Chapter 2: Forged and Torn - Part 1

C-click.

It was a sound she was all too familiar with.

A deep, rough voice spoke. "Do not move."

No need for the command. As soon as the sound reached her ears, Avari froze. Her body went rigid, her arms clenched at her sides. Brown eyes flitted back and forth, watching in sheer panic as nearly a dozen hooded figures, cloaked in the darkness of the night, silently emerged from the shadows, all pointing their weapons directly at her.

She was surrounded. And no doubt most of those weapons were not the normal handguns they appeared to be.

Trembling and near hyperventilating, Avari swallowed thickly, trying to steady her shaking nerves. It would be so easy. So easy to use her powers to flee. She could feel the heat, the ever-ready flames, furiously coursing through her limbs, her veins, just waiting for the command to be unleashed.

Yet that was the very reason she could not.

She had vowed, very early on, to never kill another human soul.

There was no way she could trust herself to have control of her powers now, not in the state she was in. It was different with the Titans, when a calm, focused thought of let's end this filled her mind. But tonight, surrounded by these goons in a dark alley – seriously, why is it always an alley? – her heart was racing in terror, her emotions and control all out of a rush of instinctive self-preservation, the flames would do their own wild bidding, with no allowing for restraint or accuracy, and Avari knew that if she unleashed her powers on these people, she would kill them.

She could not allow that.

So she stood still and did nothing. Three seconds after the man behind her – the one who had initially cocked his gun – had spoken, the other black-clothed figures swarmed in. Avari's arms were yanked roughly behind her and locked in restraints – no doubt ones that he himself had invented – and something was placed over eyes and tied around her head, blinding her. She inwardly smirked, despite the situation. It's not like I could see much, anyway. Hands grabbed at her hair, her upper arms, the back of her neck, the collar of her shirt, hauling and dragging her away to God-knew-where.

Thing was, Avari knew, too.

And she let them take her, trying not to let the tears spill.

Machines hummed and whirred, a low background noise in Avari's ears as she was pushed into a room. Someone removed the blindfold, and she could see again. It was dark, but not as dark as the night outside from where she just came, and she squinted and blinked as her eyes adjusted to the dim light. And then they widened.

There, in the room, were three people. Two of them she recognized. Two she was expecting.

But the third….

No!

9 years earlier

I didn't want to go to school. I told Mommy so as she carried me through the halls of the building. "I don't want to go to K-4." I wanted to stay with Mommy. I never wanted to be away from her if I could help it, for any amount of time. But Mommy wasn't listening, not to me. She just shifted me in her arms, holding me tighter as she and Daddy trailed after the unknown blonde woman. She was leading my parents and me through the school, I guess giving them a tour and talking about what all they did. It didn't matter to me. I didn't want to go to.

That morning, Daddy was there. When Mommy got me up and dressed and out of our room, I saw Daddy in the kitchen making breakfast. He didn't cook a lot – just rare enough to be uncommon, but often enough that it wasn't weird when he did. I squealed in happiness and wiggled out of Mommy's arms, running over to Daddy and wrapping my arms around his legs. "Good morning, precious," he said, smiling at me. I beamed up at him.

"Good morning!" I repeated gleefully. Still latched to his leg, I bounced up and down in excitement.

"So, what was that school you wanted to check out?" Daddy asked, turning back to the stove.

Mommy was quiet for a moment, and when I turned my head around, she was glaring at the back of Daddy's head. Is she mad? I wondered.

"Praise Academy," Mommy answered. "It's a Christian school, and I've read they use an advanced curriculum. It would be good for her, especially since…." She trailed off. The tone of her voice sounded funny, like it belonged to saying something else.

"Of course," Daddy replied. I looked back and forth between them, confused.

This was weird. …they weren't going to start yelling at each other, were they…?

They didn't, thankfully.

I let go of Daddy's leg and went to Mommy, who smiled and picked me up, settling me into a seat at the table.

Once breakfast was done, Daddy drove us to this funny brown building, which turned out to be a school.

Which was where we were now.

And no one was listening!

That night, I curled up in my bed, holding tight onto Heidi and covering her ears so the shouting wouldn't hurt them.

