A/N: I hope everyone enjoyed my beautiful prologue (hehe). And I hope you enjoy chapter 1. So without further ado…here it goes:

Chapter 1

The rain fell in sheets as Spot Conlon tried to make his way home from Manhattan. The only light he had to see by came from the occasional bolt of lightning. As the lightning flashed and he neared the middle of the Brooklyn Bridge, he thought he saw someone near the railing. He approached cautiously, and with the next bolt of lightning, he was able to make out a girl sitting on the railing, looking into the murky waters of the Hudson River. He stood near the girl, and with a third bolt of lightning, he could see that she had deep cuts embellishing her thin wrists.

"Does 'dat hurt?" He asked slowly, studying the girl carefully.

"No. Nothing hurts anymore," she replied without even looking up at him.

"Do you'se need any help?" He asked.

"No."

"You'se sure? 'Dose cuts look pretty deep," Spot said as another bolt of lightning lit up the midnight sky.

"I…I'm posit—"

The girl fainted, and nearly fell from her perch on the bridge into the muddy water below, but luckily Spot grabbed her in time. He pulled her over the railing and laid her gently onto the cobblestones. Spot waited for the next flash of lightning, and when it came, he looked closely at the cuts on the girl's wrists. They were deep and she seemed to have lost a fair amount of blood. He could also see that she was soaked to the bone, and so was he. He needed to get this girl somewhere safe and warm so that he could tend to her cuts. Spot picked her up tenderly, and proceeded to carry her to the Brooklyn Newsboys' Lodging House.

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Spot entered the run-down lodging house, and carried the girl up the stairs. He debated whether or not to put her in the main bunkroom or in his room, but in the end, decided on his room so that she would have some privacy. He pushed open the door to his room and entered. He laid the girl on the bed, and then went into the bathroom to find something to bandage her cuts with. He returned to his room, and began dressing the girl's wounds. As he was wiping the blood from her arms, her eyes fluttered open.

"Who are you?" She asked meekly.

"Spot Conlon," he replied, smiling.

"Aslyn Celeste Perry," she said. She tried to hold out her hand for him to shake, but she winced in pain at the movement.

"Why'd you do this?" Spot asked in reference to her cuts.

"I—" she began to answer but suddenly fainted again.

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The next day, Spot skipped selling his papers for the day so that he could watch over Aslyn. Later that afternoon, he was still sitting at her bedside, watching her sleep. She had shoulder length dark brown hair, lips shaped like a rosebud, and fair skin. Spot imagined that her cheeks were rosy and glowing when she wasn't drained of life. He also imagined that she had bright brown eyes that danced in the sunlight and that her lips always carried the faintest hint of a smile.

Spot wondered why such a beautiful creature would hurt herself. He had sat by her bed practically all night and day waiting for her to awake so he could ask her just that. He had to know—it was eating him up inside.

As he sat watching her, Aslyn's eyes opened slowly and she smiled softly at Spot.

"Hi," she said. Her smile faded as she looked down at her bandaged arms.

"Hey," Spot replied.

"What time is it?" Aslyn asked, "and where am I?"

"It's a lil' past noon, and you'se in 'da Brooklyn Newsboys' Lodging House," Spot answered, matter-of-factly.

"Oh," Aslyn said. She seemed to be pondering this, but she suddenly asked, "Why'd you stop me?" Spot wasn't quite sure, but he thought he heard fear in her voice.

"Stop ya' from doing what? Killin' you'self?" Spot rebutted, surprised. "Why wouldn't I have stopped you? Wouldn't you try to help someone in trouble?"

"I wasn't in trouble," Aslyn countered, defiance ringing through her voice.

"Weren't in trouble?!" Spot said, almost shouting, "you was about to jump off 'da Brooklyn Bridge and you'se trying to tell me 'dat youse weren't in trouble?!"

"I didn't need to be rescued if that's what you mean," Aslyn stated clearly. "Did it ever occur to you that maybe I wanted to jump?"

"Yeah, it occurred to me," Spot said, "after seein' all 'dose cuts I knew you wanted to do something. But why this? Why would youse hurt yourself?"

"You wouldn't understand," she said, looking away from him.

"Try me."

"My mother died when I was ten, and—"

"Me' mother died when I was six, but I'm fine," Spot interrupted.

Aslyn held up her hand, "you didn't let me finish. I grew up in a very tight-knit family. My mother was an English immigrant and my father was from Ireland—"

"'Dat's where me' parents were from," Spot interrupted again.

And again Aslyn held her hand up, "will you please stop interrupting? Now, as I was saying, my mother was from England and my father was from Ireland. They met when they came here, fell in love, married, and had my brother, Matthew, and me. We were a very close family, but after my mother died everything just…changed." Here Aslyn paused as a single tear rolled down her cheek. "After she passed away my father took to himself. He didn't talk to Matthew or me much, but we figured that was due to his grief. But soon his anger began to flare. My father would use any excuse he could to hit me. If I didn't say "sir" or wasn't home on time, he would hit me. If I didn't keep the house clean or get him his meals, he would hit me. He was a changed man. Then when Matthew saw how my father controlled me, he wanted a hand in it as well. But his way of hurting me was far worse." Aslyn stopped; her tears were becoming uncontrollable now.

Spot reached out and took her hand in his. He gently stroked the back of her hand with his thumb, and watched her intently. Her brown eyes were filled with pain and sorrow, and her arms tensed with every movement she made.

"Youse don't have to finish if you don't want to," Spot said in reference to her story.

"No. I started telling you and intend to finishing telling you," Aslyn said, looking up into Spot's clear, blue eyes.

His eyes seemed to change with his mood. When he had approached her on the bridge, his eyes had been a silver-blue color, filled with fear and pain. Now, as he listened to her story, they held a deep, understanding blue. She was captivated and held by their beauty and power.

Looking away from him, she continued, "My brother…he use to…"

"What did he do's to ya'?" Spot asked when Aslyn paused, seeming lost for words.

"He used to…to touch me…. It hurt so much. More than anything my father ever did to me. I hated him for it. And the worst part was that my father knew what was going on. He knew what Matthew was doing to me, but he didn't care. He didn't do anything to try to stop it."

Aslyn stopped, sobbing into her hands. Spot sat on the bed next to her, and pulled her close to him. He wrapped his arms around her, and rocked her back and forth, stroking her hair slowly.

"Sh," he said softly, "it's alright. It'll be all right. Sh."

A/N: Thanks for reading everybody! Please review…you will be much appreciated and very much loved!