"Get away from her!" Emma screamed as she stomped through the house and into the living room. Her singular braid flopped against her waist, her flannel shirt was was missing several buttons, the sleeves were tattered, and her sneakers were torn at the heels. At thirteen years-old, she was small, but she was stronger than anyone else in the "family," except for Marvin Wallace, the patriarch. Several feet taller than Emma, he towered over the teenager with a disgusting smirk; his comb-over was thick with oil and his white tank top had started to turn brown from all of the spilled beer. His revolting, protruding gut jiggled whenever he moved and he oozed of testosterone.

As she rounded the corner and rammed herself into the unsuspecting portly man, Emma planted herself in front of Regina, accidentally shoving her onto the couch— it was a softer landing than what Marvin had intended. The navy-blue blankets-for-curtains blocked out any and all sunlight, but Emma could still see the pathetic figure and his meaty arms hanging flailing in the air. By the looks of it, she'd gotten there before Marvin had done anything too despicable.

Rolling on the ground like a hog, Marvin got on all fours and tangoed with the floor until he could stand up again; the knee-high coffee table served as a crutch for his oversized claws. Sweat stains appeared beneath his arms and at the base of his back, which didn't mix well with the stench of alcohol. Chuckling to himself, he cracked his knuckles and neck maniacally, as if he were trying to intimidate Emma; it didn't work. She never moved from her spot, her whole being acting as a shield for Regina.

"You stupid bitch," Marvin sneered. He grabbed Emma by her-already-ripped collar and lifted her until her feet were above the carpet littered with cans and crumpled kleenex. "Wha'd I tell ya 'bout bein' brave, huh?" With all of his weight behind it, he flung the young woman through the doorway and into the staircase. Emma landed bum-first, her head crashed into one of the steps. Walking up the side, ready for another round, Marvin brought Emma's wrists together and used his own hands as cuffs; he yanked her off of the wooden stairs, giving her whiplash in the process, and tugged at her arms. Finding the perfect spot on the wall, Marvin let go of Emma just in time to kick her in the stomach and send her flying into the plaster, stealing the wind right out of her. Regina was in the corner by the fireplace, crying so hard she was gagging. "It only makes things worse," the man seethed as he squished Emma's cheeks together.

Before Marvin could do any more damage, Emma's eyes opened half-way and she aimed her next word at Regina. "Run."


The nightmares had been back for nearly two weeks, but Emma didn't dare tell anyone, especially not David or Mary Margaret. They'd always lamented how they wished they'd found her sooner and spared her the worst of her life. What made the nightmares even more unbearable wasn't just the fact that she hadn't let anyone know; what made them worse was the fact that they weren't just bad dreams. Every night that she was transported back to one of those places— it was a permanent moment cemented into her memory. Horrendous homes with terrible foster parents and cycles of abuse were a part of Emma that she couldn't shed; a second skin that was she was unable to climb out of. The recollections tormented her every evening and dragged her back to events she wanted more than anything to leave behind. Her mind wouldn't let her forget; it kidnapped her and forced her to re-live it all.

After Marvin knocked her out with his sharp left hook, Emma shot upright, gasping for air. Still on the bathroom floor in 2011, she'd slept most of the day away. It was getting to be dusk outside; the window displayed a royal blue and she could see the lights from the city twinkle like stars. She didn't know what time it was presently, but she did know that she could use a shower.

Standing before the mirror, Emma turned on the water and let it heat up until steam crawled out from the curtains and started fogging up the surfaces. She relieved herself of her undergarments, but lingered before the reflective surface. Regardless of how many times she looked at her own image, Emma was never not stunned, or disgusted, by her many disfigurements. Her entire body from the neck down was covered in scars, but most of them were hide-able by shirts and pants. Some, however, weren't as easy to cover up.

