What's up? Thanks again for all the great reviews. Especially the longer ones, or just the ones that have a lot of thought put into them. Those really motivate me to keep writing. Now you may notice that the mood of this story switches very rapidly. I do this on purpose. The reason is because I want to express Clare's feelings. I kind of think her life, during being abused and all, would be like an emotional roller coaster. One moment she could be happy and joyful, but a single word or phrase could remind her of all the horrible memories. This chapter isn't really a happy one. It's not overly depressing, but still kind of shows you how horrible Clare is feeling.

I AM WELL AWARE ALLI IS GONE FROM THE SHOW! I cried when she left, btw. She is a slut and an idiot but I love her. And poor Clare just can't get a break! But this does not affect my story. Alli is still at Degrassi in my story! And who saw the preview for Friday's episode? Matching piercings? Controbad (sp?) kissing? And for the the rest of the season- Clare looking like a stripper? She wants to have sex with Eli? What the! And where the heck did Jenna and Sav come from? Like, really? And Jenna's screaming when she was in labor in the preview made my night. I'll shut my fingers up and let you read the story:

I stare at the marking on my shoulder. It's a sharp red with three bumps grazing along the surface. The dried blood circumferences around it like a protective barrier of unknown danger. I feel a sense relief wash over me knowing that the blood is dried, it had time to dissolve away from the wet and sticky substance it once was. I got through it. I got through it. I got through it.

I always get through it.

My muscle aches from the jagged counter top he thrust me into. His hands against my head left an indent, and although it may not be seen, or even felt, it's there, swimming alongside my brain like a leaf in your pool. I really need a skimmer for my brain to wash out all the horrible memories. I block them out for a matter of time, but something so physically and emotionally strong can crush through any blockade that stands against it.

I don't even remember why he hit me. It wasn't a meticulous reason this time. General, I guess you could call it. A bunch of peculiar objectives most people choose to ignore he piles up onto one another until they form a large enough excuse to hurt me. And he didn't yell when he pushed me. He didn't whisper poisonous words into my throbbing ear as I struggled to push back the tears building inside my eyes. He stayed silent, grunting and occasionally hissing at his frustration of no blood pouring out of my flesh. But when he was done, and I laid there, on the floor, grasping my wound and choking out sobs, he turned towards me, one evil, unfamiliar glance that I knew all too well, and said, "You deserved it."

He's right. I do deserve it. Every punch, every hit, every amount of agony he presses against me. I deserve it all. He's not being unfair, or cruel, like many people would say he is, he's just giving me a taste of my own medicine in a different form. I pour the liquid, and he drops the solid.

Alli doesn't say anything as we walk to the front steps on Degrassi. She's speaking and all, but not saying anything actually worth listening to. I nod my head and throw in an occasional "uh-uh" so just in case for the rare occasion that she flips her mind outside of herself and notices me not listening. I think she's speaking about Drew. But then again, a lot of words could sound like Drew when you're not really paying attention. I mean there's dude, dread, draw, dead….hit, slap, punch, kick.

Shut up, Clare. Just shut up.

"So Clare," she says, opening up the front door and batting her eyelashes innocently, "What do you think?"

"Um, um, um," I hate stuttering. It's a force inside your lungs resisting words to come out of your mouth like they're meant to. But then again, I'm not sure if this is stuttering acting up, or just my brain searching for an eligible answer.

"Cool."

I guess that's a good answer. It's one of those words that can really fit into any situation. Like a wild card in a board game.

Alli laughs, but the way she does it lets me know she doesn't find anything humorous, "I just asked you what you thought of me killing Mr. Simpson. You know, you really suck at listening." Her words aren't harsh or angry, but they have this underlying layer filled with fury.

"Sorry."

She shakes her head and presses her lips into a thin line. "Whatever," she snaps, hoisting her purse up so it lays closer to her neck, "When you're actually ready to be a good friend, call me."

As she stalks off angrily, I know deep down that I really should follow her and make amends. Part of me wants to. But another part of me wants to just get down on my knees and cry to her the reason for my strange behavior. Part of yourself isn't enough. You have to take the parts away and figure out what's still left. I do this, and realize it'd be best if I just let her burn off her rage. Alli tends to get angry with me like this all the time, anyway. She doesn't have enough will power to keep one emotion lasting for long.

People bump into me, a couple of them telling me where I need to go. I stand there in pure clueless ness until I realize I'm lounging in the middle of the main hallway, staring everyone down as the struggle to get to class on time without leaving their friends.

"Your supposed to walk," a voice whispers into my ear. I whip around, half expecting to question my sanity when no one is standing there. But to my relief, or more, my annoyance, Eli is standing there, that smirk still plastered on his face. I wonder if he sleeps with it on. Maybe there's a place in Guinnesss World Records book for longest lasting smirk, and Eli was fighting to win it.

"You know," my voice comes out louder than I expected, and it surprised me. I guess it surprised him too because his eyes widened and he took half a step back, "If you leave that smirk on for too long, I bet it would get stuck on your face."

I don't know what drove me to speak to him like that, but I was in such a crappy mood and he was only making it worse, so I kind of had a reason to.

He smiles, a real, genuine smile. I've never seen it before and it's kind of weird to see it on him. He has a nice smile. Not one of those mountainous grins that stand one thousand feet tall. His is thin, but lengthy, and makes him look not so dangerous anymore.

He copies Alli's movement with his backpack, hoisting it. "I really wouldn't mind that," he replies, "Because my smirk is just so sexy."

He throws it in my face once again and shrugs off. I follow him, well, technically it's not following since he happens to be heading towards the area where my locker is. He turns around a corner the exact same way he did yesterday after English, and I'm a little bit tempted to follow him some more.

But why? It's not like he's interesting or anything.

Just dark, and mysterious, and looks like he's hiding something. Hiding something? Just like me.

Alli ignores me the rest of the day, and honestly, I'm okay with that. The cut on my shoulder is a boulder shoving down on my insanity, and I try to ignore it, but the more I try to ignore it, the more I think about trying to ignore it. But no one's suspected anything yet. I'm wearing a quarter sleeve shirt so there's now way it could slide up and expose the hideous marking. I can't help but rub it constantly, so I decide to rub my other shoulder to make it look like I was just working out real hard at the gym. I have good tactics, and there's really no way they could fail.

But it doesn't matter how well I hide it from the rest of world. Because the truth hits me in the gut everyday, harder than my dad ever could, even with the most outrageous fury he's ever felt. It knocks the wind out of me, it shuts my brain off, and races my blood so hard it goes cold as ice. The truth never stops, it never hides behind the lies because lies are just for the people around you. And I resist it with all my might and all my will, but in the end it's not that much at all. I lose an ounce of strength every time my father's fist connects with my stomach. And I question how much I have left, or sometimes if I have any left at all.

I need someone who's so strong, who has thousands and thousands of strength points. Someone who has the kindness and courage to give some to me. Even if it's just one, that's all I want.

I just need someone. Someone at all.

And just to let you know, I will not be one of those people who's like, "I won't update unless I get _ reviews!" I just hate when people do that. However, to thank me for my kindness and show me your appreciation, you could just happen to review? Hmmmm. Maybe... Possibly...

Also, as you see, I do not get into that much detail about how her father beats her. This really isn't what the story is about. The story is about how being beaten affects Clare. It's more the emotional side of abuse rather than the physical side. I will however, explain some of it. And Adam will be a main character. Like I said, I am totally fed up with him! (But Eli is still my future husband)