FANG'S POINT OF VIEW

I lay down on my bed, thinking. I still couldn't believe Max had fought for my sister. It seemed almost too good to be true. Why would she? It was dangerous to do, especially if you were caught. She could have easily just defended herself until Iggy or a teacher came by. I knew that. So why fight?

Because she cared about Ella, that's why. Just like how Iggy told me he fought the same bozos a few days before. "It was more than just annoying. My hands were shaking, man, I was so mad. I couldn't even think. I just wanted to tear them apart one by one. I don't think I've ever been so angry."

I owed Max now, big time. Who knows what those creeps would have done if Ella hadn't, literally, ran into her? I shuddered just thinking about it. I had to get Max back and thank her, I had to teach Ella some dirty defense tricks, I had to keep my father away from Ella at all costs…

Too aggravated to sleep, I sat up, running my hands through my hair. I was way too stressed out. There was so much to keep track of! I pulled my hair into a ponytail and left my room, limping. I tried to hide my injury from Ella so she wouldn't worry about it. But holy crap, it freaking hurt.

I made my way to the office-a small room used mostly for storage as it was filled with boxes and documents. I knew exactly what I was looking for, my movements almost silent as I sat down in a small corner I had cleared for myself years ago.

Opening a partially hidden box, I put my hand inside and felt for a manila envelope. When my fingers grazed it, I picked up and pulled it into my lap. I unfastened it and pulled out the pictures and documents; my secret stash of memories.

On top of the pile sat a picture, worn with use. It was my favorite picture, one taken a few lifetimes ago. There in the picture was a woman. A woman, I knew shared my eye color and dark hair. She may now resembled Ella more than she resembled me, but I knew the small half smile she sported was all mine. In her arms was a boy, about three years old. He was smiling widely at her, his arms linked securely around her neck. He had an explosion of black hair coming off his head, one I knew his mother had always tried desperately to lay flat.

I was jealous of the boy. His life was so simple, so clear. He had a mother who loved him, and a father who controlled his temper. The boy had no idea he would soon lose everything, when his father lost his temper. The boy had no idea his very world would be turned upside down and he would fall hard, being shoved into an adult world he didn't belong in.

He was unaware of the evil around him-an evil he would have to fight against. He was completely ignorant of the fact that soon he would die on the inside so the only person he loved could continue to live. He didn't even know who he would become or what he would have to do in order protect her, to keep her from the evil.

I looked over the other pictures, most of them pretty similar to my favorite. There weren't many with Ella, instead the back of the pictures usually said 'Ariana, Fang' sometimes even including 'Jeb'. I avoided those ones. It seemed wrong to throw them out, but I didn't want to keep them.

My father was once a kind, stressed man. He had a tired smile and dull eyes, I remember, making him look older than he was. He worked two jobs to help pay the bills while my mother worked one job part time so she could take care of us. I remembered she wasn't worried, but she was quiet. She and my father didn't seem like a couple; more like business partners. But they were happy in each others' company, that was for sure.

Then my father changed. I often wondered if it was all the pressure from his jobs. He became angry and resentful. It got to the point where he wouldn't come home at night. My mother tried to hide the fact that he was changing, giving me excuses to make my father seem like a superhero.

"Daddy has to keep helping people, Nicky."

"Why, mom? Doesn't he miss us?"

"Of course, darling. But people need him. We need to be brave and selfless so he can help them. Can you do that for mommy?"

I would nod, taking it very seriously. My mother was pregnant and feeling sick, but she would always be patient with me, answering all my questions and reading with me.

Once my mother had Ella, my father snapped. He came home one day, fuming mad. I remembered hearing his boots enter the room, the sound like thunder.

"Why is the baby crying again?! Why aren't you taking care of it?"

"Ella just woke up, honey. She is a little bit cranky."

"Oh, so that's my fault? Are you saying it's my fault! You had the dumb thing!"

"No, it's not your fault. And she isn't dumb."

"How dare you correct me!"

My father, strode over to my mother, his hands roughly holding her face. She looked incredibly ticked off, probably because he was insulting her baby. She looked ready to shove him off, when her eyes met mine. I could an internal struggle there. Show me how to fight or show me how to forgive? She knew I looked up to her for everything, I saw her as perfect. She sighed, lowering her eyes.

"I'm sorry," she muttered to my father. Unfortunately, he took this as an insult and slapped her. I looked away, unable to witness my mother being hurt. Terrified, I ran to Ella's room and locked the door behind me. I jumped inside Ella's crib, grabbing her and trying to quiet her.

"Shh, Ella. It's okay, it's okay." I whispered. She only cried harder as my tears mixed with hers. We cried together until she fell asleep and I continued to hold her. I could here noises from downstairs. I knew my mother had given up her pride for me. She gave up her safety for me.

This was all my fault. I was the one always making my father angry, right? Ella didn't know any better, she was just a baby! My mother did everything to make him happy. She cooked and cleaned for him. But he was still angry. So that meant I did this. I was the one who made him hit my mother.

"I'm so sorry, Ma! I'm sorry, I'm sorry! I didn't mean to-I didn't! I'll be good, I promise! I'll be good, I'll be good!" I screamed, hoping my mother could hear me. Ella was fast asleep and didn't make a sound. Just then, I heard my mother start to yell. I couldn't make out the words, but she sounded really angry. I heard more shouts, a mix of my mother's and my father's. Just then, I heard a door slam. My mother's car started up, and faded into the distance.

"Ma...?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper.

My mother was gone. Ella started to whimper, probably having a bad dream. I rocked her back and forth, trying to comfort her. I moved her black hair out of her face and wiped the tears from her cheeks as well as mine.

"It's okay, El. You're going to be okay. Mommy has to help other people. We have to be brave and selfless for mommy, okay? That way she can help them. Okay, Ella? Okay?" I begged, my eyes filling with tears.

I closed my eyes, trying desperately to suppress the memories. I wrapped my arms around myself, shaking, though it wasn't cold. That night changed everything for me. My mother never came back and my father turned into a monster. It had only gotten worse as the years went on, really. He stopped feeling guilty in the least and looked like he actually enjoyed hitting me.

I put my face in my hands, taking deep breaths. I needed to control my emotions. Get a grip. I shoved the pictures back into the hidden box and left the room, limping back to my sanctuary. I flopped back onto my bed, staring at the blackness surrounding me.

I couldn't see any of my scars, but I could feel them. I knew where they were. Most on my arms and legs, little white lines that confessed my secret to the world. I didn't try to cover them much; most people considered me an emo or just a klutz and moved on with their lives. They wouldn't ask questions, just stare. No one had asked, of course, except for Max. Not only that, but she actually helped me. Both Ella and I.

I didn't want her in this world, no, but now that she was, I was glad she had arrived.

Maybe she was what we needed to help us out of this world.