Emma traced a long, jagged mark just below her right collarbone. It looped under the protruding cartilage and connected from one end to the other in a wide U-shape, like the chain to a pocket watch. It had whitened over the years; it was no longer a fleshy pink, but a faded peach that almost blended with the rest of her skin. Instead of being raised and slightly bumpy, it was now flat and smooth; yet another gift from Mr. Wallace. This one, however, unlike the rest, had truly been an accident. It happened before their match. He'd been drunk and tripped onto her in the kitchen; his beer bottle shattered against her. Regina had already gone to bed for the night and Emma had had the misfortune of being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

The next one was on her bicep. It was a thick gash that had healed terribly due to lack of medical attention. She hadn't gotten the stitches she needed, and instead, had used various bandaids to help it mend. To her own displeasure, the cut engraved in her skin with a pocket knife ended up being one of her most hated scars. The woman had been aiming for the youngest boy, but Emma jumped in just in time. Mrs. Riley wasn't even the foster mother— she was the foster mother's sister who had come to babysit and threatened all five of the kids if they said a word. Emma took the blame and said that she tripped into the China cabinet. She even broke the glass to prove it, which was how and why she was removed from the home.

Perhaps the worst of them all, though, was the one on her upper right thigh. As if roots to a tree, it sprouted from a core blob above her knee and spread into several vines that rose like tentacles. A flamingo-pink, the burn from her fifteenth year was still as visible and as alive as ever; some days it tingled so badly, Emma wished the nerve-endings had been severed completely. It happened on Halloween. Regina had already been placed in the care of one Cora Mills, and Emma was on her own. She wasn't defending anyone, she wasn't fighting to protect a loved one: she was fighting to protect herself.

She'd gotten into a row with one of her foster brothers. He was older by two years and thought himself to be a grown adult, which he associated with freedom to harass others. He started calling her names and taunting her, giving her the title of "House Whore." Emma threw the first punch, blindsiding him from behind as he was walking away. Within minutes, they were duking it out on the front yard for passerby to see, all of whom were unaccompanied minors and blissfully ignorant. The boy, who was nearly a man at the age of 17, wasn't very much bigger than Emma. If anything, they were the same size. She supposed that's why he was so desperate, so afraid that he'd lose. After she snuck in an uppercut, the man-child panicked. He grabbed the first thing he saw, which was the Jack-o-lantern on the front porch, and slung it at Emma. The small candle from inside flew through the mouth carved into the orange skin and landed on her jeans. Less than two seconds later, her entire upper leg was on fire. She stopped, she dropped, and she rolled, but the damage had been done. The flames had chewed through her denim and ravaged her pale flesh. An ambulance was called, but she rode in it alone. If the foster parents went along, they'd surely be tried with neglect. They were saving their own asses by sending Emma off on her own. That was the last time she'd seen them.

When the mirror was totally blanketed in condensation, Emma stepped under the spraying hose and let the scalding liquid run down her naked form. Never sensitive to heat, the blonde felt most alive under hot water. The prickling sensation of her burn always ceased when under pressure and for a second, it let Emma escape from her previous warfare.

Under the scattered droplets, the blonde scrubbed soap over her scars obsessively. She thought if she were thorough enough, they'd come off like dirt. That's all they were— dirt. They were contaminating her livelihood, making it hard for her to handle a simple gesture of shaking hands. Whenever someone approached her, of any gender, she always took one small step away from them. Even when it was her parents or Regina, Emma shied away for fear of being hurt again.

The only person she never recoiled from was Henry. There was something about the tenderness in his eyes and the way he moved, as if he were consciously trying to make everyone comfortable. He never reached too quickly or hugged too hard. There was a lot of his father in him, the way his smile made the rest of the world seem nonexistent. But that wasn't why Emma loved him. She loved him because he was her son, and that love was painful. Like a knife into her bicep, it cut deeply into her soul. And like a fire to her leg, it burned her insides. Because, Henry was her son… and he had no clue.


After leaving Emma four apologetic and frantic voice messages and seven equally apologetic and frantic text messages, Regina came to the conclusion that her friend really just needed space. Between assuring Henry that his "aunt" was fine and mentally berating herself for such a careless act, the brunette had a rather busy day. She and her teenager never did find anything "fun" to do, as it didn't feel very fun without Emma. Both of them had prepared themselves for a day with the bail bondswoman, the person who always made them smile or laugh at her corny jokes. Regardless of whether Henry was aware of the circumstances of Emma's sudden disappearance, he knew something wasn't right.