"She's your daughter, too!" Mommy exclaimed. "You can't just –!"

"You don't think I know that?" Daddy yelled back, even louder. "I'm doing what I can, Audriae, which is more than you are! At least I'm not playing favorites!"

"You think I wanted this, Thomas? You know what they –!"

Buried my head under the blankets, then, scooting it underneath the pillow to stifle the noise. Heidi's fur was wet with my tears, but I didn't care.

I just wanted them to stop.

I had to go to school, of course, even though it was almost every day that I begged Mommy not to make me (Please, let me stay with you, I'll be good, I promise!). Once, after I was taken to the classroom and the teacher wasn't looking, I even ran out of the building, determined to chase her down before she left me there. Mommy saw me, but she took me back to the building and told the teachers.

Traitor.

The teachers then told me to never do that again.

I didn't see what the big deal was.

I did like it sometimes, I guess. We learned to read and write, both in cursive and in print. There was nap time, which I didn't like so much, but sometimes afterward we got to go to the park – and that was lots of fun!

But it was always better when it was over.

3 years earlier

I sniffled on my bed, curled up in Mom's arms, clutching onto her tightly as she held me close, her fingers softly stroking my hair.

"Shhh," she soothed, in that hushed tone of hers. "He doesn't mean it. Your dad is just frustrated, and when he is, he takes it out on us."

My crying had toned down significantly from the gasping sobs and wails that it had been, but it was still there. "That's no excuse." My voice was a choked whimper, muffled against mom's shoulder. "You don't treat people that way. H-he wouldn't let me do that."

My mom sighed, a soft sound – everything about her is soft – and just held me tighter, and kept stroking my hair. "I know it's not. It isn't right, but that's just what he does. It isn't your fault. We just have to pray for him."

And Audriae wasn't trying to make excuses for her husband. It's wrong, very wrong what he does, yelling at a child and calling her names, and Audriae tried to talk to him about it, but he won't listen to her, just turns the tables and lists all her faults, and it's all she can do to not shout herself.

Sometimes she doesn't succeed.

All she could do now is try to make her daughter understand that her father still loved her, even if he sometimes didn't act like it, and her father's inner turmoil is not her fault, and she's done nothing to deserve being treated in such a way.

She wonders if she ever succeeds at that, either.

I knew what she said was true. At least, I tried to know – I thought I knew. But it still hurt, regardless – and he just doesn't care he's only thinking about himself and it doesn't matter to him how I feel I don't matter. So I cried still, letting the tears flow down my cheeks until there was no more left to cry, and it took a while, because I wasn't just crying over that. My day had already been bad enough earlier; the yelling just made it worse.

My best friend and I – the only friend I had, really – had been at recess, playing our games on the playground. But before recess was half over, that abruptly ended.

"It's not working out," she told me, when one game was over and we couldn't agree on a second one. "We can't be friends anymore."

For a moment, I just stood there, dumbstruck. "But, I'll always be your friend," I answered, my voice small. "Even if you stop being mine, I'll still be yours." A friend is someone you cared about and would always have their back if they needed help. You didn't just stop being friends with someone. Friendship didn't work like that.

But apparently Raven thought it did. "No, Avari," she said, shaking her head and sounding like a nine-year-old had turned into an exasperated adult, "it doesn't work like that. We can't be friends."

She walked away, and I followed after her, pleading with her, trying to convince her that no, no, I'm still your friend, what do you mean it isn't working out? But it was no use, so I had to give up and stand there, wondering what I did wrong.

Now I cried softly into my mom's shoulder, remembering the fun she and I had, how she had been there for my birthday, the only one there. And I remembered my four-year-old self, beaming up at my daddy, laughing and giggling as he picked me up and twirled me around and called me nice names like Precious and Sweetheart, instead of Brat and Selfish for wanting something that was supposed to be mine in the first place.

At ten years old, I cried for my relationships that were broken, that I missed dearly, and longed for them to come back, come back, just come back, please, wondering if I could keep anyone, truly keep anyone, at all.

(The irony of my former friend's name wouldn't hit me until many years later.)

Hello again... I'm sorry for the ridiculously long wait. Here's the updated version of this chapter. Please review, and let me know what you think.

-Skyfire