So, I'll answer some questions since I know the first chapter was probably a bit confusing.

Jippyliop—Max doesn't want to tell the family her name because she's afraid of trust. And that will be explained further as the story continues :)

Nofreakingway—Yes, they are all human :)

GrimmSistah—Shhh, don't tell them where I got it from! XD

Happy Late Easter :)

Everything seemed to happen as if I was watching a movie that I just so happened to star in. My mother burst from the kitchen, a stony look on her face as she fixated her glare on our faces. Mrs. Xavier was close to follow, the most enraged look I had ever seen masking her Barbie smile. I saw my mom's mouth form words, seeming to yell, but my ears failed to hear. Everything was drowned out as my thoughts rang loud and clear through my head.

Not again, not again, not again, not again, not again.

I squeezed my eyes shut, gripped the sofa tightly with both hands, and, with a deep breath, flung open my eyes. Every word, sound, and cry flooded into my eardrums.

"Maximum Lorraine Ride, get you and your siblings out of this hell house right now!"

"Mom, please don't make us leave!"

"What's happening?"

"Kids, upstairs now! I want the neighbors out of this house!"

"Iggy, I'm scared! What's going on?"

"Hell if I know."

My mom came up to me and grabbed my chin roughly, forcing me to look deep into her stone-like eyes. That one look said it all. I would never have a normal life, I would never live without fear, and I would always be the girl who came and went without notice and without say.

Swiftly, I took Angel and Ella by the arm and dragged them away from the chaos. My fingers dug into the soft flesh of their skin, but I barely noticed. I was too caught up, too lost, too afraid.

We made it to the house feet ahead of my mother. With rushed words, I told them to go upstairs and lock themselves in their rooms. Fear shone in their eyes, but they heeded my words and hurried up the stairs. Seconds later I heard a door slam and the soft, soft click of the lock. I relaxed slightly; they were safe.

I heard her breathing before I saw her. She was panting heavily, and when she walked through the door, her hair was askew, shirt rumpled, and eyes cold. It looked like she just got out of a bar fight. Slow paced steps were taken towards me, and I backed up until I hit the large railing of the stairs. The wood dug into my back, though I simply blocked it out. Better to focus on the more important things that were about to beat the living daylights out of me.

"I told you not to go over there." She ran a frustrated hand through her hair. "I knew they were evil. Evil, evil seeds! They'd have cursed us all if I hadn't gotten you out of there." A step towards me. A gulp from me. "And it was all you fault."

Smack.

A numbing sensation spread right across the same spot, the same cheek, as before. The coverup and blush rubbed off on mom's hand. She stared at it with confusion, then looked at me with bright fury in her eyes. Wiping her hands on her jeans, she took another step towards me.

"Are you trying to be a slut?" she screamed in my face. "You're such a whore! You wear makeup when you want a boy to notice you. And when a boy notices you," she got right up in my face, "he gets in your pants. Is that what you want, Max? A little joy ride? Huh? Are you really that much of a slut?"

Her fingers sought out a vice-like grip around my wrist. With shocking force, she dragged me up the stairs. I stumbled a little bit, trying to keep up. Flipping a light switch on, my mom dropped me cruelly onto the toilet seat in the bathroom. From under the cabinet, she grabbed an old, scruffy rag, wetted it with steaming hot water, and brought it over to my face.

"I will not have my daughter embarrass me by being some floozie."

No mercy showed on the horizon as my mother brought the rag down on my face and began to scrub with all her might. The water soaked into the rag itself was scolding hot. Pair it with the intense friction my mom created by digging the rag into my skin made my face feel like it was on fire. Scrub, scrub, scrub. I bit my lip with a passion, trying not to cry out in pain. Scrub, scrub, scrub. It was almost unbearable.

Then it stopped.

And began a new terror.