He fell asleep sometime around nine thirty. He'd finished his homework and all of his chores, watched less than half an hour of television, and checked off his nightly tasks before kissing Regina's cheek goodnight.

"I love you, Henry," his mother whispered as she kissed him back, the pads of her fingers brushing his cheek gently. In the back of her mind, she felt guilty that Emma couldn't say this the same way Regina meant it.

"Love you too, Mom. Good night."

Regina watched as her growing child shuffled to his room in his shrinking pajamas and winced slightly when his door closed. This was a new occurrence. Up until last month, Henry slept with his door open in case he needed anything or he had a bad dream. Now, being almost 11 and all, he felt as if he were too old to stick to his normal routine. So, the door was closed.

Exhaling tiredly, Regina got up from her spot on the couch where she was proof-reading one of Belle's sample pieces and poured herself a glass of wine. She hardly ever drank when Henry was at home, once in a blue moon, but today had been an emotional one. She needed this one glass.

Skulking back to her seat, she held the cup to her chest and looked out of the wide window in the wall. It was similar in size to the one in her office, but the view was not nearly as grand. From her sofa, all she could see was a park without street lamps. She could vaguely make out the trees right in front of her. The scenery in her neighborhood was beautiful, of course. It just looked better in the daylight.

Doing her best not to fret about Emma, Regina turned her thoughts to another dreaded task. She set her drink onto the table— on a coaster— and rested her laptop on her knees. She'd been putting this off for two days, but she was out of time to stall. Regina had to write Cora's obituary. She'd called dozens of people personally, but she couldn't go on perpetuating a false image of who her "mother" been— not when the words had to come form her own mouth. An obituary was much more formal and less intimate.

It was ironic. Regina had always had a way with words, especially when putting them on a page. But this particular assignment proved to be especially tricky. She stared at the blank document before her and let the cursor blink. She knew there was nothing on there yet. The little straight line didn't need to remind her.

At some point, after 40 minutes of nothing, Regina's eyelids began to droop. Her head slowly fell forward until her chin was touching her chest and her lips parted somewhat. Before she could stop herself, Regina had fallen asleep.


"I don't want to go without you," the fourteen year-old said through a rush of tears she couldn't control. She sat on the bottom bunk with her arms folded in protest and her brown eyebrows pushed together in a pathetic scowl. Regina refused to do anything that day, but Emma wasn't going to have it. While her friend threw a tantrum, the blonde packed the rest of Regina's things for her. "It's not fair."

Tossing Regina's clothes into a duffle bag, Emma rolled her eyes to keep from crying as well. The sleep-room was empty except the two of them. Everyone else was eating lunch, and those who weren't… Mrs. Edwards, the caretaker, blocked off the space until the girls were finished. If she could have, Mrs. Edwards would've adopted everyone there. "You have to, Gina," Emma pressed. "You're finally getting adopted. You can't blow that now. I'll find my own parents. Until then, we'll figure something out."

"She doesn't even like me," Regina countered. After everything that she'd been through during her years in the system, the young woman never thought she'd be willing to pass at an adoption. But Emma hadn't seen this lady; she hadn't heard her steely voice or seen her cold eyes.

"But she'll love you." Shoving in the last pair of jeans, Emma zipped the sack closed and took the empty spot across from her sobbing friend. With the compassion that they'd so often been refused, she took Regina's hand into her own and flicked away the tears that rolled down the girl's cheeks. She searched Regina's frightened, chestnut windows and wished there was way to make this better for the both of them. "Everything's gonna be ok, you'll see. You're gonna be ok." Wrapping her arms around Regina, Emma delicately pulled her into a hug. "Remember the plan: when we're 18, no matter what, we'll stick together. Even if you move to, like, Germany, I'll find you. I'll always find you, Gina."

"Promise?" Regina whimpered, still holding onto Emma.

