A/N: Inspired by- its never too late by Three days grace. Love them. We have a long monologue so you can both see and feel where Veronica is. This is the core of part one where she is completely broken. She will rise, so hang tight!

Destiny Rocks: Chapter 4

There is a beeping sound that I can hear, and tune into it now and then. I can't quite figure out how to open my eyes, or if I am even alive anymore. I know I want to, but why I want to, I forgot. The last two years, I've pretended to be this thing-this person-and now I am her. I feel like a husk, I feel nothing, my world is nothing. In my mind, I remember this place. The first couple of days after my parents died, I hid under a bed. I even missed the dog who was now gone. I told myself that this wasn't real. Then I tried to erase myself from life all together. No one wanted me.

Not my friends who promised me their ear. They turned and laughed at me.

Not the guy who said he'd loved me. He rejected me and looked at me like I was trash.

Not the girl who promised she was like a sister to me. She broke the rest of me, even down to my soul.

I didn't know I could let them do that to me so easily. Because that's what this was-me allowing it. So I changed and let no one in. I made them nothing inside my head. My heart was already dead as coals. The lies were my fuel, and they poured over the coals, and I have burned from the inside out since. I hardly felt anything but the need for answers. Then the need for vengeance. Rage. There was a time I had no outlet, and then I found the words. Then came the tunes.

All the despair that I've held the last two years seems like a null or a voided space. Seems strange to think that, but this is the most peaceful time I've had since my parents left this world. I wanted to leave here, but they won't let me. I can feel straps on my arms. It's another lie that The Man had told them. I did this, he will say. That man, that awful man, has had his hands almost everywhere in my life. My body is lined with his scars, most of which, no one but me knows where. But not now-they just think I'm a freak. I'm broken, I am torn.

I feel the music inside me desiring to be free. I may never have the words to express this type of depravity.I can't use words right now, so I hum in my head.

I'd held it in when I was younger, and absorbed everything my dad taught me about his work. He was a good man who did good things. I loved that about him, and maybe that's how we bonded. This is why I started this…this thing I've done. Those kids need to be freed. See, The Man has friends, and they hurt people. They watch it, tape it, and sell it. They hurt people. People like my dad. People like me. If I do no more with my life, I want to finish what my father started. I am his legacy. I will find my salvation when I free them. I can't save mom or dad. I can't save the hundreds of stray kids they already killed. I couldn't even save the damned dog. How powerless am I in the world? I can't even fix the really lost ones. Even if there is only one left, I find the strength to crawl out of this darkness and expose them. A life for a life. I am going to kill the man if I ever get free.

But I think he will win. I am already tied down. After a few days, I realize that the man has them inject me with drugs so I cannot speak. God forbid they learn the truth. He could kill me, but I know he won't. He loves this sick game. I feel his hands on me, and I want to die all over again. Why do they let him keep me? Why did I put myself in his path? Obviously he cannot handle me this way, yet, money buys everything. it's costed me my soul. Was I aiming to end my life? I don't want him to win. Maybe when I started this I wanted it to end. I'm addicted to the rage.

Then there is another side of me that wants to write the words as I so often do, but they will just laugh at me, and they will tell me to be sunshine and rainbows again. Why would I try? They are so horrid to me when I tried to say the words in class. The last time I read aloud in creative writing, Logan threw his drink all over me and said I smelled better already. He said I should stick to the hell I came from rather than try to sell them these 'depressing words'. So I stopped sharing them. I stopped sharing me. The words were simple:

When I last held you,

I cannot let go,

What would you have me do,

You're all I know,

I come back from the edge,

Into your arms for one last taste...

That girl died the day everyone set me aflame and rejected me, and the day my parents were taken sealed my fate. Now, I am something new, worse, and ugly. Maybe I am the evil one they say I am?

I used to think I was a phoenix of sorts. This thing I am… reborn from the ashes of that day. I used to be that good girl. Now, I don't know who I am and that I know I can never be her again. Where do I go from here? You ever want something so bad, or lose something special that cannot be replaced? Yeah, that feeling. It's too deep, too raw, for people my age to get when I said the words. If they don't get me, how can anyone else?

It's too late,

I'll be gone tomorrow,

Tomorrow will be another day,

But yet there will only be more sorrow,

Take the knife from my back and throw it away...

