Okay so now that the storm is officially over and things have cleaned up around here, my next semester of college starts tomorrow. I'm in the nursing program and it's super crazy and intense and doesn't leave a whole lot of time for writing. However I've already written up to chapter 32 and I'm going to do my best to keep up as much as I can. To help me out though I'm mostly going to scroll back to posting every other day. Wish me luck on another crazy semester!

Raven's POV

It wasn't often that she ran away anymore. After all, it wasn't like she had anywhere to go. Her form of running away was work. She was nearly always at one job or another; it was rare that she had the spare time to ever need to go anywhere else. That changes when the heat in their trailer breaks the second week into January.

It isn't the cold that drives her out, though it is literally near freezing constantly. She breaks out the old space heater and uses it the best way possible. Unfortunately that means plugging it into her mom's room most of the time, trying to keep the woman from freezing to death whenever she was home. Raven bundles up, slipping the red jacket Wick had given her over her Christmas pyjamas and adding three pairs of socks every night.

During the day she sat by her mother's bed, using the light that streamed in through the windows to flip through her study manuals and jot down her answers on a spare notebook. At the rate she was going she could be certified within the month, let alone the year. Most of the time her mother slept. Sometime she awoke and was vicious. Other times she reached out and mussed Raven's hair and mused over what a 'pretty girl' she was and whispered how much she loved her. It wasn't often that Raven crawled into bed with her mother anymore, but even she couldn't deny the request when her mom asks. "Come lay with me, beautiful."

She abandons her studying and goes to lie atop the blankets and sheets, settling beside her mother who looked ever more drained and empty and broken than Raven could ever remember. Her hand reaches out and ghosts across a bruise that was healing beneath her mother's eye. "When did you get so big?" she asks, waving away Raven's hand to reach forward and tangle it in her daughter's hair.

(When you forced me to grow up in order to keep us both alive.)

Though it's ten in the morning and her mom has barely gotten out of bed, Raven knows she's some degree of drunk. Not to the point where she's hateful and bitter, but at the mark where she's content and at peace. It was such a fine line, but Raven couldn't bring herself to mind when her mother landed in this area of calm. Maybe pills were involved, who knows. She just liked the way there was no yelling or crying or fighting in the moment.

"I love you," her mom says. The words are coated in weakness and easily swallowed by the truth, but Raven clings to them anyway.

"I know, mom," she says, pulling herself closer and laying her head down on her mom's chest. She was thin and bony and not the least bit comfortable. Raven closes her eyes and lets the too close heartbeat soothe some of her worries. "I know you do."

Again her hands twist in Raven's hair, she feels small and weak and vulnerable and she wishes she was still at that age where she could cry until her mother got out of bed. She wishes she was still foolish enough to throw a tantrum until she was struck across the cheek. She longs to be small and needy and forcing her mother to get her shit together long enough to feed her child. "I know I'm not always good to you," she admits, like she heard Raven's thoughts. "But I did what I could for us, my love."

She sounds near sleep so Raven presses herself in further, encouraging her mom to wrap an arm around her. "You did just fine," she lies. After all, where was the harm in lying to someone who wasn't really there?

The whole situation without heat wasn't great, but they'd lived through worse. Raven counts the days down until her next pay check. Her mother would be getting what was left over, after she had ordered the part in order to fix the furnace.

She comes home Friday night after working a double at the grocery store. It was an easy job but it had its downfalls. The many hours of standing definitely got to her, even after all this time she hadn't adjusted like she always told herself she would. The walk home had been cold, but that she had gotten used to by now. In fact, she barely even minded. (She wasn't lying to herself, really). Her leg ached but the pain was the familiar kind, not the angry type.

The first indicator that something wasn't right is the car that sits out front. A total junker, paint coming off the hood and a dent in the back corner panel. Some cars she knew. They were big warning signs of 'Don't come in!' and she always heeded their warning. The unfamiliar ones caused her to test the waters though. When she was younger she used to have dreams about men coming in to kill her mother, shiny silver guns waving around as they argued about money and drugs and who owed who. Sometimes her dreams ended with a bang and a jolt. Other times they were happy, her twelve year old self would somehow jump into action and save the day. Her subconscious rewarded her with a mother who was so overwhelmed with love for her daughter that she changed all of her ways out of gratitude. Those dreams left her disappointed. Not because it hadn't happened, but because even young Raven knew there was nothing that would change who her mother was.

The door is unlocked when she goes to open it. There are no sounds of fighting so she turns it slowly, walking in with caution. The smoke is thick, reeking of cigarettes. She coughs out of instinct; her lungs had never handled irritants well. Her mom is passed out on the couch, in a position so uncomfortable Raven knows her slumber must be drug or alcohol induced. The man who sits next to her has a pile of cigarettes collected at his feet and one hanging from his mouth.