She wound up the towel, then lashed out blindly at me. The end of the towel whipped me all over my body over and over again. She grunted as she flicked her wrist and unleashed the pain on my body. When that wasn't enough, she took things off the counter and threw them at me. A small makeup mirror, a bar of soap, bottle of mouthwash, tooth-brush holder. Her eyes focused in on the cracked mirror now laying on the dented floor. A long, jagged piece of glass lay on the floor next to it. With horror, I realized what was to happen next.

My mother bent, picked up the glass, studied it a second, then turned to me, still no emotion present on her face. She gently glided the shard against my neck, along my collarbone, down my arm. With a wicked smile that was gone in a flash, she pressed the glass into the flesh of my bicep. Lightly at first; then harder, with muscle, and a will to scar.

I kept my mouth clamped with much difficulty. My jaw quivered and tears pricked in my eyes as I wished, I prayed, it would be over soon. The glass dug deeper in. I could feel it getting close to cutting muscle. I shut my eyes will all my might, focused on the fact that it was me sitting here and not fragile Ella or innocent, fearful Angel.

The glass was lifted from my arm and I let out a tiny gasp of air. My eyes flung open. My mom threw the piece of glass in the sink. It tinked around for a second before settling. She wiped her hands on her jeans, then left without another word.

After mustering up enough courage, I looked down at my arm. Blood flowed out in tiny, scarlet red trails. It was deep, it was jagged, and it was messy. Ella would have to treat it as soon as possible. Grabbing a new towel, I pressed into my arm and forced myself to walk down to Ella's room. No one was there, so I tried Angel's room. Ella already had her nurse-in-trainee kit in her hands. She blocked Angel from seeing my wound, closed the door, then led me to the scene of the crime where I would hopefully get patched up.

I heard Ella gasp after she finally took full examination of the gash. The tiny rag was almost all drenched in blood, and I could feel rivulets of the red stuff trailing down my arm. I was swaying on the toilet seat, my eyes suddenly seeming extremely heavy. Ella's gentle fingers prodded around the cut, a look of concentration on her face.

"How bad is it?" I asked shakily. I didn't want to look at the now uncovered wound.

"It isn't good, Max. I think you need to be taken to a hospital."

I laughed slightly. "Nice joke, El. Now, how bad is it really?"

"I'm not joking, Max. This cut is beyond my capabilities. You need stitches."

That jolted me. I sat up pin-needle straight, my eyes wide with fear. Hospitals, needles, screaming, pain, antiseptics. I shuddered and shut my eyes, trying to repress all those memories I never wanted to relive. But the words were already said and the pictures had already started flooding into my mind.

It was a couple months after my mother had started beating me. I was twelve, Ella matching me in a couple months. Ella and I walked up to the front desk where a nice lady with a bird-like frame was perched flipping through some documents. She smiled down at us.

"What can I do for you ladies?" She had a nice voice, sweet and caring. So much unlike my mother's.

Without words, I lifted up the hem of my shirt where a purple bruise was already blossoming on my stomach. The woman gasped and came around her desk to me. She kneeled down to my height and looked me in the eyes.

"Honey, who did this to you?"

Neither of us spoke. We couldn't say anything, or we'd end up in a foster home, along with our baby sister Angel. I just wanted to be taken care of for once in my life.

Sighing, the woman went back to her desk and dialed a number, speaking softly into the phone. Soon another woman came and took both of us by the hand. She led us into a small white room where she prodded my bruise with her soft, cold hands.

"Don't worry, dear, you'll be alright. Just a small bruise." She smiled at me and reached into a cabinet above her head. After pulling out a sucker, she came back over to me and bent down a little to reach my eyes. "I have this lollipop just for you, dear. And you can have it if you just tell me who did this to you."

I knew I had not yet 'developed', but really? Candy bribes were for five-year-olds. I narrowed my eyes at the orange circle and refused to open my mouth. The doctor sighed and left the room for a second. After an awkward moment of silence, Ella got up and went over to the desk in the room, where the doctor's laptop, clipboard, and a few books were siting. Ella ran her hand over the sleek cover of one of the books.

