Disclaimer: I don't own any of the LOTR characters (that's all Tolkien's) ... regrettably ... what's mine are the OC's … and the mistakes … yep, that's about it.

WARNING: There DV abuse in this chapter, so just be aware of that ... read at your own risk.

CHAPTER 1

Some say the journey is more important than the destination, I dare to disagree. The destination is what's it all about, no matter how much we like to convince ourselves otherwise. While seemingly important a journey without a goal is meaningless – with nothing in sight how would we convince ourselves to move forward, to embark on the journey at all? The end goal doesn't have to be anything grand; it can be something as benign as mine was. I wanted to be alright, to finally be okay. I wanted to do better. I wanted to be normal. I wanted to be accepted. That's what my dream was as long as I can remember. I wanted to be accepted, wanted to be normal and not burdened by all the shit I was burdened with. Looking back now it seems like such a small goal, how could I ever want something so small? Yet all those years ago it wasn't small at all. Quite the opposite I thought that I could never reach it no matter what I did. It was just this grand goal, that kept me going no matter how bad the things got, nothing else.

I died. Well, I can't be a hundred percent sure, but I would be more surprised if I survived considering I was pushed down two flights of stairs and left for dead.

I don't know when things changed, it didn't used to be so bad. When I was younger, my family was nowhere near perfect, but I also wouldn't call them abusive, for it almost never got physical. Yes, I had some scars from times it did. However, I didn't have around myself anyone who would explain to me, that that wasn't normal. I remember watching other kids at the playground, their parents being attentive to them and caring. I watched them and honestly pitied them. For I knew, that if there was something worse than indifference my parents showed it was their sudden bounds of interest that came every once in a while. Then they changed, they would take me to the amusement park, or to get ice cream or they would just praise me. Sometimes it would last couple of hours, sometimes a week, but it would always end. The indifference would come back and leave me totally confused and unsure if I didn't just imagine it. It's no surprise that when I was little, I believed the other kids had it either same or worse.

I couldn't stand it at home and as soon as I turned 18 and finished high school, I moved out. My parents practically disowned me at that. It went against their plan; I was supposed to go to college and then to med school. Yet I knew that if I would do that, my life would be tied with theirs and then there would be no escape. While they wouldn't let me pay for tuition, they wouldn't let me forget, that they did. So, I packed my backs and left.

The beginnings weren't easy, but I managed. I got a job in a town that was about an hour away from my parents' house, far enough, that they wouldn't randomly stumble at me in the bookshop I worked at. Yet close enough, that I knew the landscape and didn't feel totally lost.

First few months slept in my car, and once I saved enough money, I rented. At first, I took it one day at the time, but after couple of years I started to want more from my life. I wanted to go to college. I didn't want to study medicine, but maths. As long as I can remember numbers always calmed me down, that's how I relaxed, I would get lost in them. At first in simple calculations and later in more complicated proofs and theorems. I loved it.

The owner of the bookshop was supportive of my effort and agreed to let me work part time, so that I could attend classes at the community college. Those four years were the best ones in my life. I didn't make a lot of friends, but that wasn't something I aspired to do anyway. However, I learned a lot and although money was always tight, I finally felt like I wasn't just surviving, I was alive. When the graduation date approached, I asked the owner of the bookshop to attend. She was flattered and agreed. Yet she also asked me whether I planned to invite my parents as well. I told her, that no I didn't plan on it and tried to explain to her why I wouldn't. Yet somehow, I failed to make her understand my situation. So, for the next month she tried to convince me that it would be for the best, they would be happy for me, and we could mend our relationship, it wasn't too late. I held steady in my refusal. However, it didn't matter, I don't know how she contacted them, but they were standing at my graduation right next to her. She seemed approving of the big bouquet my dad was holding and pleased to hear the praise they showered me with after the graduation. Yet the only thing I could feel was an all-encompassing sense of dread. This wouldn't end well for me, I knew better than to trust their flowery words and smiles, I was no longer a child I was a 25-year-old adult after all. But the fear that didn't left me from the moment I saw them didn't feel adult at all. I was terrified, but also couldn't find it in myself to oppose them when they suggested a celebratory dinner at their house.

The dinner went surprisingly well, the reason probably being the attendance of the bookshop owner. Yet somehow after all these years I let myself to hope, that maybe, maybe they changed. Maybe it would be different now, so when I was offered a room to sleep in so I wouldn't have to drive back so late I accepted, even though the bookshop owner refused saying that she would bring my car here on the morrow. I knew I shouldn't have, yet hope is a dangerous thing and sometimes makes us do the dumbest shit possible. So, I stayed. I shouldn't have, but I did. I was dumb, people don't change, not really, they pretend, but they don't change.

This time it lasted just three days. Some could argue this time it was my fault, that it ended. During dinner, when my parents talked about my further studies and med school, I refused. I told them, that I was going to do my PhD in Scotland and already had my visa to travel there. They didn't take it well, while dad complained about how ungrateful I was, mom didn't stop at the lecture and instead backhanded me across my face, it smarted. Raising hand to my face, I realised her long nails left three scratches on my face. That's when I knew I wouldn't be staying there any longer. Since I was an adult, physical harm is where I drew the line in my relationships. I didn't do second chances. I got up from the table.

"I think, we are done here" I announced and turned to leave the dining room.

"That's no way, to treat your mother, young lady" said my dad angrily. I could hear him getting up and walking towards me. Perplexed I turned back around showing him my face.

"And this is no way to treat your daughter, I'll be going, enjoy the rest of the evening." I tried to move towards the door.

Yet, he was blocking my way, when I tried to walk around him, he grabbed my arm keeping me in place. "Where do you think you are going?" The fear started to gnaw at me, yet I tried not to show it. For I knew, it wouldn't get me anywhere. I needed to show strength instead, I needed to scare them of.

So, I tried "Home" after he still didn't let me go, I calmly continued with "I think, it would be better if we talked about this some other time."

I was so glad when he agreed "Alright, let's talk some other time" and let me go, that I missed the dangerous flash in his eyes as he said so.

So, instead of being careful, I just moved towards the door "Crash", I felt something hit the back of my head, I staggered.

Then I was suddenly on the ground trying to protect my head from ferocious kicks "You ungrateful, bitch" "After all we've done for you?" "You should be ashamed" I felt each kick painfully. It seemed like the beating would never end. Yet it did, for after some time I felt myself being dragged through the house. I realised we were in front of the cellar, only when the door opened, and I was pushed down the stairs. I experienced a brief state of weightlessness, before I hit the floor of the cellar.

I laid there dazed; the last thing I heard my father say was "You wanted some time; here you can have all the time you want." As he closed and locked the door.

When I came to, I realised that my hands were bound by something. I didn't like it; my wrists were getting raw because of that. I tried to take stock of my injuries only to realise, that the situation was by no means good. I was lightheaded and when I tried to sit up, I was overcome with nausea and threw up. Another worrying thing was how hard it was to breath and how every movement sent wave of pains through my ribcage. I added possibly broken ribs to my list of injuries. Although not happy with my list so far, I continued. I tried to get up, tried being the important word here for when I put weight on my left ankle it buckled under me, and I fell back to the ground. Now laying on the ground and trying to catch my breath as the world span around me. I realised I wouldn't be going anywhere any time soon. That was not good, not good at all. I thought as the darkness welcomed me once again.