"Hello," she says as soon as he sees her. She didn't want to greet him. 'Get out,' she thinks. 'Just leave us alone,' she fights saying. Nothing good came of the men. Even when they brought food or kind hands instead of malicious ones, they never ended well. It seemed like a waste of time to Raven.

"Aren't you a pretty little thing?" he asks, eyes unfocused as he scans her up and down. Despite her layers, she feels naked. "Shame you're fucked up." He points to her leg and for once she's grateful for it. Being fucked up occasionally had its advantages. "Your ma here is useless, ya know. Can't even finish me off before just passing out."

The thought doesn't make her gag like it used to when she was young. It was just the way things were. "Well why don't you go home then?" she asks, not caring about manners. She couldn't shower while the man was there. She couldn't sleep with him hovering in the living room. Fucked up or not, she didn't trust what he could do.

"I'm supposed to fix ya damn heat."

"By turning the place into firewood?" she asks, stepping on the cigarette he tossed to the ground, still partially lit. Though a long shot, Raven didn't care for the idea of her house being burnt to the ground because of some douche's cigarette butt. "That's an awfully temporary fix, don't you think?"

He growls at her. "You're a little bitch like your mother, aren't ya?"

Raven shrugs, not invested or threatened enough in the conversation to give this man her full attention. Her stomach growled. She didn't want to eat while he was here. "What are you waiting for if she's asleep?" Raven asks, gesturing to her sleeping mother. The odds of her waking before morning were slim.

"She owes me," the man answers, pulling out another cigarette and lighting it. "She always fucking owes me."

"Well we won't have any more money around here come morning than we do right now." It was the truth. It wouldn't be the first time she'd paid off her mother's debts while the woman wasted away somewhere else. Desperation caused people to do funny things and Raven was more than desperate. She has nothing to offer this time, though. If there'd been any money left over she would have spent it on the heat. "So just get out, will you?"

It was stupid but she was tired. Normally she had a sixth sense about these people. Which ones were dangerous, which ones not to wear a tank top in front of, which ones she could shove out of the place with one hand. This guy took her by surprise as he gets off the couch, approaching her with thundering footsteps. It was common for the men with her mother to be intoxicated in their own way. Unfortunately for her, this guy seemed perfectly sober.

"I don't just let people talk to me like that. Especially not little whores like you," he says, right in her face. "Got it?" She doesn't answer. He spits in her face, causing her to flinch and step back, her bad leg refusing the action and causing her to trip. She corrects her balance before going down but the man laughs, taking a hand and pushing her back. "Well ain't you just an easy target?"

It's stupid, her instincts are always getting her into trouble but it was in times like these that she failed to control them. Her fist comes up and she slams it right into the smarmy man's face. She wasn't strong like she used to be, but there was still her fury to give her the power she needed.

"You slut!" he shouts, bent forward with a hand cupping his cheek. "I wasn't even gonna hurt ya and ya had to go and pull this shit?" He grabs her arm in a vice grip. "Little bitch."

She tries to pull her arm free but he only squeezes it that much tighter. For a brief second her eyes falter, looking away from the situation she was currently in and over at her mother. She showed no signs of consciousness. "Get the fuck off me."

He laughs, bitter and sickening. But he then he lets go, slapping her ass and kissing her cheek before turning away. "I don't screw cripples," he tells her, as though she's missing out. "And you ain't worth another assault charge. So just get the hell outta here."

It was her house. It held her room and her bed and her own damn food. But his tactics had worked exactly as he had probably intended. She was scared. So she zips her jacket back up and swings open the door. For the briefest of seconds she glances back at her mom. She thought of the woman who petted her hair and promised her love. There was no one there right now though, it was an empty body, soul raged away by whatever substance thrummed through her system.

Raven didn't want to be the sort of person who ran away. For once she wished she had somewhere to run to.

Again, her instincts had been stupid. She started walking without thinking of where she was going. Her legs carried her for miles, the wind whipping against her cheeks and her leg protesting like she knew it would. It doesn't even matter, she decides. She just wanted to wash her face and forget the night had even happened.

What happened had been child's play. Raven had been subjected to far worse, either through observation or with her as a participant. It was the fact that she was left walking away, driven from her own home by such a disgusting man. It was the realisation that he'd be the one in charge of turning her mother on her side if she vomited in her sleep or to help her clean herself if she soiled her underwear in her sleep again.

