Disclaimer: I do not own any Nikita but I do own this story.
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1995
Fifteen year old Nikita lost her second mother on December 20, 1995. She didn't cry; she didn't shed a tear. Nikita mourned Caroline silently. And Gary? He had his own way of dealing with things.
"Nikita, you God damned lazy piece of shit! Were the hell is my breakfast?" He screamed at her.
"Get it yourself, jackass." Nikita had skipped school that day; it was now ten-forty-five.
Caroline had been dead for one month and two days. School was almost out and social workers were trying to figure out what to do with her. Gary, who had no job, no money, and no family, was living the motions of life, drunkenly.
"We have no fucking food in this damn house!" Gary slammed the refrigerator door shut.
"And whose fault is that?"
Gary had slapped her: partially because of the alcohol in his system and mostly because that was just him. Nikita had taken the hit. Gary was so much bigger than her five feet and four inches; it wouldn't have made sense for her to fight back.
"Go get yourself a fucking job, Nikki! Then maybe then you can continue to live here!"
"Ha! Where are you getting all your booze money? Huh?"
"You are nothing but a selfish orphan. You lucky I took you in!"
"Lucky? You just want the government's money. Caroline was the one who took me in . . . then you killed her."
Gary's eyes bulged and his face went red. Nikita had gone far enough to receive another blow—and she did. Gary drew back his fist and gave the petit girl a black eye. However, Gary did end with that. He punched her repeatedly and left Nikita knocked out on the kitchen floor for about twenty minutes.
When Nikita regained her consciousness, her head was spinning, her face was throbbing, and she couldn't see out of her right eye.
Nikita pulled herself up quietly with the help of the counter. She grabbed the bottle of ibuprofen and shoved it into her pocket. Nikita went to her room and locked the door behind her. She grabbed her old duffel bag from underneath the bed and began shoving it full of clothing. She put almost everything she owned in the bag: she didn't own much.
Gary was watching T.V. as Nikita snuck into the kitchen to get something. She had pulled her hair into a ponytail and had cut her bangs so that they covered her eye. Nikita set her duffel bag onto the floor carefully and grabbed a beer bottle from the refrigerator.
Quietly she snuck behind Gary. He was watching America's Funniest Home Videos; belly chuckling every time a man was hit in his privates by his son. Nikita raised the bottle above her head. Gary saw her shadow.
"What the—" He was cut off from the glass bottle smashing into his head. Gary's forehead was split open and he was momentarily knocked out.
Nikita remained frozen for a few seconds and then dropped the bottle to the ground. She ran quickly to his bed room and started digging through his drawers for money. She found a total of fifteen dollars and thirty seven cents. Nikita shoved the money into her pocket.
She rounded the corner back to the kitchen to get her bag and Gary grabbed her from behind. Nikita scream and served her enemy an elbow-to-the-gut. He lost his breath and dropped Nikita. She ran for her bag. Gary grabbed her wrist and yanked hard.
Nikita fell to the ground. Gary got on top of her and pinned her to the ground. Nikita screamed. Gary laughed evilly. Gary started ripping Nikita's shirt open and she thrashed.
Nikita grabbed the leg of one of the kitchen chairs and pulled it down on Gary. The distraction gave the second she need. Nikita through her head into Gary's forehead, and they both cried out in pain. He reached up to hold his forehead and Nikita punched him as hard as she could in the eye—the right eye.
She was able to get out from underneath of him, grab her bag and dash. Nikita pulled the door open and didn't bother closing it.
She ran from the house. She ran and ran and ran. Gary made no move to follow her.
Nikita followed the highway for a while. Not to hitch hike, but to pay her respects. Nikita came to what she was looking for: a small wooden cross stabbing the ground. It stood for the death of the innocent during a car accident. And to her, it stood for Caroline.
Nikita could have just gone to the cemetery where Caroline's widowed father buried her but he despised her. And if he saw Nikita there one more time, he had said, he'd kill her. Nikita didn't know why. Maybe he thought she was Gary's offspring. If she were, she'd kill herself.
Nikita knelt before the cross.
"I'm sorry, Caroline." She whispered. If only Caroline's job hadn't insisted she come to work that day. If only the weather hadn't been so bad. If only Gary hadn't made her work two jobs. She wouldn't have been on the road nine P.M. for her first job. It was Gary's fault.
"Caroline," Nikita said, "I have no idea where to go or what to do. I'm unwanted in everyone's eyes but yours. And you left me."
A single tear flowed down Nikita's purple cheeks. She bowed her head and did something she had never done before: she prayed.
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Twenty year old Michael cried on April 22, 1995. It was the second time he had ever cried out of joy; the first being when he was finally, legally, bound to Elizabeth.
Elizabeth. She was the strings holding him to this world. He loved her. To Michael, those words had power. Not only did he love Elizabeth, but she loved him, too. She was so quiet, peaceful, calm, and so beautiful. How did a man of sarcasm and mischief deserve a woman as perfect as her?
She was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen—and would see—he was certain.
Her skin was delicate and her hair brown and so soft. Her voice was enough to calm him down after days of stress. Her green eyes always held a secret.
Michael had never believed in love at first sight; lust, sure, but not love. He hardly believed in love before he got to know Elizabeth.
Of course lust was his first thought when her saw her in the eleventh grade. She was tall with long hair, nice legs and a hot figure. He was on the chase, just as much as every single boy there. But she wanted him. He was blessed.
And now, two years later, they turned their love into a beautiful baby girl named Sarah Ann Samualle. She weighed six pounds and eleven ounces with a pair of lungs like no other. She was the second person he loved. She was as beautiful as her mother. On that day, Michael forgot all other sorrow in the world.
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REVIEW PLEASE. The no review thing is really discouraging.
-Kayleigh
