Sir Ridley's Penitentiary Academy for Non Conforming Recalcitrant Youth was not a school.

Neither was it a prison. It was called both, yet it never really touched upon the basics of either.

It was a simply a place where you put children that you didn't want.

They didn't categorize us. They just mashed us all together without giving a rat's ass whether we'd get along or not.

Some of us were insane. More than half of us were burdened with psychological difficulties in any case. A lot of us just didn't care. Only a handful had hope. And even then, they didn't show it.

Part 2 '''''''''''''''''''''''''

My brother and I were firm believers of change. Our parents were not. My mother was what my peers liked to call 'white trash'. And my father was not called anything, but women liked to say he, « couldn't keep himself in his pants. »

I never really understood this until I turned ten and my best friend, Callie, stopped talking to me. One day I cornered her and demanded that she tell me what was wrong.

« Sammy. » she whispered to me, « He……… He made me do things. »

I tilted my head, as I still did not understand. « Do things ? What kind of things ? »

« At first it was little stuff, like rubbing his back or his chest. But then……… » and she started to sob. « I didn't want to say no because I was afraid he would hit me, but it hurt, Sammy. And he made me put it in my mouth and……… And down there……… And he'd touch me and I hated it. And he said if I ever told anyone……… »

« Put what in your mouth ? » I asked calmly, though my heart was trembling in my chest. When she told me, I was so horrified, I ran away, all the way down the hallway and out of the school, and all the way home, only to burst into our apartment and boldly accuse my father of his dark stupration.

I don't think that learning of such things made me any more intelligent. I think, in fact, they blinded me to reality, and the situation into which I had put myself. To be alone with my father at home and to reveal my knowledge of his unconsented extramarital relations simply gave him an excuse to do such a thing to me.

If you have never before been forced into something like sex, chances are that, you would not understand. Most reactions are different. But for the most part, after the first few minutes of pain and tears and fighting, you go numb, and you greet the situation with an odd sort of cold detachment. Almost as if you were another person witnessing this exact thing over and over again.

He did this to me on the kitchen counter. Simply lifted me up with his large hands and sat me up there. Quietly, coldly, he pulled down my underwear. I remember it was pink, and it had lace. They were my favourite pair, and he simply ripped it off my legs with an eerie likeness to a bear, brushing away a spiderweb.

I sat there quietly, listening to the sound of my father rutting between my legs, the odd grunts and snorts and sighs he made as he went about it. He was sweating, wetting me through my dress and dripping from his face and neck onto my head and shoulder. Blearily, my gaze wandered around, and through some sort of fate, fell upon a kitchen knife.

« Daddy. » I said quietly, he didn't stop, simply went about it harder and more roughly than ever. This caused me to edge along the counter, until my hands could just reach it. I curled a hand around his neck and plunged the knife through his head with all the strength my little ten year old body could muster.

It was enough. With one more grunt, half surprised, half orgasmic, he fell away from me and to the floor, lying at an odd angle, drool from his mouth meeting and mixing with the blood from his head, his odious little utensil flopping out of his pants at a grotesque angle.

I was too shocked to do anything. All I could do was sit on the counter, bleeding freely and staring, eyes glazed over, at my father's form.

My brother was two years older than I. He came home a little afterwards, and digested the scene with the eerie nonchalance of a child who had greeted such a scene many times before.

Apparently he had known about Callie's ordeal. And when I accused him of secrecy, he simple shrugged and said, « I figured you knew too. Everybody else did. »

« Aren't you angry ? » I asked, shocked and outraged that my act had done nothing to help anyone, or at least elicited some sort of reaction from him, maybe admiration. « Aren't you sad ? »

He looked up at me, cleaning the knife with an old dish rag. « No. » he said softly. And that was the end of that. He told me to take a bath, and lock the door, and not to come out until he called me again.

I did as he was told, sinking into the water and scrubbing between my legs, despite the pain until all the blood was gone. I watched as it poured down the drain. I went to the bathroom, spread a towel on the boilet seat, and curled up on top of it, waiting, inhaling the steam from the hot water.

An hour or so later, my brother said I could come out. When I left the washroom, I saw my mother standing there, tears streaming down her face, clutching a handkerchief to her nose.

Her shoulders were shaking and her eyes were squeezed shut. I watched her warily. Suddenly, the safety of a parent figure seemed false and blinding. I did not want to test her loyalty, like I so obvously had done with my father. And look where that had gotten me !

