Okay

AN: I understand that the events are a little displaced – homecoming is traditionally pretty early in the year around fall and the movie moves a lot faster than that, so you'll notice that random scenes from the movie place themselves in my story at times that may seem strange, but in reality I'm just spacing them out in terms of when they would have realistically happened.

As it turned out, I ended up calling that number sooner than I thought I would have needed it.

I dialed the number half an hour after I got home, bloody and bruised. Mike had immediately assaulted me when I had walked through the door, trapping me into the corner and holding me up against the wall so I wouldn't struggle as he pummeled his fists into my face. I lost count of the punches as my struggle grew weaker, but remembered nearly drifting out of consciousness and receiving a final kick to my stomach. Then, I recalled coming to about ten minutes later and trying to locate the phone despite the blood on my face. I doubted that I had brain trauma; things seemed to be working fine despite the fact that half my face was swollen and numb and that I could taste the significant familiar metallic taste.

"Hello?" Warren picked up on the first ring; I assumed it was his cell phone.

"Warren," I mumbled, pulling myself up from a slouched position so that I was sitting on one of the chairs around my dining room table. I prayed that Mike wouldn't come back around to see what I was doing. "Can I stay at yours tonight?"

"Did something happen?" He asked, a different tone coating his voice.

"I'll explain when I get there," I muttered, finally giving up. This method of living wasn't viable anymore. I had had enough and accepted that Mike needed to pay for his years of terror and abuse. My mother and I had both suffered, and whilst she had succumbed to the pressures of Mike's awful habits I had continued to stand strong, and promised myself that I would be responsible for the downfall of the man who had made my life a living hell. "I'm done with this."

"Take the 52 from Main Street," He explained. "It comes every five minutes until twelve o'clock. Get off at Elm and I'll be waiting for you."

"Thank you," I breathed, wiping my face and breathing a sigh of relief. "Thank you – thank you."

"I'll see you soon," Came his gruff tone, and we both hung up.

I practically darted upstairs as fast as I could, and packed a spare change of clothes as well as a small bag of food and toiletries as well as my leftover booze to make sure that I wasn't completely dependent on Warren once I got there. My heart was beating fast; I had never done this before and I was nervous to be found out. Whilst the logical part of my brain had finally taken over and assured me that explaining my situation to someone was a step in the right direction, the other part of my brain was screaming for control. It kept feeding me images of my mother in rehab, crying for her daughter and scary men seeking me out in the dead of night to avenge Mike. My anxiety caused me a lot of things, but it had never been this violent with me. It was almost as if there was a separate brain hooked up into mine, feeding horrible thoughts and producing second guesses. It was difficult, but I managed to push them away the entire trip to Warren's house.

As he had mentioned, he was waiting for me, and the minute I walked up to him he nearly blanched.

"Who did this to you?!" He gripped my face as gently as possible in his anger, nostrils flaring and eyes fiery with rage. "Was it Mike? Was it him?"

I didn't say anything, regarding him with wide eyes and waiting until his shoulders slumped in signal that he had made the conclusion by himself.

"Jesus Eleanor," He placed a hand on his face. "Please let me take you to the police – please?!"

I just looked at my feet as best I could – my left eye had swelled up pretty bad and it was difficult seeing out of it – but I maintained my vision as best as I could and simply uttered a plea to go in the morning instead of the evening. Warren was reluctant to do so, insisting that we would miss a day of school and that there would be calls home, but his mother would understand the situation and my parents never picked up the phone, so as far as I was concerned that worked itself out. He led me to his home, an arm wrapped around me to guide the way, until we got to the small abode where he and his mother lived. I didn't know if he had explained the situation to his mother, but when I walked in, Cyclone - otherwise known as Terri Peace - immediately went to grab her first aid kit. The famous superhero that was known as Warren Peace's mother and Baron Battle's wife had been famous for awhile, and I had seen her on TV, so being in her presence as she rushed to help me out was rather strange.

