to help me, and even though it was Adrian who was my best friend with whom I could share every secret, it had always been about Mikael, I adored him more than anyone. And now, as he said he wished I wasn't there, I felt deeply hurt. He had said it before, of course, many times, but this time I felt that I hadn't given him a reason to make him angry at me. This time, I felt that there was nothing I had done wrong, so I couldn't do anything to do better, to make Mikael happier with me – he was angry at me, not at anything I had done. This time, he said it because he meant it.

He pulled me to his own room a few corridors away. There was just a bed, a dresser, a nearly empty bookshelf and a desk. Everything was cold. Fritz was already sitting on Mikael's bed with Ethiopis.

"Here she is", Mikael said motionless to out brothers. I looked up at him as I stood by his side, and I didn't like the serious expression on his face. He led me by my shoulder and made me stand in front of the bare wall opposite his bed. Then, he and the others could straightly look at me. I felt queer, but didn't want to show it. There seemed to be some declaration Mikael wanted to make, and Fritz was already looking forward to it with joy and glee in his eyes and his slimy grin. Why didn't they just "beat the shit out of me" as they always did?

"What the hell did you think you were doing?" Mikael asked calmly.

It scared me even more than his anger. "I- I tried to help."

"Do you think betraying someone who helped you will help anyone?" he inquired further.

My hands touched the concrete wall behind my back. My palms were sweaty already. "Yes, the people whom he hurts."

"Stop that nonsense, Mikael!" Fritz screamed and jumped onto his feet. Walking towards me with, I could see that he had he only had the pervert desire to hurt me – again. Before I could react, he grabbed me by my upper arms and shook me so hard that my head hit the concrete wall behind me.

"No!" Mikael was by his side and stopped him quickly. The grib aroung my arms eased, but my head was aching, I was scared as the sharp pain rushed through my entire brain. I sniffled and felt the first hot tears in my eyes.

"You're already crying? I didn't even start with you, rat" he threatened, but Mikael prevented him from doing even more harm to me. All the while, Ethiopis did neither do nor say a thing.

"Not that way, Fritz," Mikael said and sighed as he hold his brother's arms. "We made up our minds about this, and we decided not to do it that way."

"YOU decided not to do it that way," Fritz mumbled under his breath but let go of me. Then, there was a strange sparkle in his eyes. "Why do you think we shouldn't go to Boris right away and tell him what you've done? Huh?"

I swallowed. There were still tears on my cheek and I was lightly shaking. "Be- because you're my brothers," I stumbled.

That was what Fritz had expected me to answer – that was what he laughed about like a madman now. That was the point! "We are NOT your brothers!" he screamed and burst out into laughers even harder.

I felt as if he had slapped me. All I could do was looking straight at Mikael, begging him with my eyes to say that this was not true. How... Why... There were no tears anymore, no sobs, just this feeling of chill... Why didn't Mikael say it wasn't true? Why didn't he say that Fritz was saying a lot of garbage and that he should stop that?

"I'm sorry," he said slowly and sounded like he really meant it – a little bit. However, I knew better than that: I knew he wasn't sorry about the fact that I wasn't his sister. And after stopping to believe that he was my brother, he had less responsibility and was happy for it. Very happy indeed. No need to pretend anymore.

Well, I would be happy about it, too, I decided. As I turned around, however, he grabbed me by arm. "Wait!" His voice sounded nearly nice. "Out," he told Fritz and Ethiopis sternly.

"Please, spare us," Fritz said. "What's the big deal about the little brat?" But he obeyed and left the room with Ethiopis.

I looked down at the floor and Mikael let go off my arm again. "Stay," he repeated in a strict tone. I didn't want to hear anything he would say to me. There was no difference for him, he could continue to ignore me. So what did he care? And I? I just had to stop wanting to be like him, wanting to please him. "I didn't want you to learn it that way." At least, he didn't expect me to believe him. Kneeling down in front of me, he placed his fingers under my chin to hold my head up and meet my eyes on an equal level. "Your mother – Claire – she... She was barely old enough to be your mother, Riley, yet mine."

"So, who's my father then?" I asked, not really expecting an answer. Mikael's father had cared as less about me as he had cared about his own daughter, or sons – except for Mikael, his first-born.

"I don't know, and I'm sure she doesn't even know it herself." He sighed. "We're not your siblings."

"Now I know it and I can be glad that I haven't got a brother who loves it to beat the shit out of me," I replied, "and you can be glad that I'm not your sister and that you don't have to play pretend anymore!"

"Riley, don't you understand..."

"I don't," I interrupted him and gave him an angry glare before I turned around and ran our of his room.

I had kind of found Taylor's family, but I had also lost my own – or at least the thing that was closest to a family for me. It was naiiv to think that I could just ignore it. When I ran away from Mikael, it was nearly tea time, so nobody was in his room – Adrian wasn't in his room.