« Griffyn. » she whispered to my brother, startled, he looked up. « Go help your sister pack. »

« But Mama- »

« Now ! Do you want to get arrested ? It won't be long before somebody finds his body in the dumpster, and when that happens, what will we do ? Are you even sure he's dead ? »

« No mama. »

« Then go ! We need to leave ! Right now ! »

It wasn't until much later on in my life that I realized the severity of our situation.

Part 3''''''''''''''''''''''

« Gryffin. » I murmured, I shoved at him, but he simply sat there, staring out the window.

« Gryffin ? What do you see ? » I asked, standing up on my tippy-toes to get a good look out the window, I was a slight girl, even at my age, which at that time was fourteen. And besides, the window was high.

Gryffin leaned out further, then whirled away. He tugged open the drawer of the rickety desk in our room, and carefully pulled out his revolver. He turned to me and put a finger to his lips.

I nodded, understanding. I looked out the window and saw what had caused his sudden caution. A dark figure was standing under our window, looking up at us.

He caught my gaze and wandered away.

« Mama ? » I murmuered, walking out into the hallway.

I found her on the couch. « Mama ? »

Her eyes were wide open, glazed over. Blue moonlight illuminated her sharp gaunt features. She smelt like pot and stale sex, her permanent perfume.

I reached out to her, and recoiled. Her skin was as cold as ice. I didn't understand how. But I knew why.

In any case, my wail cut through the air. « Gryyyyyyyfiiiin ! » I screamed, collapsing onto the ground it sobs. He was there in a flash, comforting and silencing me at the same time. The landlord was there before we knew it and suddenly we were in a foster home.

We were out soon enough though, two years in the system is more than enough for you to dislike people who want to help, and radiate to those who don't give a damn.

Gryffin was eighteen, and I was sixteen when we arrived at Sir Ridley's.

It didn't take two looks to know we were brother and sister.

Both of us were roughed up a little, considerably cold and aloof. And truly understanding of the darker sides of the world.

Gryffin was tall, with broad shoulders and narrow hips and long legs. His eyes, a dulled grey green, seemed near odd against his dusky skin, and his hair, once red, was a a dark, curling hibiscus. Red died purple. He scarcely smiled, and his narrow chiseled face was one to strike fear when angry.

I having been sheltered by him all this time, was slightly less… intimidating. My hair was black in colour, and cut ruthlessly short at my chin. My eyes, like Gryffin's were grey-green, but I had more grey than green in them. My skin, unlike his, was pale and freckled.

We wandered the halls, side by side, yet seperate, in an inordinary manner. Gryffin dressed like any normal eighteen-year-old boy would see fit. Jeans and t-shirts and baseball caps.

I, on the other hand, had a penchant for fashion, and found my skills particularly prominent when it came to making something outrageous out of something dull and ordinary.

I will not lie to you and say we were the first crusaders among broken men.

The first was Zakai. All that I ever knew or found out about Zakai before I met him was through rumour. And even then, it was almost a month before I met him.

I had forgotten an art project in the art class and was going to pick it up so I could work on it after hours.

But the sight that greeted me was so shocking that all thought fled my mind.

Two boys. One with dark hair and olive skin, the other with very fine, pale blonde hair, straight, and long enough to tie in a short, stubby ponytail at the base of his neck.

The darker one had the blonde one crushed against the wall, and he was currently going at his neck.

The blonde one didn't seem to mind. In fact, at my short gasp, His eys flew open, and his direct, blue gaze landed straight onto me. He smirked through his gasps. And blowing me a kiss, went back to enjoying the ministrations of the darker boy.

As I turned to walk away, I heard his voice, quiet, yet rough and hoarse. « You needn't go just yet. » he said. « You might as well get whatever you came for. »

I whirled around. The darker boy had moved to the blonde boy's chest now, which was suddenly bare.

« You're despicable. » I snapped.

His eyes darkened. « Oh, homophobe, are we ? »

« We are not. » I said, reaching for my canvas and hauling it off of the floor. « I just don't think you should be doing that while I'm still in the room with you. As fi you're showing it to me or something. »

« Oh, come on, sweetheart, don't tell me you don't love it. » he said, mocking me.

This only made me burn even more. Perhaps I wouldn't have been so offended if the entire scene taking place before me wasn't so… provoking, so to speak.

I walked away when I heard the blonde boy's fly coming undone.