It shouldn't be a surprise when she ends up outside of Wick's apartment. Still, over all these years she had never gone to someone. No one but Finn. It almost feels like a betrayal, climbing the stairs to his apartment building and raising her fist to knock on the door. As if she'd just moved on from one saviour to the next. The thing was, she didn't want a saviour at all. She just wanted somewhere to lay down, maybe a blanket for good measure.

After two minutes she knocks again, a little louder this time. She's not even sure if she wanted him to open the door. At least she's not sure until he doesn't. The disappointment runs through her like…

For a moment she considers settling herself outside of his door. She could sit and wait, the wall behind her would work just as well as a pillow. But that was too pathetic, too needy. So she goes back outside and she walks some more.

This time she considers where she's going. The obvious choice was Octavia. Her mom never cared about company and Octavia might be one to ask questions, but she was also easily distracted. Bellamy would be the problem. He was perceptive. She hated him for it.

The thoughts aren't worth her time, but that doesn't stop her from considering Wick. Where he might be at this hour, what he would have done if he had been home, why she cared so much in the first place. It was a circular thought pattern that she was stuck in until she was knocking on the next door. (It was better than the alternative thoughts).

The loud music coming from the house was hardly a surprise. That's who Octavia was, loud and full of life. She didn't sit still long enough for silence to overtake her. It was such the opposite of Raven that she was drawn to it, eager to soak up some of the energy that Octavia couldn't seem to help but exude.

The surprise rests in the person who opens the door. She was familiar, Harper or something, she'd been around a time or two, a friend of Jasper's or Monty's maybe. "Oh…hey, Raven, right?" she asks and Raven doesn't miss how the girl looks at her leg before identifying her. That's how she was recognised now. It was pretty fool proof after all.

It hits her then, as she stands on Octavia's porch with her hair a mess from the wind and her jacket zipped over top of her grocery store T-shirt. Tonight was the party. It was the 'Clarke has to go back to med-school and mildly wants to kill herself so let's all hang out together while getting mildly drunk in an empty house' party. Raven had politely declined the original invitation. She'd fulfilled her party requirements for the year on New Year's Eve. "Yeah," she says, trying to look around the girl for Octavia, or Bellamy, she wasn't picky.

Harper stands back, holding the door wide and Raven steps through. She starts to pan the room when she spots and fixates on one particular individual. Huh, that must be why he didn't answer his door. She stands tall now, knowing he'll be paying attention to her. She tries to walk like her leg didn't hurt and as if she couldn't still feel the handprint on her ass or the dried spit on her face.

The smile she puts on her face feels fake even to her. "Hey," she says when she's halfway to him.

"Hey," he answers back, eyes scanning over her. She wishes she didn't know he was searching for signs of harm but she knows. God, she knows.

The words are on her tongue, built up inside her with that reassurance of absolute knowledge being present. She could ask him to leave and she knows he would. She could sit on his couch and listen to him laugh at the television and make her pancakes and the whole world would be set right for a little bit.

"Raven!" the cheerful call cuts her off from doing anything other than being violently hugged. Her hug was tight, almost suffocating. There were times when Raven liked the affection, though she might not admit it. There were also times when she needed to breathe. She hopes Octavia doesn't take it the wrong way when Raven squirms. "I'm so glad you're here," she says before letting her go.

Again, there are words to be said, truths to be revealed. She wants to ask Octavia to talk alone. She wants to lie on the floor under a Hello Kitty blanket and talk about crushes. She wants to dance to Cheetah Girls and laugh at prank calls. Instead she presses her lips together, holding all of the words in. Instead she smiles.

Octavia was good at knowing when Raven wasn't right. She was also good at ignoring it, like Raven wanted. "Listen, I have to destroy Lincoln in this game but as soon as I do I'm all yours." That was code for, take some time to get yourself together but I'll be asking you questions shortly here.

With a nod of approval Octavia leans forward and kisses her cheek. She might be loud and restless, but she was also gentle in ways so many others forgot to be. The thought might be a little more meaningful if she didn't immediately start calling Lincoln a 'chump.'

The words are still stuck in her throat so she leans next to Wick wordlessly. He does that thing. The one where he's watching her with careful eyes and evaluating what to do next. He probably didn't think she noticed, but she did. "You had no idea they were having a party tonight, did you?"

"What gave me away?" she asks, trying not to feel self-conscious about her work shirt or the jacket he'd given her. She had essentially stolen the damn thing, but he didn't ask for it back. She wasn't about to offer it either.