"Oh honey," She had a look of sympathy on her face as she went to wet a cloth. "I'm sorry that this happened to you."

She didn't ask any nosy questions or why I had come to her; she didn't even ask for my name. This woman – this hero – had accepted and rushed to help me as fast as possible, disregarding any suspicions she might have had. First she cleared the blood from my face and sat me down to get a better look at my injuries. Then, without a demand for information or a doubt, she disinfected my cuts – causing Warren to tense up at my hiss of pain and remind his mother not to hurt me – and applied two white medical bandages.

"You should go to the doctor to make sure you don't have any more trauma," She uttered softly, packing away the medical kit. "Eleanor, right?"

I nodded, eyeing Warren and wondering if he had said anything else about me to his mother besides my name.

"I'm gonna take her to the police station tomorrow mom," He explained, not even waiting for my confirmation. At this point, I didn't really care – I just wanted Mike out of my life and my mother in a safe place. If it meant I had to find a foster home, so be it. I wanted out of this shitty lifestyle.

"The police station?" His mother gave him a worried glance as she washed her hands. "Why?"

"Her step-dad's beating her!" Warren pointed towards me. "Look at what he did! He's been doing this for weeks, mom – since I met her on the first day."

Cyclone's eyes flew wide open as she placed a hand over her mouth and stood in shock for a moment or two. Then, she shifted closer to me and knelt so that she could see my face, taking on the role of mother for a child that didn't have a proper one. The cat was out of the bag at this point as Warren had clearly taken the initiative of speaking for me, and I didn't exactly object to it. This time, instead of considering it a negative thing that he had found out about a secret I have been keeping for years in a matter of weeks, I considered it a life saving event. But yet, I couldn't bring myself to speak.

"Is this true?" She murmured, brushing both sides of my hair out of my face. Warren was still standing nearby, tense and angry.

I didn't respond at first; my brain was running on overdrive – I barely had any energy left and I was so tired from the events of today that I just wanted to fall asleep. But there was a last push left in my system, and I used it to explain everything right from the beginning from when I had been born. I told them about how I found my powers, when my mother miscarried, when my father left and when my mother faded into blackness. I explained how Mike had basically come out of nowhere and how my mother was the only one able to maintain a job, however she depended on him for money to run the shabby little piece of shit house we had. I told them about when the abuse started and all of the monsters that came with it – the drinking, the cutting, the thoughts of suicide – everything. I opened myself up to a person who I had known for a month at the most, and another who I had only just met seconds earlier, and completely entrusted in them to help me at what was possibly at the most vulnerable point of my life so far.

When I finished explaining my morose tale, Cyclone was still staring at me with big wide eyes, and Warren's face had turned into a grimace. He held sympathy in his gaze, but I couldn't feel anything but tension in the room aside from Cyclone's aura. There were a few more moments of silence, and then she suggested that I get a good meal in my stomach and some shut eye. Warren reheated some leftovers set in the fridge and watched me eat without batting an eye, following the fork into my mouth and back down to the plate until I had finished the pasta. My eyes flickered between him and his mother, watching her as she cleaned dishes and meeting his stare for several seconds.

"The couch is a pull out," Cyclone explained, taking another plate and rinsing it. "I'll get it set up for you in a second. We should call the school first thing tomorrow and get you two out of your classes."

I was grateful that she didn't ask me to speak any more, because as soon as she mentioned the couch, my eyes already started flickering shut and Warren had to come to my rescue as to not let me face plant on the table. He sat me up straight, moving to the living room where he unfolded the couch on his own and grabbed a couple of blankets from the cupboard. Their house was small; not exactly tiny but small enough to match the rest of the little one floor houses on the block and form a neat row of what looked like little cottages. It seemed like a nice neighborhood; I briefly wondered why Cyclone didn't live in a bigger house since heroes got paid a large sum of money every year for helping defend the community as well as the rest of the world.