Part 4 ''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''

The next time I met him was outside in the courtyard. I was watering the plants as punihsment for telling my teacher off rather explicitly in class, when he came sidling up to me. I recognized him instantly.

« You're the boy from the art room. » I muttered. Not a question, but rather an accusation.

He seemed to be thinking a minute, then his smile broadened. « Oh yeah. Marco. » he rolled his eyes in mock-ecstasy. « What a good fuck. »

« I see you haven't changed. » I muttered, I turned the hose in the direction of the bleeding hearts, deliberately over-soaking them.

I felt him suddenly close to me. He smelt off, like dust and rubbing alcohol, and then there was fatershave and vanilla and banana.

I was never very tactful. I thought he smelt different, and I said so. « I smell like dust because I carve stone. I smell like rubbing alcohol because I used it to clean the dirt and grit from a cut I got while working. I smell like aftershave because I tend to shave, and I smell like vanilla and banana because I drink vanilla and banana smoothies every morning. »

« You carve stone ? » I asked, suddenly interested.

« Yeah. Yeah I do. » suddenly he seemed very cold, as if I'd been inside a room and he'd pushed me out, barring the door. He became very quiet.

I was soon to learn that he was normally quiet, and when not, quite rude and considerably bold.

He had the looks of an angel, but the soul of a demon.

And he was never ever nice.

But I fell for him anyways.

« Zakei. » he said, extending a hand.

I shook it slowly. « Samareigh Phyllis. Sam for short. » I said.

He stared at me a long moment, and I was tempted to squirm under his gaze. What was he looking for ? Some sort of a flaw ? If so, it couldn't be all that hard.

But he didn't say anything about me. His eyes studied my face, lingering on my lips.

« Let's take a walk. » he said.

« Alone ? » I asked, suddenly self-conscious. « With you ? »

He simply gazed at me passively. His eyes, I realized, were eerily large in his gaunt, hollow face.

« Why ? » I asked, and we both knew what I meant, what I was asking.

« Because. » he said, moving closer to me, I felt his hand, warm, against my back, he wasn't looking at me, but rather at the exact place my neck met my shoulder. His thumb toyed idly with my bra strap, and I suppressed the urge to shudder gleefully beneath the touch of his hand. « I want you. » the words were whispered hoarsely into my ear.

It took all my strength to step back, and turn to smile innocently at my brother, who was sitting at a bench nearby. His arms were stretched out, resting on the sides of the bench. His left ankle rested idly on the knee of his right leg.

His fingers, long, tapered, drummed out a tune on the back of the bench. His pose was meant to look non-threatening and casual, but his eyes smouldered angrily, protectively. I hadn't noticed him there before, but now my cheeks burned in shame.

I turned to Zakei, who was watching my brother as well. « Boyfriend ? » he asked idly.

« No. » I said, I moved away from him, and his hand dropped to his side. « My brother. »

« Yummy boy. » said Zakei, his voice was low, so I barely heard him.

« He's straight, Zakei. » I said quickly. I didn't know how Gryffin would react to male proposition, but I figured it might upset him. And Gryffin's temper was an awe-stricking thing to behold, especially when on the receiving end.

He turned to me, flashed me a curt smile. « They all are, honey. That's what makes them sexy. »

« That makes no sense. » I said.

He had started to walk away, but then he stopped, and whirled around. « Sweetheart, » his voice dripping with false honey. « We're all just horny indiscriminate creatures on the inside. Nobody's really straight. We are part of culture that suffers from one hell of an Egyptian River. » he sauntered off, and it was hard to determine whether he was engaging in a lanky male stride, or a devastatingly homosexual hip-swinging…. Thing….

I felt Gryffin's hand on my shoulder, warmer than Zakei's, and firm in a way that said 'You are mine. Obey me.' As opposed to being caressing. Which was fine with me. I'd always been compelled to do everything that Gryffin said. The coming and passing of the years only served to reinforce that. Yet… sometimes I wondered if I would be under his command forever.

« I suggest you distance yourself from him. »

His hand tightened on my shoulder. I nodded slowly.

« Yes, Gyrffin. » Even as I said it I hated myself. Could I not make my own mistakes, ever, for once ?

He tugged on one of my pigtails affectionately before wandering away.

A/N – My first 'R' rated story EVER ! Wow, it feels good to have no boundaries. There will be smut… for the bi-sexual man-slut… sorry, had to rhyme. Hope you liked it ! More to come !