Secrets, Chapter Two

Author's Note: This is a re-do of a story I did 8 years ago. The original story is in my profile. I still get questions regarding my Kristin stories every once in awhile, and I can't really think of any way to do a story solely on her so I decided to do this instead. The original version is pretty bad/unrealistic so a LOT has changed, but the same basic plot and details are the same. I also changed some names because I was pretty dumb in 7th grade and used a lot of names of people I knew IRL.

Summary: Twelve-year-old Kristin Maddox is given a spot at Horizon after a call from her band teacher to his best friend, Peter Scarbrow. He doesn't know what her secrets are, but he knows something is horribly wrong, and Peter may be the only one who can save her.


Kristin sat in the front seat of her dad's squad car on their drive home. She nearly broke out in a sweat from worrying about what she knew was coming. Every once in awhile, she would sneak a look at her father, but he would just stare ahead, or wave to a passer-by.

Once they got home, Kristin sat frozen in the car for a few moments as her dad went to step out.

"Come on. If you're so sick, we need to get you inside," her dad urged.

She walked inside following him, staying six steps behind him. As soon as the door was closed, she expected him to turn around and start hitting her, but he simply went to the pantry.

"You want soup?"

"Dad, I only ran off from school because my band teacher, he saw the-the bruises on my back…" She was always hesitant to mention what he had done. "He started asking me questions so I just took off, I didn't know how to answer them. I did it to protect you," she talked quickly, ending with a timid smile.

"Do you want soup?" He asked again.

She shook her head.

"Go to your room. Go to sleep."

"Dad…?" She hated when she couldn't guess what was going to happen.

"Sleep, Kristin. You'll need it. If you're sick and all," he repeated. "I'm going out, I'll be back soon."

She knew he was going to a bar, and that made her even more frightened.

She watched him leave, then walked to her room and turned on the TV. She wasn't really use to being home at this time, and didn't know what to watch to kill the time. She got up with the intent on cleaning her room, but then found her photo albums.

The very first picture was her with her uncle. It was her dad's brother. He had always been her favorite relative, had always been the one she thought of the few times she had the courage to pick up the phone in a weak attempt at getting out of her home. He was in the air force, and lived a few states away with his wife and three kids. Her dad allowed her to visit there twice a year, mostly to keep her uncle from questioning him. He didn't have much to question about; her dad always left her alone for a few weeks before she left because, she knew, he was terrified of his brother finding out about the family's secret. Kristin had never said a word to her uncle about her dad hitting her, but had spoken of being unhappy there and that was enough to make her uncle pissed off.

She missed him desperately; he was the only relative who she felt comfortable with. Her dad was…well, a wreck; her brother was heading down the same path as her dad; and her mother had basically simply stopped coming home from business trips. She hadn't seen her mother in 6 months—not that she tried to do anything to stop her dad. But her uncle Mike, he made her feel like a person. After one particularly rough punishment, she had even called her uncle crying, begging him to let her come visit him. He promised he would call back the next day with flight information, but her dad found out about the call and put a stop to it all.


She must've fallen asleep on the floor, because the next thing Kristin knew, she heard the front door slam shut and her dad sloppily scream her name. She scrambled up and quickly walked to the living room.

She cringed when she realized that his belt was already off. "Dad, please," she begged softly. "I didn't want to get you into trouble."

"Don't talk shit!" He roared, grabbing her arm and pulling her over to the wall. "Put your hands on the wall," he ordered.

She did as she was told, reluctantly. Sometimes dad preferred to simply swing the belt in her general area, but other times he wanted her to "assume the position", a term he coined one day as he laughed while holding her report card that had the dreaded B- on it.

This had become so routine that, as her dad swung the belt and it hit her shirt—he was probably too drunk to even raise her shirt up like he usually did—she simply counted the marks on the wall. It's not that it didn't hurt; it hurt like hell. But she needed some sort of distraction.

"What the fuck are you looking at?" He screamed, twirling her around when he wasn't getting .much of a reaction from her.

"Nothing…" she mumbled.

Without warning, he punched her in the face. She jumped back and gripped her cheek in surprise. He pushed her into the wall, causing her to stumble and smack her head against the wall.

That was all she remembered.