"Here," I noticed that Warren's grimace had faded as he held out his hands towards me and assisted me to the couch. His touch was warm and comforting, almost causing me to complain as he let go once I had been seated on the makeshift bed. "Tell me if you need anything."

I nodded slightly, watching him as he walked back to the kitchen and listening until Cyclone had finished washing dishes. They talked in low tones, and I could only overhear certain words here and there – not enough to piece together what they were saying. I hadn't moved from my sitting position at the couch and was now staring at the fireplace, my stomach twisted into a nervous knot that I couldn't untie. I really didn't want to leave my mother in the hands of Mike for the night – especially after he had beaten me so badly, but I had no choice and knew that he would hit me again if I stayed that night. My mother had fallen into his clutches simply because she had been so desperate and in distress after my dad had left, but I never blamed her for the life that Mike had brought down upon us. I blamed her for picking him out of all people, sure, but once Mike walked through that door he refused to walk back out. Even in the beginning after the multiple times that my mother tried to kick him out, Mike wouldn't budge, and when my mother began to see dollar signs and house bills being paid, Mike tightened his hold on her. Whatever I said didn't matter – he was paying the bills and that was exactly what she wanted him for. We hadn't known at the time that his emotional abuse would soon develop into a violent and terrifying lifestyle.

I hadn't noticed Cyclone making her way towards me, and jumped when she leaned down to offer me a glass of water. She recoiled for a moment, sympathy set on her face again, before handing me the glass and placing my bag at my feet.

"There's a bathroom next to the kitchen," She explained, pointing back towards where I had eaten. "Come get me or Warren if you need anything."

She paused for a moment before walking away, seemingly trying to decide whether or not to say something.

"Eleanor," She began. "I am truly sorry that this has happened to you. We are going to try and help you as best we can."

I stared up at her with giant wide eyes, reminding myself that this woman who had barely known me for half an hour at most, was now promising me that she was going to do her best to try and help me out of a situation she knew nothing about. A complete stranger - someone who I would have probably run away from if they had said hello – was helping me in a moment where I had nothing and needed something. This was the start of my re-instillation of faith in human nature. It had been dead ever since I had met Mike, so to meet someone who trusted me and allowed me into their home without a second doubt was very bizarre, yet extremely helpful.

"Try to get some sleep – if you can't there's a laptop with plenty of movies you can watch," She smiled. "Just ask Warren for some headphones. You're welcome to help yourself to anything in the fridge."

I nodded again, trying to focus on keeping down the nausea in the pit of my stomach. I felt like I was plotting for a major attack plan in an adventure movie. This was insane; I never imagined that I would have been fixing my situation this early on in my life, but now that I had finally realized why the little assuring voice in my head had been so wrong all the time, I was capable of taking steps forward. It was frustrating and nerve wracking at the same time – did it really take another person to crack me out of this lifestyle? Had I really been that brainwashed by my own head all along? There were a lot of things going through my head, and Cyclone obviously noticed.

"Goodnight Eleanor," A faint smile appeared on her lips, the sympathy never fading. Somewhere in those eyes, there was a sort of recognition that I was sure I saw. I didn't stop her as she left to her room to ask about it, but I was certain that both she and Warren had experienced some kind of monsters similar to mine. I could see it in their eyes; there was a darkness that lingered there and didn't calm. I could only assume it had something to do with Baron Battle.

Trying to rid myself of these thoughts and get some sleep, I took the liberty of changing into a tank top that I had placed into my bag to sleep and a pair of sweatpants. I found the most comfortable pillow I could and curled myself up as much as possible. I was terrified of Mike or my mother bursting through the door as soon as possible, accusing me of going up against them and trying to expose their secrets. It was as if I believed I had some sort of wire on me and that they were able to hear everything going on. I had to rely on my own mind to calm myself down and remind my thoughts that there was no way in hell they could have known where I was staying; I had spent countless nights outside of the house before without them stalking me, so what was the difference between this night?