"What is it?" I asked.

"Doctor books. Stuff they read in college." She leaned closer. "This one is about simple stuff, like cuts and bruises and stuff."

I cocked my head to the side. "Are you interested in that kind of stuff?"

She looked at me with a woeful smile. "Yeah, I guess. I think it'd be great to care for someone, help give someone an extra chance at life."

I didn't say anything. Ella looked back at the books, and I sat there on the table watching her. There was a wistful look in her eye as she flipped through the book. It was then that I made a decision.

"Listen, El. We can't stay here and wait for the doctor to come back. When she does, she'll demand to know everything about us. Including mom." Ella's eyes darkened. "We can't let them find out. I know that now. And, look, she gave me a clean bill of health, so there's really no reason to stay here." I hopped down and walked over to her, placing a hand on her shoulder. "Come on."

There were two seconds where nothing happened. Then, determined, Ella picked up the book she was admiring and dropped it in her bag. I stared at her, shocked.

"Ell-"

"Look," she cut me off, her eyes stern. "If we can't come to the hospital anymore, I'll have to take care of us. This book can more than provide us the tools for me to do that."

We locked eyes for a moment before I nodded slowly. Ella was right—we needed something that would give us protection since we could never rely on hospitals again. Ella yanked open the door and made sure the hallway was clear. Once she was sure, she waved me over and we both snuck out of the room and ran down the hallway as quiet as we could. When we reached the secretary's desk, Ella and I pulled the hoods of our sweatshirts up and ducked our heads low. We escaped the first pair of doors without hassle. Smiling, we high-fived each other, basking in our successful escape. When we turned back to the doors, our mother was standing there.

Her face was cold and harsh; her fists were clenched tight at her sides. When she stepped towards us, the automatic doors opened out of her warpath.

Thanks a lot doors, I thought dryly.

Our mother stopped in front of us and grabbed us roughly by the shoulders. "Wrong move," she said.

Taking each of us by the wrist, she dragged us into the car and drove us off onto a secluded, hardly-used rode. She pulled over to the shoulder and ordered us to get out. Then she began to beat us….

"Max. Max. Max!"

I pulled myself out from memory lane long enough to focus on what Ella was saying. Her face was still a mask of seriousness and complete worry. She actually looked a little scared.

"Yeah?"

"I have to take you to the hospital!"

"Oh, and what do you suggest I tell them?" I asked practically.

She shrugged and adverted her eyes. "I don't know, say that me and you were screwing around and I pushed you through a window accidentally. I'll go downstairs right now and smash it."

"What—No!"

"Why not?"

"Mom would literally kill us!"

"So we'll duct tape it before she notices!"

"Oh, yeah, cause a window that used to be glass and is now covered in duct tape is completely not noticeable."

"I don't think it would be."

"Ella!" I grasped her hands. They were sticky with my own blood. "A hospital is not an option now. So you'll have to do what you can, and do it fast."

She hesitated a moment before nodding, getting up, and leaving the bathroom. I sat there, leaning against the back of the toilet and trying not to concentrate on how tired I was feeling. Instead, I comforted myself with the knowledge that Ella was going to come back soon and mend to my former glory.

Stitches weren't something I handled well.

After setting all of her supplies out on the counter, stolen medical book nearby, Ella began to get to work. She got a new towel and wetted it before gently cleaning out what she could from and around my wound. Then she gave me fresh-from-the-freezer ice cubs and instructed me to press them to my gash until it was numb. This, my friends, is a task for the patient. I'm not very patient.

While I waited for my arm to go numb, I resorted to fixing an intense stare on Ella. She flew around the bathroom, eyebrows knitted together, mouth set in a straight line. She lit a candle, arranged and rearranged needles on the counter, and tested our rubbing alcohol amongst other things. I could already tell she was going to be a nurse no one would forget.

