Hey guys, thank you for the reviews and alerts and faves, it means a lot :) Anyway, new chapter, it's quite heavy as things heat up between Quinn and her dad but I hope you enjoy it. Thank you for reading! :)

I walk through my front door as quietly as possible. My father's moods are always unpredictable, depending on how much he's managed to drink and I don't want to give him any excuse to take it out on me. I wince when a sudden gust of wind makes the door fly out of my hands and slam behind me.

"Quinn? Is that you honey?" My father's voice calls from the living room.

I stand there in utter shock, completely thrown by the fact that my dad sounds completely sober and with him calling me honey. What the hell is this?

Cautiously, I step into the living room and spot my unusually well groomed father sat in the chair with what looks like a cup of tea. He smiles at me and his eyes dart to something. I follow them and spot a smartly dressed woman writing on a clipboard sat in the other armchair.

"Welcome home sweetheart." I visibly flinch at the pet name. "This is Ms Turner, she's from social services," he says, and I catch the shake in his voice. I get it now, he's made himself up to be the perfect dad, pretending to give a crap about me- anything to convince this woman he's a non-abusive, non-drinking, wonderful father. Of course it was all so that they wouldn't take me- and the money he received from the state- and possibly throw his ass in prison. I could do it. I could tell her everything, it'd be that easy, but I wasn't going to. As bad as living here was, I'd heard foster care was a lot worse. Though I wasn't going to tell her anything, I was sure as hell going to make the son of a bitch sweat.

"Hey daddy," I say sweetly, paining me to do so. I notice the slight glint in his eyes that tells me I better not fuck this up for him or else. I swallow. The woman turns to look at me, at first she smiles but when she notices my black eye, her eyebrows knot together. Shit, c'mon Quinn. "Daddy," I say, turning to my fake-father. "I had to go to the nurse today, some stupid boy ran into me, full on shouldering me in the face, I mean, just look!" My father smirks but quickly reforms himself back to good dad.

"Oh Quinnie, you need to be more careful!"

The social worker seems content with my lie and scribbles something on her pad of paper. She then clears her throat and turns to me.

"So, Quinn. How're things here? You doing okay?"

I have my answers prepared, it's not like we've not had these visits from social services before. "Sure am! I mean sure, it's been hard but my dad takes real good care of me," I say through gritted teeth. "I'm his little girl," I throw in a sickly-sweet smile for good measure.

"So, there are no issues, nothing you'd want to discuss with me," she turns to my father, then back to me. "In private?"

I lick my lips, now was my chance to scare my dad. "Well, there is one thing. If someone drinks to excess like, everyday- would that mean they're an alcoholic?" I ask in an innocent voice and congratulate myself on the feigned nativity. The social worker looks at my quizzically.

"Yes, I think I would. Why would you ask that Quinn?" She goads.

"Well, my dad," I carry on with the mock-dumb blond voice and look at my dad. He's fuming in his seat, piercing eyes narrowed on me that are filled with budding rage that he's just itching release. I roll my eyes at him whilst the social worker writes something down and it must be taking all of his will power not to launch out of the chair and beat me until I'm black and blue. "-didn't know when I asked him, it was some school thing. And I figured you would, seeing as you're super clever!" My father seems to settle down but he knows my game, from the stupid, sweet girl act to the devious, sarcastic intent behind it.

"Oh," is all she can say. She then shuts her book and stands up. "Well, I think that's all I need. Thank you Mr Fabray, Quinn," she nods at us. "I'll call you in a couple of days Mr Fabray, just out of routine to let you know everything went smoothly." She smiles and is guided towards the door by my father. I stand perfectly still, watching the person who could end what was going to come after she left the house. I know I brought it on myself but it was worth it to see my sadistic father squirm like a child in his seat, having no clue what I was going to say.

I hear the click of the door as it's pushed to and my dad calmly walks back into the living room, straight past me and into the booze cabinet. He doesn't bother to get a glass, just takes a chug of whisky straight from the bottle. He loosens his tie and throws it to the ground as he slumps heavily in his usual drinking chair. His eyes lock with mine and I swallow with fear. He notices the panic on my face. His lips upturn into a slight sly smile.

"Quinnie," he says, his voice full of venom and sarcasm. "Isn't it time you went to your room and did your homework?" I don't say anything; I just stare and see the bitterness flicker across his haggard face. I nod and turn around heading towards the stairs.