You're plotting. The little voice in my head sneered. Plotting against your own mother. They won't even know what's coming.

I shut it up rather quickly, sitting up again in the bed as I acknowledged that falling asleep wasn't going to be as easy as I thought despite the exhaustion creeping through my veins. I could feel my eyes closing on their own, but the minute they shut they snapped back open and my brain was launched into believing that Mike was knocking on the door. It was almost as real as sleep paralysis, and I didn't know what to do until I finally decided to go ask Warren for the headphones. I didn't like being this near to the door in the household; it make me too anxious in case someone barged in and I was the first to be attacked. Quickly finding my way in the dimly lit house, I located what I could only assume to be Warren's room based on the signs on the door, and knocked thrice. There was a low call from inside – the light was still on – and I let myself in to discover a room that I could only compare similarity to with mine. Old rock posters littered the walls, covering red wallpaper that had visible torch marks and large holes. I wasn't sure if this meant Warren had punched it in his rage, or if his powers had been strong enough to break through concrete. Clothing, books and takeout boxes lay scattered everywhere on the ground, embedding themselves in between the desk and drawer where at least a hundred more books and CD's lay, accompanied by a stereo and two large amplifiers. It was a good setup for music; it was nice to see that he enjoyed investing his time in music and reading so much.

"What's wrong?" I hadn't taken into account that Warren was laying comfortably in his bed, shirtless, reading the rest of Bifocal in peace. It took me a couple seconds to register it - if I needed a distraction it was certainly here – but it was broken the moment Warren repeated himself a second time.

"Uh," I stuttered, words stuck in my throat. "I-I can't sleep – I was gonna ask if I could borrow some headphones."

"Sure," Warren rose out of his bed, muscles stretching in all of the right directions and giving me a couple of seconds to stare as he searched his room. He found a pair, handing them to me and stopping as he spotted the tattoos lining my body. I had several, beginning with my arms where sleeves of different animals were placed and covered my self harm scars, as well as a large piece on my back, some on the back of my neck and behind my ears and several on my rib cage and hips. My ankles and wrists had began as stick and pokes and then had proceeded to be covered by real artwork, showing off symbols of Green Day's St. Jimmy, the Rebel Alliance and the Deathly Hollows. My legs were still a work in progress; but they held two major portraits on either thigh with a lion and a lamb, showing off a quote that read: 'Rise and rise again, until lambs become lions'. These marks were all very important to me – a lot of the pieces I got had been quotes that helped me through hard times or were simply symbols that meant a great deal to me.

"Hey," He murmured, staring at the pieces up and down. "I haven't seen these before."

I didn't say anything, smiling slightly. I didn't feel like explaining how I had robbed Mike of some of his savings stash every now and then, clocking him out of a solid three thousand dollars over the course of a year and six thousand over the next over small short periods of time. It seemed that he didn't notice either way, and he didn't deserve the money that he got for being such a horrible human being, so each time I wanted a new tattoo, I would take increments of cash out of his bucket of savings and contribute it to my new tattoo. It was a work in progress, but each one of my pieces meant a lot to me, and each time a meaning was engraved onto my skin it reminded me of the meaning that came alongside it. Each time I looked in the mirror I was reminded of their purpose, and they helped despite the bleak outlook I had on life.

"Where did you get all of these from?" Warren frowned, taking a seat on the edge of the bed. His curiosity had been piqued.

"There's a shop that I've been going to for a long time," I explained, biting on my vertical labret stud nervously as his eyes raked over my arms and chest. I had been working on my skin for a long time at the Golden Dragon; I knew the tattoo artist's so well they had stopped asking for my name, and simply expected me very frequently. Besides, Mike wasn't going to do much with the money besides contribute it towards booze, and he could definitely do with less of that. "years, actually."