So I write the words in my head with nothing but brokenness. I hum the tune, and I give it away. They haven't lived this life like so many of us have. Two years ago, I wouldn't know the first thing about darkness, and now, I am lost in its cloud. Yeah, the one that rains over my head daily. So I sold my words to the highest bidder. After a while and devised a plan to use the money for my grand scheme. I got them out of me as I pretended to be someone else, and for a time, I was myself in those moments. Do I even have a voice anymore?

Where is my book? It was the last thing I owned.

I think days have passed. The Man has taken the last thing I had to give. I feel it. It hurts...I can't face reality anymore. I may never forget it. He wouldn't do it in a way that they could tell. He's too sly for that, but I can feel it. I know my time is ending soon. There is nothing left for him to take now. Truth be told, I feel like there is nothing left of me anyway. I'm in prison as he takes what he wants. If I were examined, no one would be wiser. He's a crafty fucker, I'll give him that.

They say it's never too late, but sometimes I wonder. Sometimes, I wish I was in that car and had died right along with them. They say its survivor's guilt, or something like that. I wasn't in the car though. It's hard to lose everything all at once. I suppose it's better than a little at a time. The Man takes a piece of me a little at a time now and I am helpless to fight. God help me, I think it's gonna be too late.

They also say I should have moved on by now. Part of me is dimming, and maybe I will give in and let go. I should somehow get over it, but I am a void now. These feelings I had should magically dissipate, or that I could feel them and still be strong. I feel nothing now and move toward the darkness. I want it to swallow me hole and I want to forget I even existed. Do I even make sense?

Now there are others...

Take me away...

"FIGHT!" Weevil said to the drugged body that used to be Veronica. Her pulse was weak, and he wasn't sure if she would survive. It didn't look like she had any fight, and only one thing would make her that way. "You filthily fucker."

Blood pooled under her body dousing his cloths. They'd been on to the "man", as Veronica called him, for about three months when they finally got an in.

Mac was hysterical, "She's dying!"

"I know that!" Weevil shouted back at her, "Take the gun and go. And the phone. Give a tip to the cops. Its on the cloud, and I texted a buddy to put it out in case we don't make it. Got that sister? Now give me the other gun. I'm going to shoot his dick off and let him bleed out."

"They will lock you up!" her voice was whiny, and Weevil was getting impatient with her. "I know, but there was no other way to get her out Mac. Go now, I hear sirens. You need to be there for her when this is over. I'm gonna make that bastard pay."

It dawned on Mac, that he really did think of Veronica like family.

She eyed the gun, but handed it over. Weevil nodded to her, and Mac ran for it. They had a good idea of the layout, but it could be tricky. He wiped any evidence of Mac's prints from the gun. He knew this dick would try and say he came here and did this to Veronica, but he had a plan for that too. The cloud was a great way to ensure the video wasn't lost. He had his second already downloading it and from there, shit would hit the fan.

Weevil prayed that Mac wouldn't lose her shit. They'd hidden in here, saw Veronica, and then saw as at least five people came in with her foster father. Rumors began when Lily's body was found. This guy was in big. He took money and let them do things, things he couldn't unsee, to Veronica. It was evident that she was drugged, but that she felt what they were doing. Her screams would forever haunt his dreams. She was gone, like no light in her eyes, Weevil noted.

He had to pay. Lily was many things, but he loved her too. There wasn't an ounce of doubt in his head about what he was about to do.

He'd used his phone to capture the evidence, and needed Mac to get it out. Someone had to know what Veronica had been put through. The men had left, and Veronica had moaned in pain about it being too late or something like that. She just kept repeating the same shit over and over, making him crazier and crazier.

"It's never too late," he told her wondering if she could hear him. If the cops didn't get here fast, she would bleed out.

The alarm sounded, and he knew Mac been spotted. He shot two rounds up at the ceiling, and heard yelling. "Run like the wind, Mac. Run," he whispered. He laid Veronica down and went to the balcony to overlook the grounds. Good, he could barely make her out. They'd scented the grounds before making their way in case there were dogs. He could see the plan worked like a charm.

The door busted open and Weevil raised the gun. Just who he thought it would be.