The answering silence is eerie. Raven tries her best not to be bothered by it, but conversation normally flowed between them easily. It was uncomfortable for it to be so stilted. "You missed some good stuff," he tells her. She knows it wasn't what he was going to say. She knows he fought back his instincts and his questions for her sake. He took one look at her and decided she was too fragile right now for questions. She hated when people saw her as fragile. For months that's all she ever was. Now she wondered if everyone had been convinced otherwise or if they just acted like it, for her sake.

A part of her wants to snap back, anger roiling through her bones, but she knows it's not anger meant for him. She knows where it really belongs and that the middle of a sort-of party in someone else's house is hardly the time to take her anger out on him. "Oh, yeah? Such as?" she asks instead, letting him take the conversation.

He starts on about her friends and their antics. Jasper bringing a girl, Bellamy almost punching someone, the usual shit. Actually no, Jasper bringing a girl was very far outside of the usual. She was going to have to ask him about that more later. "Eventful enough," she answers, unwilling to ask questions for further information. There was no room in her for any more information. "No one told me they invited you." It's an innocent enough statement, but again she felt the anger. She could have saved herself three extra miles of walking if someone had mentioned he would be here. (Unrighteous anger was the worst kind).

"Would've gotten here earlier if you knew how great the company was gonna be, eh?" He jokes and she fights rolling her eyes as his elbow pokes her gently.

Then she can't help it, she smiles, the retort falling past her lips without any thought. "Actually I was thinking that I would have avoided it that much more," she says, shrugging her shoulders in practised nonchalance. "But whatever helps you sleep at night."

He watches her with the sort of eyes that burn through layers of protection. It wore down each wall and knocked out every guard, leaving her exposed. Some part of her wants him to see. She wants that same vulnerability that she'd offered Christmas morning, crying in an unfamiliar kitchen because she saw herself in a little boy who had been forgotten. Tonight had made her weak. She had yet to find her strength again. "Long night?" he asks, because of course he fucking knows. He always knows and she always tries to convince herself that he doesn't.

All it takes is the one small question for the exhaustion to slam her down once more. She nods, the lump in her throat effectively keeping her from talking.

She hates it when people touch her. She doesn't ask for Octavia's hugs or appreciate the way Dr. Griffin places gentle hands on her back. Raven wasn't someone who sought solace in the form of physical contact. Despite that she doesn't mind when Wick places a hand on her shoulder, fingers gently curling around and squeezing. She'd been touched so much more, but the gesture still sends fire through her blood and ice down her spine. It opens the gate to the boy with the right words. "Hey, do you want to…" she stops. It wasn't her place to ask him to go back to his own damn house. She had no right to invite herself in and camp out on his couch once more.

But the music was too loud and the lights too bright and the people too great.

She wanted Finn. She wanted familiar and safe and home, somewhere and someone with whom she could just exist and worry about nothing else. But he was never going to be that person again. Even before his death, Raven knew it was time to give him up.

She wanted Octavia. She wanted two a.m. giggles and happy music and innocence, a person that she could forget her worries with and find happiness through. But Octavia wasn't the same girl that she'd been when they were younger, and neither was Raven. She was grown and broken in her own ways, a life filled with Lincoln in a way that Raven's life was once filled with Finn.

And dammit, she hated to admit it, but she wanted Wick. Not because he was a last resort, not because Finn was dead or Octavia busy or she desperate. She wanted someone who cared. Someone who knew only the broken her and didn't mind. He had no expectations for her to be the girl she once was. She wanted him because he just kept coming back even though she didn't ask him to and even though she tried to send him away.

Her eyes are heavy and her body is sore and she wonders if her mother is going to wake up in the morning and if she even wants her to. So she does the things that normal people do when they feel this way. She rubs her eyes and yawns, she stretches her tired arms, and she grabs a hold of Wick's hand in a vice grip.

"You want a lift home?" he asks, all soft words and easy smile. He saw right through her. He probably even knew that she was playing him like a fiddle.

But she shakes her head in response because no, she does not want to go home. She was still running away.

"Well my couch has been pretty lonely these past few days," he muses and she watches as he raises the bottle to his lips but brings it back down without taking a drink. Her heart stutters in her chest and she wonders if she should even bother lecturing herself over it. "Maybe you could sleep on it tonight, help make it feel loved."

Raven smiles because he's stupid but also because he's so damn smart. He knows what she needs even when she refuses to say it. "Are you sure it's just the couch who's lonely?" she teases.

The response she expects is snarky and teasing and challenging eyes. Instead what she gets is, "Maybe the couch's owner could bear to have you around too," and he's looking at her with a dopey grin and she remembers that her hand is still wrapped in his when he squeezes it.

There aren't really words to respond with so instead she tugs him towards the door. There was no point in bothering with goodbyes, she decided.