Hi!

I have to apologize for not posting SOMETHING sooner. Sadly it's taking me a lot longer to rewrite the story because I'm trying to get it really good. I'm still having the problem of 1st POV v.s 3rd POV so if you could read the 1st chapter and compare it to the 2nd I would really appreciate it. Just the Angel part and then tell me which one you like better, just concerning POV. Anyway since it's taken me so long I decided to give you guys a little treat. Now this probably won't be in the story but it'll give you a bit of background info on the lovely and complicated Angel.But this IS NOT part of the story okay? But it IS part of Angel's character


Angel's first memory:

I'm sitting on the floor, playing with close hangers my dad gave me. I've drawn smiley faces on them with pencil. The door opens and my mother steps in. She looks tired and smells like smoke and cheap wine. She drops the keys on the table, misses by about three inches and they fall to the floor. I look up at her, hoping it's been a good day. A bad day for her means an even worse day for me. I've conditioned myself to act perfectly, according to her mood, so I won't get in trouble. I'm holding my breath and crossing my toes. She looks at me as if she's trying to figure out who I am, then she realizes.

"Hi Sweetie," she says.

I smile and run over to her, hug her knees. She casually strokes my hair.

"Mommy has to go to the bathroom okay?"

I notice a brown paper bag in her hand and wonder what it could be. It's to small to be a bottle. Maybe it's drugs. Even at three I am well aware of her problems. I quickly let go over her and she strides toward the bathroom, in a hurry. She closes the door behind her and I hear the rustling of the bag. Minutes later she cries out. "Fuck!"

I'm scared and no longer feel safe. But there's no where to hide in our small apartment. She comes out of the bathroom and heads to the kitchen, ignoring me. I'm too curious to be cautious so I slowly make my way to the bathroom. Once inside I look around the dimly lit room. Nothing looks out of the ordinary. Then I glance at the garbage can, which is almost completely empty. Inside it though is a white, plastic stick. It looks like what Daddy uses to take my temperature. But that didn't have any colors on it, especially not blue. Suddenly the room is filled with bright light. The fluorescent lights buzz above my head. My mother is standing in the doorway looking furious.

"What do you think you're doing?" she asks quietly, slowly.

I gulp, but don't respond, bad move. I immediately feel the sting from her hand on my right cheek.

"Get out," she grabs my hand and drags me out of the room and back into the dining room/living room.

"You are not to speak a word to your father you hear me?"

I do not reply; fear has sown my lips shut. She hits my other cheek. I nod, face throbbing in pain.

"He doesn't have to know," she mumbles, "Doesn't have to know it's not his. It'll be gone before he ever knows."

I realize she's not speaking to me and back away. But there is no where to go, no safe haven, except outside this place. I have yet to discover the quiet of our apartment's roof.

For the rest of the night I do not speak to anyone. I say nothing to my father. I am afraid I will reveal her secret and know I will be punished if I do. I do not understand her secret so I do not speak. Years later I will realize that I was almost a big sister, almost.