"It's some nice artwork you got there," Warren's eyebrows raised as he leaned forwards to inspect some of the scripture underneath my collarbone. "I didn't know you had all these."

"Thank you," I mumbled, not very used to someone complimenting me on my work in progress considering I didn't show it very often. I considered my body a piece of art that I was always contributing towards – almost like a book where I decided the outcome. I could tell stories on my body and engrave messages that stayed forever – it was a concept that I had instilled in me ever since I had gotten my first tattoo with a fake ID. The ink had me hooked, and I was a regular customer from thereon out. "I appreciate that."

"Is that a jellyfish?" He motioned to one of my sleeves.

"Yes," I smiled slightly, remembering the time when my mother had taken me to the Aquarium when I had been little. "The ocean and the sky are on this side – the rain forest and the savanna are on the other."

He motioned for me to come closer, squinting his eyes slightly as his eyes made their way over each and every animal that was scattered onto my arms. There were birds, lions, a tiger, an elephant, dolphins and sharks – even a turtle and an octopus had made their way onto my arm. The colors were still vibrant and blended well together; all of the artists at the Golden Dragon were very talented in their art, and realism was a particular skill set they specified in.

"You got any on your back?" Warren jutted his chin out, as if to ask me to turn. I nodded, my smile growing wider as I realized he was enjoying the artwork that lined my skin.

"Woah," I heard his tone of surprise as the large circular scripture of the one ring from the Lord of The Rings was revealed. It surrounded the white tree of Gondor, which was the tree that grew in the city of men – Minas Tirith - and gave them hope when it blossomed. It was a symbol of growth and prosperity; it was my first piece of work and one of the most beautiful. He couldn't see any more underneath my tank top, but I was sure that his curiosity was piqued, because he set on asking me about any more.

"I have many," I admitted, nodding. "They're parts of me."

"I can see that," He murmured, eyes still tracing over my arms.

"What about you?" I tilted my head, now curious to see if he had anything besides his two flames. I couldn't see anything on his chest, and I was too scared to look lower than that, so I left the question hanging.

"Just one on my back," He rose and turned around, revealing a giant phoenix covering a large majority of his back, screeching and barring it's wings wide. Above it was a scripture that read 'rebirth' in a Celtic font, sitting on his shoulders and accenting the giant tattoo. My mouth fell open slightly as I crept closer, trying to look at the details of the giant black inked bird in all of it's glory.

"Holy shit..." I was tempted to reach out and touch it, but pulled my hand back at the last moment. I figured that if I didn't like someone touching me without warning, it should be the same with everyone else. "It's beautiful."

"Thank you," Came his soft reply. Then, as if remembering something else, he lunged down to the ground to pick up a stray book in between two shirts and handed it to me. "Oh – and..."

"For you," He held out a copy of Fight Club, the edges of the cover slightly burnt and bent. "I don't know if you've read it before, but you like action movies, so..."

"No," I smiled, knowing the plot perfectly well behind the book as I had seen the movie multiple times. "But I've been meaning to."

I smiled again and turned to leave the room, but stopped when Warren called my name again. It was nice to hear it coming from his lips; his voice was deep and smooth and soft – comforting to hear and reassuring at the same time.

"I'm sorry," He admitted. At this point I still had my back turned, and was unwilling to turn around as to not project myself as rude by staring at his body instead of his face, but was forced to at the sound of his apology.

"Sorry for what?"

"For pushing you," He continued, sitting back down on his bed and placing his arms on his knees. "For pushing you to leave your family sooner rather than later - I caused stress, and I didn't mean to do that. I'm sorry."

"Warren," I sighed, feeling my eyebrows pull together into a frown. "Y-you helped a lot. Maybe I needed that push."

"My push is a little strong," Warren admitted, grimacing as if remembering the first day he met me.

"Yes," I agreed. "But you helped me realize that I need to do this. This life isn't acceptable anymore – I accept your apology but I recognize that I might have needed that kind of a push."

