Adam's POV

I sat up, wondering what time it was. In the background I could hear the bustling of morning in the Banks family. I rolled over, glaring contritely at the clock, which read 6:15. I was fifteen minutes late. "Adam! Hurry up! Don't make me say it again, mister!" It was my mom. She was screeching up the stairs.

"I'm coming, I'm coming!" I called back.

Groggily, I slid out from my satin sheets and off my warm and comforting bed. I walked mechanically to my bathroom. Yes, I do have my own bathroom. After a moment, I felt a puddle growing under my foot, and looked down. With a yawn, I saw that my toe was bleeding. I wondered how that could have happened, before I realized that I'd stubbed my toe on the dresser. I hadn't even felt it! I wiped my eyes, the morning film disappearing. "Ow?" I hadn't felt it at all. I guess that was me though, immune. In a way, I suppose I must have been. There's no way I could have survived if I wasn't.

I peered into the mirror, viewing my pallid façade. A sudden rush of anger swept through me, and I slammed my palms against the glass. "Adam," I scolded myself, "You have to learn to control that temper."

There was a purplish-black mark circling my eye. I poked at it ruefully. It stung. So, I thought to myself, you're not immortal.

Besides the black pit that swallowed my eye, I was good looking. It frustrated me, big time. I wouldn't mind being good looking, accept for the fact that my father didn't seem to think I was. He kept trying to make not-so-subtle alterations to my face.

Now my temper was running away with me, and I clenched my jaw. I combed my hair and got dressed, running back into the bathroom to brush my teeth. I sauntered hesitantly down the stairs. I knew my mom wouldn't say anything about my black eye, and my dad would grin proudly at it…disgusting me. My two brothers would sneer and make fun of me.

Travis, the eldest of us, was 18. He was a senior in the local high school. He had black hair that flew from his face in greasy wisps, as if it held a stench that you wouldn't want to get anywhere near. His eyes were a dark shade of brown, and his nose was long, skinny and pointed. Every time I looked at him, I half-expected to see a wart forming on the end of it. He had an attitude that made you want to slug him. Sometimes I just couldn't resist.

The middle child, Brad, was just as cruel and obnoxious as Travis was. He was two years younger, but it was like they were the same, or they'd formed an alliance. The only thing I'd noticed about him, was that he had a conscience. He felt bad after Travis did something. He was human. He had nearly black hair, which was cut short and prim. His eyes matched the hue of his hair. He wasn't bad looking, but he wasn't movie-star material or anything.

My father, my awful father, was a handsome man. He was middle-aged and filthy rich. He had dark brown hair, and a receding hairline. He'd grown up in a high-class family, and had always intended to have one of his own. He was a banker. His favorite hobby, besides beating me, was to drink. He'd been an alcoholic since I was four years old. He hadn't hit me until five, though.

My mom was nothing short of beautiful. She had a lighter complexion, which I'd inherited. She had long blondish hair that fell to her mid-back. Her eyes were green-blue, like mine. She was very close to perfect. I really didn't look a thing like my father, but took after my mother one hundred percent. She didn't defend me, which made me dislike her, and distrust her. She was no where near as cruel as Travis, or my father, but she did her harm without saying.

Halfway down the stairs Travis confronted me.

"Well, well, well. Aren't you a little far from your mommy?" He and Brad both loved to make fun of me over the fact that my mother hated me just as much as I hated her. He pushed me the rest of the way down the stairs and I landed, curling, on my back. Brad walked along casually, stepping on me. He stepped purposefully on my stomach and I fought to get my breath back. The air came in short gasps as both my brothers leaned over me.

"Oh, your highness, can we help you up?" They tugged on my shoulders, and I involuntarily stood on my own two feet, breathing erratically.

"Darling, what would you like for breakfast?" Travis jeered at me. They led me to the kitchen, my feet not even touching the ground. I didn't answer. There was already a bowl of cereal poured, so it didn't seem that I'd have a choice. Brad surrendered me to my older brother, and went to get the cereal. Travis spun me around, into the counter's edge. I cringed, that had hurt after all.

"How about cereal?"

Brad smirked, holding the bowl under my chin. Travis took it from him, and Brad thrust my head into the mixture. My nostrils filled with the creamy liquid. I tried to breathe, the ivory substance seeping into my mouth. I sputtered, trying to spit it back out. Travis rotated his hand, my nose pressing flat against the bottom of the bowl.

Brad laughed a truly maniacal laugh, and Travis followed suit, setting the bowl down. Milk dripped from my nose and mouth as I sank to the floor, stunned. I wouldn't cry, no, I wouldn't cry. The first time my dad had beaten me, I promised myself that I wouldn't cry. So, at a mere five years old, I had abandoned my emotions.

Travis and Brad advanced, and would have bullied me more, but my mom yelled, "Travis! Brad! Bus's here!" They disappeared out the door. Both wore huge and repulsive smirks.

I hated them. They slammed the door behind, and my mom entered the room. I flinched, my senses returning, and waited for the verbal assault that I was sure would come.

"Adam," she started calmly, to my surprise, "What's all this mess about?"

I swallowed nervously, the bulge of my gullet moving silently.

"Um…" I knew if I told her that it was Travis and Brad, she'd simply tell me that I was lying, and give me a lecture on how I should act more mature and not like the baby I'd made myself out to be. Later that night, she would tell me father. I pictured the scene that I was positive would happen if I blamed it on my brothers.

She moved towards me, and I shrunk myself into a denser ball of human. She leaned over me, frowning.

"Grow up, Adam. I won't tell your father this time…he got you pretty bad last night. The next time you do something like this, I won't be so lenient."

I stared up at her, in shock. Was that a note of sympathy I detected? Did she have a conscience after all?

I looked at her warily. She was right about last night's beatings. It hurt me to move. Each of my muscles begged for mercy when I shifted my position.

"Okay…" I knew, of course, that there would be many more incidents like this. As long as Jesse and Brad were around, anyway.

"Alright. Now go change. Hurry. You'll be late for school."

I got up and meandered up the stairs. As I re-dressed, I wondered what the change in my mom's attitude was all about. Had he beaten her too? There was no time to think about it, since I would be late if I didn't leave right away. I ran down the stairs and out the door, not even thinking to say anything concerning my departure.

I sprinted down the street, despite the pain. Charlie was waiting for me.