Absently, I reached down for more ice after I felt my bare cut. My fingers brushed inside it, the feeling making me gag. I pushed it down and stared at a dent in the wall as I waited for my arm to get numb.

A minute or two passed when Ella asked, "You numb yet?"

I brought my attention back to my arm and noticed that it was, in fact, numbed. I nodded vigorously at her and her lips tightened even more. She nodded to confirm that she understood me and picked up a medium-sized needle. She then picked up a thread and dipped it in the open bottle of rubbing alcohol. Threading it through the needle, she cautiously walked over to me and sat down in a chair she had brought in from her room. She looked me dead in the eyes, gaze never wavering.

"This is going to hurt slightly, even with the numbness. So, just—" she shut her eyes for a minute before reopening them, more composed now. "Just try not to shout."

Gulping, I nodded and averted my eyes so I wouldn't know when she was going to put in the needle.

"Here goes nothing," I heard her mumble.

My pulse sped up a few notches and I gripped the toilet seat with my free hand as Ella gripped my arm gently and brought it closer to her.

Here goes nothing.

Two hours later, it was dark out and most of the house was asleep. Ella and I were the last one up, last time I checked. Walking out to my balcony, I sat down at the edge and slid my legs through two gaps between columns. I let the sandals I put on earlier to avoid glass in my feet fall to the browning grass below. The breeze caressed my bare feet and a small, barely-there smile touched my lips despite how cold it was outside. I slid the shoulder of y warm cardigan down far enough to see the crudely stitched gash on my arm. The touch of them against my fingers made me shudder.

For a while I just sat there, legs swinging loosely, staring at my stitches and wondering how my mother had gotten so crazy. Deep down, I knew it was technically my father's fault, but I couldn't bring myself to hate him. After all, my mother didn't have to let herself go like she did. She could have coped with the divorce like a normal person. My hand curled into a fist. Then I wouldn't have these stitches; I wouldn't have this fear' I wouldn't have this boiling hatred.

I wouldn't have this poor excuse for a life.

My head snapped up at the sound of a door banging, fearing it was my mother waking up. Instead, I found the boy from next door coming out on his own balcony. I could tell by his stance that he was angry and just wanted some alone time. Quickly covering up y wound so he wouldn't see, I made to get up. His hand went up in the universal sign of "Stop." I froze and he shook his head, so I settled back down in my original spot. Holding up a finger, he went into his room. Curious, I cocked my head to the side and strained to see into his room. No dice. He reappeared with two white boards and markers. He crooks a finger at me, and I stand myself up. Getting close to the edge, he tossed the white board into the air. It flipped several ties before I clumsily caught it between my palms. The marker came next. I arched an eyebrow at him, and he bent to scribble something down. He held up his board.

You don't talk?

Catching on, I wrote back, No.

Neither do I. You have a reason?

Yes.

Want to tell me?

No.

I noticed his lips twitch slightly and I crooked a corner of my mouth up.

How bout yourself?

Yes.

Want to tell me?

The amusement on his face grew and he wrote, No.

Fair enough.

"Max!"

I turned around and saw Ella standing in my doorway. Mom's awake she mouthed. My eyes popped out of my head, and I motioned for her to go back to her room. She hesitated, worry plain on her face, but soon left me to fend for myself.

Rushing, I scrawled I need to go on the board and threw it across to my neighbor's balcony. Surprised, he fumbled with it for a second before catching it. I didn't wait to see if he caught the marker; I just chucked it and ran inside, closing the doors behind me. My mother opened my door just as I switched off my light and rested my head on the pillow. Her presence lingered for a moment—then the soft click of door had me expelling my breath. Rolling over, I pressed a clammy hand to my forehead and shut my eyes for real. The scars on my arms were suddenly very noticeable. I went to sleep praying all my scars and bruises would be gone in the morning.

R&R? :)