Flashback

I remember going to "Aunt" Abalonia once. It was winter, it was cold – much colder than usually – and I was five. It is one of the last memories I had of my mother.

The streets were covered with snow, and my hands were red and stiff since I had been forming snowballs all along the way, and I had no mittens. My mother was wearing a dusty brown mantel that made her look much older than she really was; her hair was curly and lighter than the mantle. It was light blond, nearly colourless. My "sister" Katcha, who was six, was holding her hand during the walk, and eight-year-old Grizelda walked a few steps ahead of us. She wore her best skirt; it was blue and reached her knees. Katcha, too, wore her best clothes (a black blouse and a short white skirt) and their leather jackets had been washed the night before.

I could tell that my mother was angry at me; I had been fighting with Fritz earlier in the morning and had ripped my jeans in the progress. It had not been my fault, Fritz had pulled me up the stairs, my head trapped under his shoulder. Mom had been nervous because of the meeting with with this mysterious aunt (you didn't "visit" her, you could only have formal meeting with Abalonia). Trying to make me look as nice as my "sisters", she had spend half an hour dressing me up, but she had given up because she had not been satisfied with anything. She had tried Katcha's old skirts, but they had been too large or had looked "ridiculous" like the blouses, according to my mom and Grizelda. So she had had no other choice than letting me wear my ripped jeans and one of Mikael's old white softball shirts with khaki coloured sleeves. And my hair had made Mommy angry, too: I had no bouncing red curls like Katcha, no long, healthy brown hair like Grizelda and Vaida, but only these thin, greasy dark brown hair strains that reached the middle of my neck – slightly curly and very messy. That wasn't my fault either; but I think she hated me because I didn't look pretty like she did. Well, I hadn't wanted to go with her, and she hadn't wanted to take me with her. I didn't understand what the fuss was all about, but later Mikael told me that this aunt was rich. She was widowed, her husbad had been the owner of a successful company, and she had no children. So, she took her many nieces and nephews in, trying to make them "precious, decent, and hard-working members of the new Russian society". According to her, everyone in the family was a fool, a loser, or worse – everyone but her, of course. And she thought that a strict education and discipline were best for children (maybe there was a reason because she didn't have children on her own...). I guess she thought of herself as kind of a messias for the family. So, the other members of the family gave her their children willingly – not only because of the education, but but also because they hoped to inherit some of the wealth and money. Grizelda had learned a lot from her when she had been my age, things like knitting and religion, as she had told me.

Her house was an old Moskow town house. I guess it had once been splendid, but under Abalonia's care, it was rather run down and looked neglected. She didn't seem to be interested in looks and style. The white colour of the house was greasy, there were black streams from plants and such all over the massiv walls, and even the colour of the wooden windows frames was old. However, the house was huge and appeared to be scary. Its size made me shiver, but I didn't know why. My mom seemed to be scared, too. She knocked on the heavy twin door and her hand was shaking. She looked extraordniary pale. The door was opened by a maidservant – a freckled young girl in a black dress.

"You wish?" she asked stiffly. Her voice sounded too old for her young age. And so was her attitude. "Madame is already waiting for you in her drawing room," she went on without waiting for an answer.

Grizelda smiled proudly, and Katcha still held Morme's hand, but as I wanted to grab for my mom's other hand, she shook me off again and walked into the house.

The rooms on the house were small, but there were many. They seemed to be even smaller because of the thick carpets, the colourful taperstries on the wall, and the dark furniture. There were little tables with bouquets on them, large paintings in golden frames, and other signs of overloaded wealth. Even the splendid pictures were dusty, the carpets were shabby, and the entire house looked neglected. I remember thinking that nothing seemed to suit, nothing belonged to the other things. There were just things who had once been there – old but expensive – and nobody had cared to remove them because of lack of style and not because of interest in the history of the things. When we were walking down the small corridor that lay behind the entrance hall, I already felt like crying and wanted to go again. I didn't know why.

Aunt Abalonia was sitting in her drawing room. It was unusual hot in there; a fire had been lit in the fireplace, even though a heater was standing in the centre of the room. Abalonia was a terrible old lady in her late sixties. Her hair was tied up in a strict bundle in her neck, she had small glasses that made her small eyes look like the eyes of a pig, though she wasn't fat. She was extraordinary thin, her old leather-like skin was hanging down her cheekbones and chin. Brown dots were all over her face, and on her hands. Her fingernails were long like claws, and I would soon learn that they were her whole pride.

She was bitter. It was obvious. You could see it because the corners of her mouth were hanging down; you could see it because of the way her eyes looked at you (as if nothing you did could ever please her); you could see it because she was dressed in nothing but black, even the pearls around her crum, thin, skin-wrapped neck were black.

