Disclaimer: I do NOT own YYH (tho, hey I wouldn't mind)

Chapter One

The Beginning

Just an ordinary day for Tresbiot.  She walked home from school, missed the bus. It's July and she's wearing a black sweater to hide the bruises.  Her white skirt is too short, and she keeps on pulling it down self-consciously.  She has natural white hair, but tells everyone she dyed it.  To her, it's just another characteristic that sets her apart from the 'normal' people.  Her eyes are a shy and pain-filled gray, streaked with black, her face pretty, but bordering on plain.  Her shoes are worn and dirty, socks dishwater gray.  She's carrying a red book bag on her back, and wearing a solemn and guarded expression, eyes flickering from side to side in paranoia. 

            She reaches home.

            'Back to hell,' she thinks, putting her hand on the doorknob and slowly opening it, hoping its squeak wouldn't give her away.  She steps in and quietly closes the door, taking off her shoes and placing them on the rack before stepping on the stained carpet with her socks.  Quietly, she makes her way to her room, almost making it, but falling a few feet short.

            "Bitch! Come here!" a youth's voice calls.

            'Oh, fuck.' She thought, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath before obediently making her way to the kitchen were her stepbrother was lounging in a chair by the kitchen table, drinking a beer.  He was about sixteen, a foot taller than Tres.  His black hair fell to his shoulders, giving her a haunted look.

            'Drunk again.' She observed, tensing up for blows.

            "What are you doing? Trying to sneak away from me?  Scared?" he smirked.  When she didn't answer, the smirk slid off his face.

            "Answer me, *Tressy *" he said, putting a meaningful emphasis on the last word.

            Tres flinched, fear eating at her stomach.  His cold eyes dug into her.

            "I was going to my room." She answered, voice void of emotion.

            "Why? Don't like my company?  You'll soon appreciate it." He said, grabbing her arm and yanking her towards him.  As he pressed his lips to hers she felt bile run up her throat.  She yanked away and ran to her room.  Tres tried to close the door, but was thrown back by Eric, who pushed her down to the floor.

            "You'll appreciate me soon enough, sister." He said, an evil glint sharpening his piercing glaze.

            No one was there to save her, or hear her screams. No one.

            After he was done with her, he left the room, still smirking.  Tres sat there on her bed, pulling her shirt back on, feeling cold and numb.  She walked to the bathroom and vomited until she thought she'd throw up her vital organs, and forced herself to stop.  Broken, she sat there.

            'I've had enough. I can't take anymore.  I CAN'T TAKE IT!!!' She screamed in her head, wishing she would cry.  But she couldn't.  She didn't know how.  When she head the TV turn on, she headed into the kitchen and opened a drawer, taking out a knife.  Not a huge shining knife like in those over emotional horror movies, or a murderous rusty and blood clotted knife.  Just your modest kitchen knife, the kind you'd use to cut your apples.  But Tres didn't have apples on her mind.  She took it and went back to her room, hiding in her closet.  She held the knife to her wrist, hand shaking.

            'I can't do this.  I don't have the guts.' She thought.

            *Guts! * a voice in her head scoffed. * You don't need guts!  Suicide is a cowards way out! *

            She shook her dizzy head, trying to make it go away.

            She heard her bedroom door being thrown open and froze.  She flinched as it slammed against her wall.  She heard footsteps, lazy and confident.  Even his footsteps smirked as if it sensed the fear they caused.  As if in reply, they got louder, until they stopped in front of the closet door.  Her heart pounded.  The closet door opened.

            Eric stood there, smirking. When he saw her face and the blade, his smirk widened considerably. 

            He bent his head down until his lips were against her ear.

            "Remember, Tressy.  Down the road, not across the street." He laughed as she shuddered, and left the room, retreating to his chambers.

            'He doesn't think I can do it! The bastard!" she screamed in her anger.  She took the blade and thrust it through her flesh and into her heart.

            And then…

                                                                                                                        …she died.