Disclaimer: I don't own anything except for a crazy mind.

A/N: Yes, I'm still writing this, and I am incredibly sorry but life keeps biting me in the butt lately. This story is nearing an end now so I hope people can stick with this, and can I just say I will always be sincerely grateful to everyone who has reviewed and/or checked up on me and this story. Your kind words mean a lot to me, especially when this story is really tough to write sometimes. Anyway, enough chit chat, read, enjoy and let me know what you think! (:

"Lexie!" Mark called as he banged his fist against the door again. He sighed when he heard no response. "Come on, Grey!"

When the door didn't open, Mark grumbled and yanked his cell from his pocket. Quickly dialing Lexie's number, he held the phone to his ear before craning his neck upwards to stare at her bedroom window. The curtains were drawn shut and Mark glared at the window. He knew she was in there; her battered old car was sitting alongside the road. His stare narrowed when the phone kept ringing. Where the Hell was she?

Looking around briefly, Mark's attention was pulled back when he heard Lexie's voice float through his phone. Voicemail. Sighing, he left a message. "Grey, I'm standing outside your house, extremely pissed off. Don't waste my time. Let me in." He sighed and his voice dropped, a lot softer as he said, "Please, Lexie. I need to see you."

Snapping shut his cell, Mark began to slam his hand against her door again. He wouldn't leave until she talked to him. He wouldn't ignore her and he would make sure that she didn't ignore him, either.

This was going to end now.

He had been gone for nearly an hour now. Or at least, that is what it felt like. Lexie had watched from her position on the floor as he had staggered out of her bedroom, slamming the door shut behind him, the noise causing her to flinch. Unable to move, she had stayed flat against the floor for a long time before she had carefully shuffled her body towards the back wall.

Now, Lexie sat resting against the wall, her muscles sore and a bruise throbbing on her face. She looked up at the ceiling and briefly wondered where Thatcher was. She hadn't heard the front door open, so she had deduced that he must be in the living room, or the kitchen, getting drunk.

No surprise there, Lexie thought dryly as she sighed and gently brought her knees up to her chest. Carefully she rested her unharmed cheek against her knee and closed her eyes. He would be back soon and Lexie felt all the fight drain out of her. At this point, she couldn't summon the energy to fight anymore.

He could do what he wanted now.

She had given up.

Just as she felt the pull of sleep, a loud noise caused Lexie's eyes to snap open. She watched, frozen, as Thatcher stood in the doorway, his presence darkening the room. Before she can blink, he is standing in front of her.

"Leave me alone," Lexie cried. "Just leave me alone, please."

Thatcher shook his head and crouched down in front of her. "Why would I want to do that?" He slurred, his beer bottle waving in his hands as he continued. "Why...Why would I leave you, princess?"

Lexie sobbed harder when she felt his finger running down her cheek. "Please...Don't."

"Don't what, princess?"

Lexie gripped her knees closer to her chest and clenched her eyes shut tighter. He'll go away soon, he'll leave soon, he'll do what he wants and then he'll get bored. He always gets bored, Lexie knew that. She would wait, Lexie was good at waiting, she was a patient person.

One, two, three, four.

His finger ran closer to her bottom lip.

Five, six, seven.

His grip on her face tightened and his knees came into contact with her legs.

Ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen.

"Lexie..." He whispered, resting his bottle on top of her knee.

She wouldn't speak. She refused to speak to him.

Seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, twenty.

"Lexie."

Twenty-one, twenty-two, twenty-three.

"Lexie."

Twenty-four, twenty-five.

"Lexie!"

His hand came crashing down and the impact caused Lexie to let out a scream. Her cheek flared, heated by the anger, his unbridled passion to hurt her, and Lexie brought her hand up to touch the sore skin. Before she had time to prepare herself, his hand was on hers, ripping it away from her cheek. He gripped onto her hand, shoved it onto the ground, and then slapped her again. This time it was her left cheek that felt the pain, and this time the sheer force behind the hit sent her flying to the ground.

Now on her side, Lexie curled up into a small ball, her knees touching her chest, her tears flowing freely down her red cheeks. It would stop soon, he would stop, he would realize that she was his daughter and that he didn't want to do this to her. He didn't want to do this to her. He didn't want this.

The kick to her side showed her that he did in fact want this.

"You bitch," he spat as he looked down at her small, shaking figure. "Pathetic, worthless bitch!"

Thatcher suddenly looked down and noticed his beer bottle, which had fallen to the carpet when Lexie had. The content of the bottle was slowly pouring out of the green bottle, the floor stained with its life. Rage surged through Thatcher at the sight of his beer pouring into the carpet.

"Look at what you did!" He shouted, "Look at what you did, you stupid bitch!"

"I'm sorry," Lexie sobbed. "I-I-I'm s-sorry!"

Suddenly, his hand was in her hair, ripping the delicate brown locks from her scalp, pulling her up from her position on the floor. "Look at what you did!" He screamed into her ear and Lexie whimpered in response. "Look!"

"I'm sorry!"

He slammed her face into the floor.

"You're as stupid as your bitch of a mother," Thatcher snarled as he dropped Lexie's hair and moved away from her.

With her face against the harsh material of the carpet, Lexie felt her tears and blood soak into the floor beneath her. All emotions seeped out of her as she listened to him muttering, cursing under his breath. She wouldn't move, it would only hurt too much. And so, Lexie just watched as he paced in front of her and then turned and walked to her bedroom door.

She didn't blink as he slammed the door behind him.

She didn't blink when she heard the door lock behind him.

All she did was cry, allowing the tears to make their way down her face and into the carpet beneath her.