As Grizelda walked over to her, she peaked her lips and pressed them softly, but also stiffly, against the girl's forehead; she did the same with my marme, and she ignored me at all before she spoke: "You always meet twice in life, don't you?" she asked my mother, who just nodded because she didn't really understand. "I'm glad you brought my dear nices." In fact, Grizelda and Katcha were her great-nieces, but she didn't seem to care about details like that. "Grizelda, dear, what's your sister's name?"

"It's Katcha, Aunty," she answered in her best Russian.

"Come here, Katcha!" And she grabbed her other niece and place the same strange kiss on her forehead as she had done with my mom and Grizelda.

I just could stand there, and waiting for the procedure to end. I wanted to go home again. This aunt was scary, I preferred Fritz. At least, I knew what he was up to and he didn't talk to me in a funny way before he pulled me around like a doll. However, I had to stand this out now.

"Your cousins Lena, Anne, and Desiré are here, too, my dear. They're so looking forward to meeting you again, Grizelda." Abalonia's eyes wandered off while she was talking stiffly (even though she tried to sound nice). Eventually, she looked at me. "That's the youngest child then, I guess? You want to leave her here as well?" She didn't sound too pleased about me, not like she had been with Grizelda and Katcha.

"Well, no," my mom answered quickly. I felt reliefed, knowing I wouldn't have to stay here.

"Let's give it a try." Abalonia pressed her lips together. "I've dealt with similar children."

Similar children? She sounded as if I was some kind of cimrinal. But I hadn't even done anything! How could she know whom I was similar to in the first place? I looked at my mom. She couldn't leave me here, she couldn't! But my mom nodded and didn't even look at me. How could she? "Mo-" I opened my mouth to say something; I wanted to beg her, I wanted to do anything as long as I could go again with her. Now.

My mom left – without me. She didn't seem to care. As she was gone, Abalonia brought us into a room that nearly looked like her drawing room, and it was also very hot in there. Three other girls – one was as old as me, the oldest was a bit older than Grizelda – sat there, occupied with some needlework. I didn't know how to do needlework, or how to knit, and I wasn't too eager to learn it. But I just wanted to be left alone by this old... by this old... by this old bitter bat!

"Grizelda, dear, would you please read? I would like to know if you made any progress in your pronountiation, and I know you'll enjoy the text." She sat down and handed a black leather book to my older sister, who took the book with a smile. Abalonia smiled, too, but her smile looked as if her leather-face reflected the pain caused by her ulcer. I shot a look at the black book cover and saw five golden, Russian letters on it. It took me a while to figure out what it meant, but in the end, I realized that the book was a bible.

The three other girls didn't really seem to be happy about Grizelda; in fact, they didn't seem to be anything at all. They just ignored her, and so did Gizelda, but it seemed to be the usual manner. I just stood next to my older sister, as close as possible; if I couldn't soften my mom's heart and make her stay, mabye I could somehow melt my sister's, and she would bring me home again... Katcha had already sat down next to the youngest of her cousins, who didn't mind her in any way, of course.

"Why are you standing there?" Abalonia snapped at me. I tried to move, but she was faster; from her sitting position, she was still able to grab me by my upper arm and shake me. I knew that already – Fritz liked to do that, too – and instinctively, I did what I usually did when Fritz grabbed me like that: I stepped back and struggled successfully by shaking her off. This all happened so fast that I couldn't think before acting.

It was suddenly very silent in the room; it had been silent there before, but now I started feeling the silence. Grizelda didn't start to read but just starred at me, and I looked back at her in shock.

"How dare you!" aunt shrieked and I looked at her again. I didn't fully realize what I had done wrong.

"I didn't mean to-", I tried to say something to apologize and to defend myself, but she interrupted me:

"There isn't any excuse for behaving like that! You... you... you little daredevil! How dare you!" She sank back into the cushions and pillows in her armchair. "But I'll teach you a lesson – believe me, I'll teach you a lesson you'll never forget. You can't do that with me."

"I didn't mean... It's just... I'm sorry, really! I'm really sorry!" My lips trembled, and I instinctively grabbed for Grizelda's hand, but she stepped back and looked kind of satisfied. What had I done? "I'm really sorry!" I repeated a few more times, but Abalonia didn't care.

She got up and grabbed me by my hands, pulling me out of the room and down the hall; the maidservant saw us and shot me a confused look, but didn't do anything. I tried to stay calm and apologize again, but Abalonia was deaf for my excuses. Instead, she mumbled something about teaching me a lesson. Eventually, she opened a door; there was a stair behind that door, and the stair led downstairs, into the darkness. Switching on the light, she pulled me down the stairs as well, and by then, I had stopped apologizing, because I realized it was senseless.