Something heavy smashes into the back of my head and liquid soaks my hair and trickles down my back whilst something sharp stings my scalp and my neck. I cry out in pain and drop to the floor. I press a shaky hand to the back of my head and it comes away red. I catch my breath. My father storms over and kicks me square on in the stomach and I'm pretty sure I feel something crack. I clutch my stomach so he kicks me in the back, making me scream in agony. I lay there still, heart racing. He looks disappointed with the reaction he's getting. He kneels down to my face, so close that I could smell the whisky on his breath.

"Next time you want to call the fucking social services how about you don't fuck with me? I could have gone to fucking prison because of your little show in there! Is that what you want Quinn? You want to get rid of both your parents is that it? Kill your mother then send your old man behind bars? Your murderous, vindictive little shit!" He spits at me.

"I-I didn't call them, it wasn't me, I-" He stands up fast and ploughs he right foot into my face, immediately bursting my nose on impact. He then grabs my hair and lifts my head up to his.

"Don't you dare lie to me! I don't deserve this Quinn! How could you be so selfish? I try my best with you but you just throw it all back in my fucking face! You're dead to me Quinn." He throws me back down to the floor with a thud and stomps back to his chair.

I lie motionless for what seems like an eternity. Everything on my body aches and hurts so bad. It feels like little gremlins are slowly clawing away at my flesh from the inside out. I try to move. Big mistake, my whole body ignites in excruciating pain, forcing me to lie still again. A tear slips from my left eye and I mentally curse myself. Not yet. Not where he can see and hear me, he's not getting the satisfaction of seeing me cry. The new motivation makes me try to move again. I bite my shirt to stop myself from screaming as I drag myself up one agonising step at a time. Eventually I make it to my room. I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror; I'm a sweaty, bloody pathetic mess. I lie on the floor and kick the door shut with my foot.

Tears burst free and flow down my face, making the new cuts and grazes from my father's boot sting, reminding me that this was really happening. I don't remember feeling this bad in a long time. I knew the beating was going to be bad, I just didn't expect it to be that bad. I wonder who called the social services. That's what pissed him off the most. He thought it was me and that it was all just a little game to me. Call them, and then mess with his head, leaving him wondering whether I'm going to say anything or not. If I'd have known he'd thought I'd called them, I would have never tried to make him sweat.

I choke on my tears and my chest hurts so badly, from a mixture of the beating and from crying so hard. I swallow hard and look to my drawers. I know one thing that will take the emotional pain away.

I force myself over and gather an orange craft knife from the junk in the drawer. I lean against my bed frame and roll up my shirt over my right shoulder. I find a smooth piece of porcelain skin and press the blade hard into it then quickly drag the blade over my shoulder.

Instantly, pain floods through my arm but it doesn't hurt in a bad way. It's comforting. Now I'm the one in control in the pain, not him. Crimson liquid flows down my arm and drips onto the floor. I carry on doing this, on my shoulders, on my stomachs and start on the tops of my legs until I start to feel dizzy and numb. My wooden floor has turned red and my clothes are stained with blood. I smile to myself. It doesn't hurt anymore. The words, the beating. All I can feel now is the liquid on my skin and the dull aching from my self-inflicted wounds.

I try to stand up but my vision spins and I have to lie down on my bed, knowing that I'm bloodying the sheets, but I don't care. I just want to sleep. I just want tomorrow to come.

I manage to roll on to my sides, not bothering to remove any of my clothes, feeling too weak to do so. I feel my eyelids start to become heavy and the sound of blood pounding in my ears starts to lull me to sleep. Finally I give in, and my world turns to black.

I wake up to a hand smoothing the hair away from my face. I open my eyes and meet the sad gaze of my mother. "Oh Quinne, look at what his did to you. Look at what you did to you."

"Mom?" I croak my voice barely above a whisper. She smiles sadly then touches my face and wipes some of the dried blood away. "Mom, I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry," I start to cry and she catches the tears with her fingers.

"It wasn't your fault Quinn, none of this is. Please sweetie, don't hurt yourself like this."

"I can't help it mom, I just want to forget the pain and the hurt and what I did and- Oh mom, please come back, please take me away from here I can't-"

"Shhh," she soothes and shakes her head in sorrow. "You know I can't do that Quinnie." I reach out to touch her but she gets up and turns her back on me.

"Mom!" I yell, setting my stomach and my throat on fire. "Mom, don't! Please don't go! You can't leave me here! Mom!"

I wake up and gasp for air, chocking on saliva. My eyes dart around my room and my heart breaks into a tiny million pieces when it dawns on me that there's no one else here and once again I'm alone.