This kind of talk was strange; I never would have thought of myself talking this openly to someone who I had only gotten to know in the last month and a half. My stutter had disappeared and my words flowed somewhat clearly as I was able to connect my thoughts to my mouth much better. Before it seemed like a blur of excuses and small pieces of sentences that I strung together to get through my life, but now everything was much clearer and easier. I was thinking towards bettering myself and my life instead of leaving it in the clutches of parents who only had their own interests in mind.

Warren didn't say anything else, so I hoped that he understood where I was coming from and bid him a final goodnight, going back to the front room and picking up the laptop that Cyclone had talked about. I sifted through several sites online, finally clicking on the fourth Harry Potter and lulling myself to sleep with the familiar sounds. It wasn't long before I was curled up again like a little bird, laptop and movie still playing in my ears as I slept.

I hadn't expected to handle the next morning as well as I thought I could have.

We had arrived at the police station early in the morning after an encouraging set of words from Cyclone, assuring me that I could go through with this and that she and Warren would be there supporting me throughout the entire day. Despite how early it was, the police were none too happy to find that we hadn't come to them as soon as possible, and to hear that my situation had been going on for years. I was quickly pulled into a side room for a psychological screening, and although my lack of comfort was like a thorn in my side I waved off a very angry looking Warren, who didn't want me alone with anyone else but him and his mother as they were pulled in for questioning as well. After an hour of questioning, and being issued a government-required half-year of mandatory therapy, I was pulled into a separate room for questioning. They asked me everything; my personal information, a time line of events, names and phone numbers, all recollections of incidents that I had had with Mike – quite literally everything. I felt like I was being examined under a microscope, but pushed through my discomfort and willed myself to pull out the inner strength that I knew I had been saving for something. I managed to recollect as much as I could, telling them about how I had met Warren at the beginning of the year and how he had spotted something wrong underneath my makeup, pressing me about my issues and causing me to rethink my inner voices. I told them about my drinking, my tattoos – everything. It was all laid out on the table after a grueling four hours. I was finally sent back to a room where Cyclone was waiting, who immediately enveloped me with open arms and hugged me very tightly as I let the tears slide down my face.

"Warren is still being questioned," She explained, rubbing my back and threading her fingers through my hair. "They're probably going to send you to the hospital to make sure everything is running properly – we'll be with you the entire time."

I nodded against her tear stained shirt, trying to collect myself as two officers came through the door, escorting Warren who wrapped a single warm arm around me and didn't let go.

"We're gonna have to escort you to the hospital," One of the officers fixed me with a gaze I couldn't describe. "They know we're coming but there might be a bit of a wait time – an ambulance is on it's way to take you since this is considered an emergency here."

"A-an emergency?" I was still wiping the last of the tears from my eyes as those horrid words came. Warren's grip on me tightened, as if assuring me that everything was going to be okay.

"You might have a minor concussion," The officer nodded, continuing. "We don't know if any other part of you has suffered internal trauma – you need to be checked as soon as possible in the triage so that we can get you back here."

"Sorry," Cyclone cut in, trying to clarify the situation. "What about her mother? Are we going to be able to talk to them?"

"We just sent a squad car out to the address," The other officer spoke up. "We have a warrant for the arrests so we're gonna pull 'em back here for questioning and charges. You won't be able to see them or talk to them until the questioning is complete."

I stayed quiet. I didn't want to hear about my mother being arrested at all. Whilst she hadn't hit me herself, she had been a witness to the crimes against me and hadn't said a word to the police, which made her liable for charges as well. I tried to think optimistically about the chances of her getting out of this situation, but really the only way that I believed she would be able to avoid jail time was by pleading mental instability and her addictions. I tried to void myself of those thoughts as the officers escorted us out of the station and into the waiting ambulance, ready to go with three EMTs waiting. This whole thing seemed to surreal; it was like yesterday was a dream and the last month and a half had never happened before. I was scared all over again, and it took a lot of coaxing from Warren to get me into the ambulance.