The sound of someone banging against the door caused Thatcher to frown. Quickly grabbing another beer bottle from the table outside of Lexie's room, he staggered down the stairs and glared at the door before dropping to sit on one of the steps. Gripping onto the carpet below him, he tried to focus on the door, wondering briefly if he was imagining the sound.

When he heard the muffled shout of a man's voice, a small smile twitched at the corner of his lips. Leaning forward slightly, he stared at the door, slightly amused, but when the banging started, louder this time, he found himself grimacing at the noise.

"Shut up," Thatcher mumbled under his breath. From his position on the stairs, he flinched at every bang against the door. His voice was low as he muttered, "Shut up, shut up, shut up."

The noise continued. It got louder and louder, each slam hurting his ears, pounding against his head. What was it? Thatcher didn't know. Lexie was locked away, it couldn't be her. Who was it? Why were they trying to ruin this?

"Shut up," he whispered again, his eyes narrowing at the door, his body slowly rocking back and forth. "Go away, go away, go away."

"Lexie! Come on! I know you're in there!"

Thatcher stopped rocking immediately. The voice was muffled, but only slightly. It was still loud, still clear and it was distinctively male. Thatcher's reaction was instant. The beer bottle touched his lips again, the liquid quickly drained and swallowed by him. Wiping his mouth, Thatcher glared at the door. A male calling after Lexie. A boyfriend? Thatcher nearly laughed at the thought. No-one wanted her. He had made sure of it.

Soon, anger flared up inside of him, raw and fast. How dare a man come to his house and demand for Lexie. He didn't deserve her. He didn't need her. No-one should need her. This man, whoever he was, shouldn't be disturbing him. He shouldn't be coming after his daughter.

Thatcher doesn't even pause as he got up from his seat on the stairs. His grip tightened on the bottle as he rushed down the remaining steps. His body swayed slightly as he stretched out his arm, beer bottle aimed at the door.

"Lex! Open the door!"

Thatcher smirked when he heard the voice. The desperate voice. This man didn't know what he was getting himself in for. He didn't know anything. If he did, then he would know not to disturb Thatcher. No-one got in the way. No-one would.

Raising the bottle in the air, Thatcher grinned before drawing back his arm and suddenly, he let go. The bottle crashed against the door with a shattering force, the sound silencing the voice on the other side of the door. Thatcher's grin widened and he walked closer to the door before he crouched down and pushed open the letterbox.

His eyes watched as the jean clad legs moved further away, the person stepping backwards. Good, he thought as they walked down the pathway leading away from the house. Thatcher smirked as he got up from his crouched position.

Mark took a step back when he heard the crashing noise. He walked backwards so that he could crane his neck upwards to look at Lexie's bedroom window. Frowning, he shook his head and moved closer to the door. After a moment, he began to knock on the door again and he was about to shout Lexie's name when a quiet creaking noise caused him to take a step back and look down.

"What the–"

Mark felt his heart stop when he saw the letterbox push open and a pair of icy blue eyes stare back at him. He could recognize that face anywhere.

His reaction was instant. Something snapped inside of him and before he knew what he was doing, Mark was charging at the door, his hands slamming against the wood. "Let me in," he growled before punching the door. Quickly, Mark crouched down so his eyes were level with Thatcher's. "Let me in, you sick bastard."

For a moment the eyes didn't blink, the steely gaze focused on Mark, before suddenly, a sharp laughter pierced the air and the corners of the eyes crinkled upwards. Mark felt his blood boil as he heard Thatcher laughing in his face.

"If you've done anything to her," he barked, his jaw clenched so hard that it hurt. The sound of Mark's fist slamming against the door doesn't cause either man to flinch. "I'll fucking kill you."

In the silence that follows, Mark glared at Thatcher and when the other man doesn't blink, Mark stood up and kicked the door, not noticing the pain that jolted up his leg. He did it again and again, silently hoping that the door will magically fall down.

When nothing happened, and when Thatcher's laughter can be heard again, Mark saw red and threw himself against the door. In a continuous stream, he banged his fists against the door and although he knows it will leave bruises, he doesn't care.

Lexie was in there.

Alone.

Hurt.

It only caused him to hit the door harder. He would get her out. Somehow.

After a futile fifteen minutes of shoving himself against the door, Mark pulled away, his breathing heavy. He couldn't hear Thatcher anymore. Looking up at the window, he can't make out any shadows but Mark knew he was up there. With her. The thought caused his heart to race and unable to think of anything else, Mark pulled out his cell phone.

"Police, please," Mark barked out, his eyes fixated on Lexie's window. "Come on, come on," he whispered as he felt his heart slam rapidly against his chest. When the sound of a female's voice floated through the line, Mark quickly retold the events and recalled Lexie's address.

Five minutes.

The police would be here in five minutes and although Mark knew that he should wait for them, that he should remain calm and start praying; instead the idea of five minutes seems too long.

Five minutes was an eternity.

There was no way he could stand here and wait patiently for the police to arrive. Quickly, Mark looked around for something to throw. His eyes narrowed on a potted plant. As he picked it up, a part of his brain that doesn't seem to be in touch with what is happening, reminded him that Lexie is going to shout at him for ruining her window.

But that wasn't important right now.

Before he changed his mind, Mark threw the pot at the small window next to the door. The piercing crash that followed caused Mark to sigh in relief. Hastily, he moved to the window and being careful of the sharp edges he maneuvered his arm through the window so that he could reach the door handle.

After a few attempts, the door clicked open, and then, without having to think twice about it, Mark entered the house.