"I promise."

"Girls, it's time," Mrs. Edwards regretfully informed the duo. She'd knocked on the door to be polite, but hadn't heard a response. Thinking they'd run off, she overlooked etiquette and forced her way into the room. Her gray hair in a sock bun and her burgundy cardigan hanging by her knees, the woman always hated this part of the job. "She's waiting."

Picking up Regina's bag, Emma slung it over her shoulder and held onto the brunette's hand. She didn't let go, not even when they were face-to-face with Regina's new mother. Having never seen her before, the blonde was rather startled at the adult's appearance: tight lips painted in blood red, pale skin, matching brown hair as Regina's, and empty, loveless eyes. She looked like a witch. Not the helpful and cheery kind, but an angry, callous one.

Cora Mills stretched those tight lips into a broad, and visibly fake, smile aimed directly for Regina. She hardly even acknowledged Emma's presence, nor the fact that the girls' fingers were intertwined as tight as glue. "Hello, dear. Are you ready to go home?" Her voice gave Emma goosebumps.

With everyone watching, Regina had no choice but to say, "Yes."

"Yes, ma'am," Cora corrected with that cringe-worthy grin. "Come, then. The car is waiting." Finally turning to Emma, she reached for the canvas bag. "Regina can carry her own luggage."

"I got it," Emma asserted, unafraid of this enigmatic being. She'd had enough jerks for parents to sense one a mile away. Cora was setting off Emma's alarm and she was less than three feet from her.

Because they were in public, Cora chose to pick her battles wisely and let Emma hold onto the pack. Besides, she wasn't going to lose her temper at some ignorant child. And, she made a note to herself to teach Regina better. "Very well. Regina dear, let's go."

Emma and Regina followed after the seemingly wealthy woman, though not without the rest of the group home watching them intently. From all corners and windows, kids observed as one of their own became part of a family— for real and not just a temporary one. None of them had any idea who this lady was, but none of them cared. Regina was getting adopted.

With a simple flick of her wrist, Cora motioned to the trunk and Emma got the message. She lifted the back of the black Mercedes and carefully set Regina's bag inside. When she closed it, she lead her best friend to the passenger seat and opened the door for her. Before she got in, though, Regina turned to Emma without warning and hugged her neck tighter than ever. She made sure Emma could breathe, but she that was as loose as she'd allow. The last thing she wanted was to let go. Because, if she did, it would all be over.

"Gina, you gotta go. You gotta go to your new home," Emma said stoically. She pried Regina off of her like velcro and made her get in the seat. She even did Regina's seatbelt for her. With the glass rolled down, Emma slammed the door and leaned over the pane just enough to stick her head into the car. "Remember our promise."

"I will," Regina vowed through hiccups. "I won't forget. I swear."

"It's time to go, Regina," Cora said crisply. And with that, she put the car in reverse and started backing out of the driveway. Emma kept pace with the vehicle until it reached the paved road. Cora did't slow down to let the girls say a proper goodbye. As soon as they were facing the right direction, she accelerated without hesitation.

Emma jogged after them as long as she could until the car was too far ahead; she was the only one in the entire home to be on the street. And now that they were gone, she could release the tears that she'd been holding in for a week. "Bye," she said lifelessly.

When she could no longer spot that annoying blonde girl, Cora smiled that phony smile at Regina, never minding that the teenager was silently bawling herself into hysteria. "Well, now that that's over with, it's time to teach you how to be a proper woman. Lesson number one, Regina: love is weakness."


A/N - Because I love this story so much, I had to update before I go. But, as I mentioned in "Here's Looking at You, Dear," I move into the dorms on Saturday for a summer program I'm in. As of right now, I have absolutely no clue as to how much time I'll have to write, but I promise, I'll do my very best to update my stories. I will NOT abandon them. Since it's tomorrow, I think this'll be the last update for a while- just until I get my schedule down and I figure everything out. Thank you so much for all of your kind reviews over the last few months. It means so much to know that you all like these stories! I'll be back soon, dearies. Take care, OUaS.