"Hello- a little birdy told me you like to play with little girls," he said and fired. There was a scream, a howl, and a trail of blood. "See, I'm not feeling all that. That girl, she was my friend. You killed her like chop meat. This one," he indicated Veronica, "was also my friend." Then Weevil shook his head no.

He eyed the man, and shot again.

He wasn't fool enough to let him live, but god did he want to make him suffer. The guys in the jam would love to play with his ass, but he had too much reach to risk it. The "man" sweat like some rapid dog, crawled and begged for his life. Another shot. That's it, he thought, slow and steady. "I'm gonna have some real fun with you, ya little pussy."

Mac heard the shot just as she cleared the last hole in the fence. Her eyes stuck and tears leaked from her eyes, but she ran on. If she didn't make it, all of this was for nothing. Neptune could hide its secrets real well. She hopped on Weevil's bike, started it up, and managed to zip through the brush they'd cleared about a week ago. They'd been planning this since Veronica left the hospital and had no visitors. People thought she was some kind of sick freak now, thanks to everything her foster father had planted. She dialed Thumper, and he answered.

She could barely activate her Bluetooth to make a call.

"Gunshots," she immediately said. She'd never met Weevil's second, and didn't know what else to say. She knew another guy had been killed somewhere in there, but she guessed the name right.

A voice from the other side sounded pissed, "uploaded and downloaded. We're going to hack the TV station in ten minutes. Get here fast. Once this goes live…."

"I know," Mac sounded. "I got his phone."

"Turn it off, they will trace it."

"Can't they do that while it's off also?" She asked unsure. "His bike is loud. Thumper," she hesitated, "he didn't leave. I know I've heard seven shots all together."

"Pull over now, shut it off. Its actual proof, we need the phone, this is just an upload. They will track it to us. Can you hide it some place?"

Mac thought for a minute. There was a gym that she had a membership to that Veronica used to shower, and where they kept her black cloths when needed. She needed backups more often recently. "YES!" Mack yelled excitedly. She pulled into a seven eleven, pulled the phone out, and would turn it off and take the battery out for measure when the call ended.

"Good, put it there, and get here fast."

Mac felt her entire body tremble. Maybe we will get these sick fuckers. Her mind was having a hard time with what she saw tonight. It would forever be etched in her head. She put the phone back into the jacket, turned hers off also, and moved the bike around and headed for the gym.

It seemed to be taking forever.

Once at the gym, she tried to put on a mask of a smile and headed for the gym lockers and wash rooms. Veronica had a fake i.d., and an unlisted rented locker on the opposite wall from Mac's. No one would guess she had one here, but just in case, Mac went to it making sure no one else was in the room.

In her pants, were the spare keys she had hidden in her air vent. She'd found them the day Veronica went to the hospital. The key slid in like butter, and the door opened.

A pile of clothes fell out, a book, two cd's in a case, and a notebook. She grabbed it and shoved it into a bag that Weevil had on his bike. The door to the locker room opened and Mac frowned at the silence. Women were not usually that quiet. Dammit! That bike had been a bad idea, but it was slim and could go places a car couldn't.

She ducked down, slung the bag over her shoulder, and crawled the length of the lockers. There was an alarmed back door, and she hated to use it. In the mirror overhead, she saw two goons with guns. She had all of five seconds to close and lock the locker, and duck back down before they saw her in the mirror.

FUCK her mind rang out. They must be looking for his bike, she thought frantically. So they know someone else was there. She looked down at her attire. It was a black shirt, and black pants. She saw the goons face away and darted around the small half corner where the door was. At this time of night, it was going to be obvious if she were the only one out there.

There was no other choice, she thought as they came closer. The Gym had twenty four hour surveillance, so they already saw her face, and anything she hid would be found. Think, she told herself. Think!

Out of time, Mac made a dash for the door and the alarm sounded. She cursed her fate and ran as fast as she could into the dark. The bag had those strips on it so you could see in the dark, so she hugged it to her chest. Behind her, she heard yelling and running footsteps.

Damn, she thought. No car, no phone. Her eyes darted around. Where else could she go? Water! Dogs can't track water. She was sure they would try and track her in the dark, and would know her and any affiliations she had by morning. The run would take her two miles out, but it was her last hope to get someplace safe. After all, if Weevil took the fall, she would be the only witness left. Or the accessory to murder.