"What did they say, son?" Cyclone looked towards her only child, frowning slightly on the drive to the hospital.

"They ran the check and asked me if this was related to the arrests," He grimaced. This threw me off a bit – I hadn't known that Warren had been arrested before, so it came as a shock to hear that he had had trouble with the law before.

The trip to the hospital went fine for the most part; not many people were in the ER, allowing me a quick check-in and a position in a room as well. The doctor took a little while to show up, which was scary because I was alone again after Warren and Cyclone had been told to wait in the family waiting wing. But when he did show up, he promised to make the process as quick and easy as possible, assuring me with a soft smile. I was lead through X-Rays, CT scans and full body checks as well as a number of other types of tests that I couldn't pronounce, until I was psychologically screened again and reminded that I had to attend my mandatory half year therapy until the doctors at the hospital were certain that everything was safe.

We were all loaded back into a waiting squad car, and then sent back to the same police station we had arrived at seven hours earlier, where I broke down again. Cyclone and Warren sat on either side of me, taking turns to rub my back and coax me through the panic attack. I was blubbering about so many things at once they couldn't keep up, and simply assured me that apologies weren't necessary and they would stay with me until the issue was resolved. It was at this point that one of the previous officers from this morning came into the small room and let me know that both my mother and Mike had been placed under arrest.

"The police are choosing to charge him," He explained, sitting on a chair nearby and pulling out a clipboard. "She, on the other hand, needs to be sent to rehabilitation as she's unfit to take care of you at the moment but she is void of charges due to her mental state."

The obvious question of 'what next?' hung in the air, so the officer continued.

"As of right now," He began again, looking down at his clipboard for reference. "There is no need to place you under protective custody as the suspect isn't known to have any gang-affiliations. However, since your mother is unfit to take care of you as a parental guardian, we've got a foster family ready to take you in -"

"Oh!" I interrupted, springing to life and remembering my mother signing papers around a year ago for me to live on my own. In our state, living on your own under 18 required parental consent, but since my mother had wanted me to have the opportunity to do so, she had signed the sheets under my request and left them with me. "I have my M.I.L.S papers filled out!"

The police officer sighed, checking off something else and scribbling another off of his clipboard. "In that case miss," He stood up and opened the door. "I'll be right back. We're going to need to call to get confirmation and I'm going to need to reassess a couple things. Based on your current condition you are fit to live on your own but we need to fill out a different section of paperwork and run another examination for that."

"M.I.L.S?" Cyclone frowned as soon as I had agreed and the officer had left.

"Maxville Independent Living Status," I explained. "I signed up for it last year, but I never used it. I think I'm on file – when my mom filled out the forms I registered through the phone."

"You really want to live on your own?" Warren rose a brow. I met his gaze, trying to decipher any hidden emotions in it. If there were any, he was hiding them well.

"Well," I sighed. "I do want to get a job. It's whats most realistic."

"I think Warren might be able to help in that department," Cyclone nodded, arm still wrapped around me. "The Paper Lantern is hiring and they're willing to train."

"I've waitressed before," I turned to Warren, a hopeful expression taking over my face. "I lost my job after the place shut down but I still have my resume somewhere."

"I can bring it in tomorrow," He nodded, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms. It was clear that he was getting frustrated by being here; perhaps him and Cyclone had become a bit too familiar with this place before their father had been locked up. There were numerous sources both on television and in the newspaper that mentioned the abusive relationship he held with his family. This was one reason I believed Warren had been so good at spotting my swelling underneath the makeup I had caked my face with everyday; it had been because of Baron's domestic violence against Cyclone.