The basement was full of old furniture and everyrthing was dusty; there was only a dim light. Finally, Abalonia let go of my hands. Instead, she grabbed for something hanging on the wall. With horror, I realized that it was a belt.

"No, please! I'm sorry, I didn't mean to hurt you! I'm sorry! Please, don't!" I begged and started to cry, but her face stayed motionless as she inspected the large, black leather belt.

"You shouldn't cry before I start with you", was all she said. I stepped back and tried to get away, but she blocked the way to the stairs. For an old lady, she was pretty strong and quick. Without pity, she grabbed me again and managed to pull my shirt over my head, half undressing me. I now stood there, the upper part of my body exposed, and was shaking. She threw me down to my knees. The world around me began to disappear behind a curtain of tears before the belt hit my back for the first time.

I screamed and begged for pardon, but the belt hit my back again. A sharp pain rushed through my whole body. This couldn't be a belt, it felt like a knife! I started crying even harder and felt as if I was going to die. The pain was unbearable.

Once, twice, three times, four times, five times... The belt hit my back where it had hit it before, making the pain twice as bad. Trying to crawl away, she just hit the side of my ribs. On all fours, I somehow tried to hide away, but I didn't see where I was going, and she and her belt were always behind me, hitting me again and again.

"No, please! I'll be good, I swear! I didn't want to hurt you! I didn't mean to do it! Please, stop it, I'll be good!" The belt hit my neck. "Please, stop! I can't... It's hurting... I'll be good!" The tears made me words barely understandable, but I continued to beg. "I won't do it again, I swear!" My begs turned into senseless words and cries and when I tried to turn around, I couldn't see anything because of the tears.

I still screamed and cried after she had stopped and was gone, locking the door to the basement behind her. The world around me was shaking like my body, even though the tears disappeared after a while. Crawling on all fours like an animal, I tried to find my shirt, but it was nowhere. I felt cold, and I felt terrible. Exhausted, I lay down on my stomach, for my back was aching too much, and continued to cry. The hard floor was cold as well.

"Mommy, please come to help me! Please! Mommy, it's hurting really bad. You know, I wouldn't complain if it wasn't really, really bad. Mommy, where are you? Please, come!" I started to talk to myself. I closed my eyes and tried to imagine what my mom would do when she came and found me like that. She would shout at Abalonia and make her apologize, she would come and hug me and kiss me and take me away; she would... she would... Thinking about what she would do, I fell asleep, dreaming of a lion that had hurt my back...

When I woke up again, my mom had come, but instead of defending me, she slapped me and said that she was disappointed. Didn't she see the wounds on my back? The deep purple bruises, the cuts, the flesh wounds and all the blood – and my need to be hold by her? She didn't, and as we walked home, she didn't care that I could only walk very slowly, because every move was hurting. I fell into the snow a few times, I think, and all the time, my mom's slap was burning on my cheek worse than the beatings with the belt.

I didn't really remember coming home that night; everything was hurting, and I felt sick, but my mom didn't care. Grizelda and Katcha told their older sisters Vaida and Fran about what had happened, and the three of them laughed about me. I managed to lay down on my stomach on a matress in our room somehow, and tried to sleep. Fortunately, the others left me alone because dinner was ready soon.

"So, you really hit the old bat?" Fritz asked and laughed. He had finished dinner quickly to go and tease me.

"Leave her alone, Fritz!" Mikael, who had come into the room with him, said strictly.

"Always spoiling the fun, huh?" he complained, but much to my surprise, he obeyed and left the room.

I thought Mikael would go as well, but he stayed and looked at me for a while. "You're really a lucky child, are you not?" Rolling his eyes, he sat down next to me on the floor. "Let me see!" Quite gently, she removed my shirt that was blood stained by now. As he saw the wounds on my back, he made a strange noise with his tongue.

"That bad?" I asked for I couldn't see it.

"Well, you're damn lucky she only hit your neck once, Ri." He got up and left the room. I thought he was finished with me now, and I was glad that I would be left alone with the shame and the pain again, but he came back minutes later with – and that was rare – a clean towel. "We have to be careful, or it will get infected." He placed the towel on my back and took Vaida's thick, warm blanket from her bed.

"She'll-" I tried to tell him that his sister would get angry, but he just said: "She won't dare saying a word. She won't die tonight." He tucked the warm blanket around me. "Better?" he asked nearly gently.

I nodded. "Thank you."

"I only do that to stop you from whinning and crying for the next few days. I can't stand that, did I make myself clear?"

"Crystal", I replied and closed my eyes.

He sat down next to me again and stroke through my hair for a very long time. He didn't even stop when he thought I was asleep. I loved him.


P.S. Reviews are great! So review, since all the cool kids do it!