Around twenty minutes passed by in silence as Warren's mother continued to stroke my arm, until a new officer pulled me out of the room to perform the next screening. He asked me a final few questions as well as evaluated me for an assessment to decide whether or not the subject was capable of living on their own without doing any harm to themselves, others or anything in their wake. He asked me if I had a place to stay until I found an apartment, and asked if I had ever lived on my own before. It was another concept that was foreign to me; I had always lived in a house with loud noises, other people and messes everywhere that I was used to cleaning up. It was going to be different living on my own and being responsible for my own food and surroundings.

"In that case miss," The officer finished by having me sign a large stack of documents. "Once you sign these, we can give you the court dates for the man who has been placed under arrest concerning your case as well as your mother's rehabilitation location. She's currently placed under lock down in the intensive ward, but her location as well as contact information can be given to you as well should you choose to maintain contact with her."

"Wh -" I stuttered a bit, confused as to how this was going to work. "When does she get out?"

"I'm not sure the exact time frame," He shook his head, a sympathetic expression on his face. "But when she is deemed suitable to assume the role of a parental guardian someone will contact you for her and give you that option. If not she'll be given the resources to assume a normal life again, and you'll have to take it from there."

"What about Mike?" I asked, eyes narrowing as I tried to think of any possible ties he might have had that could come after me.

"He doesn't have any gang-affiliations and hasn't been arrested for any manslaughter or assault past the first degree. There's no cause for concern with any loose ends – I wouldn't worry about that. If there's anything that you might be suspicious of, you should let your psychologist know so that she can get into contact with us. You don't have a cell phone plan which means we cannot call you, so communication is very important to ensure your safety."

"Ok," I muttered, twiddling with my tongue ring in my mouth as I grabbed the first form and began to fill it out. "Thank you."

"I'll stay here until you've finished with those," He nodded towards the forms, and watched me until I signed every last one. By the end, my hand was aching, and even when I was escorted back to my old home to pick up the remainder of my things, it was still sore. I looked around my room for the first time in awhile, wondering how the hell I was supposed to detach myself from this place, before pushing myself with a sigh and beginning to tear down the posters and neatly fold them. It was time to move on from this horrible place – I would reestablish a new home for myself and create nothing but good memories there – this place needed to leave my thoughts for forever.

I searched my closet for the large duffel bag I knew I had in there somewhere, and upon finding it I immediately began piling it full of clothing, books and CDs until nothing else could fit in besides several bottles of alcohol I had left. The police clearly hadn't done a search of my room, despite their thoroughness with the rest of the house. The place was turned upside down and it barely even seemed like a house anymore. I quickly focused myself on pulling any other bags out of my closet and piling the last of my clothing and sheets into it, grabbing my lamp as well and all of the stuffed animals I had laying around. Before I knew it my entire room was bare save the mattresses, and Cyclone had already promised that she would help me move them into my new apartment once I found where I was moving.

In the meantime, I tossed all of my belongings in the back of the squad car and rode with Warren and Cyclone all the way back to their place, where I had been instructed to stay until I found my own place. Until then, I had been left with contact information for my psychologist, the police number I was to report to if my living conditions changed or if any other problems developed, and the dates and numbers for Mike's court date as well as my mother's rehabilitation center. It was a boatload of information, but at last the police cruiser drove away and the day was done.

"You were very strong today Eleanor," Cyclone immediately enveloped me into another huge hug and tilted her head against mine. "We're proud of you."

I didn't realize that I was crying until I wiped my face and flinched at the pain of touching my bruises. I was quickly taken into another hug that I didn't realize was Warren's until the warmth of his chest brought me back to recognition. No words were shared, as per usual, but when I wrapped my arms around his I could hear the distinct sound of a heartbeat in his chest. It was enough to make me want to stay in that position forever; warm and comforted – but naturally all good things had to come to an end, and we followed Cyclone inside with my belongings to draw a conclusion to the very long and exhausting day. But out of all the things that had been said, one thing was sure to ring clear with me until the end of my time.

We're proud of you.