Sorry for not posting in so long. Enjoy. Let me know if you want more. Otherwise there will be no more posts. What's the point if no one wants it?


Once at the party, Cassie rushed off to dance, dragging Glenn behind her. I would feel sorry for Glenn because he had to deal with Cassie all the time, but I knew he would have left if he really wanted

to. And he didn't. Glenn loved Cassie.

Aimee pulled Sofie deeper into the house, looking back and talking happily to her repeatedly as she did so. Jenn and her boyfriend disappeared somewhere in the crowd, probably trying to find a place to

make out. Luke and Max attacked the food table. I don't know what happened to Sam. Nor did I care.

Lemmy and Terry went to greet the host. Apparently, it was Gabe's birthday. With everything, I forgot. But I didn't go to Gabe's side. I kept to myself as I usually did. Or at least tried to do before I met my housemates. Normally at least one of them would pester me, but I guess now they found something else to do.

Periodically sipping some kind of fruity punch, I leaned against the wall near a darkened corner, staring disinterestedly at the people and grumbling under my breath about the discomfort of my royal blue dress and heels. Me and heels... Hell no. I can't believe they suckered me into them. Oh, chocolate. It'll be the death of me. For sure. Well, at least the dress and heels were blue, my favorite color.

But I'm bored.

I hated this. I hated having nothing to do. Without anything to do, I couldn't keep the past at bay. I usually filled my head with stories so there wouldn't be enough room for the memories. Since meeting him again, my imagination had run dry. I don't comprehend why. Furthermore, there wasn't even the possibility of slipping into the sweet, sweet oblivion of sleep right now. Too noisy. Too dangerous. Too many strangers. My steep level of discomfort is rapidly rising.

"That worthless creature didn't come out of my womb."

An evil voice skillfully crept into my vulnerable mind. Her voice. A voice that I feared to my very core, that I loathed with all of my black soul.

Swiftly, I straightened from the wall. Wholly wanting to avoid. I needed to flee.

Now.

"You're ugly and dumb!"

HIs voice. HIs heinous voice. Only one sentence. But I didn't want to listen anymore. I deeply despised this. My weakness. My pain. My terror. Him. I couldn't handle this. Suddenly, the oxygen in the room disappeared. The walls were closing in on me. I couldn't breathe. I really couldn't breathe.

If I had some paper and a pencil in hand, drawing could possibly provide an escape. A book or even a magazine might be useful. Something. Anything. Anything to make it stop. This needs to stop before pure insanity consumes me whole.

Starting to panic, I speed-walked through the house. I wanted, no, needed to get away. Some way. Somehow. Stubbornly chanting the word paper in my head, trying to block out everything else, my steps quickly quickened. Each thunderous slap against the floor was loud and clear in the deserted hallway. Most people were in the living room or backyard. The hallway seemed to stretch for forever, endless miles of baby blue carpet and creamy white walls.

"No one will ever want you, Leila."

The pictures on the wall seemed to leer at me, morphing into the two faces I wanted to forget. I walked faster as I tried to think of my friends, tried to think of happy things, but they all evaded me. However, all I could remember, see were my mother and father's hateful, condescending smirks. All I can detect were their venom-soaked words. Their menace-filled taunts circled me, surrounded me from all sides, closing in on me. Their spiteful laughter echoed in my ears, dancing in my mind.

They were all I see, all I hear, all I can sense.

Feeling suffocated, I began to run.

There was no escape.

Quickly, opening the first door I saw, breathing hard, I went in. A book sat on a desk and in an instant I rushed to it, flipped it open. Trying to push everything I feared, abhorred away.

"You're worthless."

My vision blurred and I couldn't make out the little black words on the page no matter how many times I blinked. Unable to breathe, unable to think, unable to take it, I desperately dropped to my knees beside the desk, roughly opening drawers, pathetically pawing through them.

Found it! A slightly gnawed-on stub of a pencil and loose leaf paper. These'd do. Hopefully...

"Stupid. You're completely uselessly. You can't do anything right."

The offensive words continued to enter my head. Hopelessly desiring to weep like a baby, but determined not to, I swiftly sank into a chair, pencil poised right above the paper, and waited. Patiently waited.

Please...

"Ugly. No one would never want you. We don't even want you. What does that say about you if even your own parents don't want you, you ugly, pathetic creature?"

The pencil started trembling above the paper. It was shaking like crazy. I... I couldn't take this. However, I couldn't do anything about it. I'm so... worthless. A massive explosion was about to erupt. They were going to push me off the edge again. They were going to break me yet again. However... I waited some more. For the last time. Maybe this time I can hold it together. But I can still see my hand quaking. The agony in me was real. The raw terror was still riding me hard. I was fighting a losing battle.

"Worthless."

Suddenly I shot up.

Savagely throwing the pencil across the room, hearing it thunk against the wall, I collapsed heavily back into the chair. Slowly, I noticed that there was a warm wetness on my cheeks. I touched my face

to confirm its existence and examined my now wet fingertips, uncomprehending. Forgetting about the past for a small moment. A few seconds passed by and something clicked in my mind. Once realizing what it was, I hastily wiped it off. What was the use of crying? It wouldn't solve anything. I knew this, understood it, so why can't I stop? I really was an idiot.

"Stupid."

I couldn't read. Couldn't draw. Couldn't write. Couldn't sleep. I couldn't even think. Much less function. There was too much undiluted pain tearing me apart. But not setting me free.

Please stop.

Make it stop!

Please.

"Worthless."

Unable to tolerate any more, I burst out of the room like a madwoman.

Hyperventilating, burning tears pooling in the corners of my eyes, I nearly ran into someone.

"Hey, beautiful. Wanna a drink?"

My eyes blindly searched around for the source of the voice, trying to see through the blur of liquid, wildly switching back and forth, desperate for anything to keep my mind off of my own personal hell. It took a while for my clouded vision to clear, my gaze finding a guy holding out a beer to me. I wanted to forget. People drank all the time when they wanted to drown their memories in alcohol. Maybe, just maybe it worked. I'd do anything to break free from this torment.

My hand wrapped around the beverage.

A hand immediately snatched it out of my grip. "She's underage. Now, get lost." The guy ran off, intimidated by Lemmy's fierce glare. Lemmy turned to me, for once truly angry with me. "What the hell were you thinking? You know you can't drink."

"I want to forget."

"Drinking your problems away doesn't help. They'll still be here the next day," Lemmy said, his face painfully sober.

"Please." He looked sad and he closed his eyes, not moving for a long while. Looking sad beyond compare. Appearing older than before. Then he opened his eyes. I don't know why, but he gave me the beer. Maybe he heard the desperation in my voice. Maybe he couldn't resist giving me anything I want because he felt guilty. Guilty for finding me too late. Guilty for not rescuing me before I was broken.

Even though, it wasn't his fault.

The can was tilted up and the disgusting taste of alcohol slid down my throat. The dizziness started kicking in immediately. After chugging down half of the can, I went out like a light. The memories came flooding back. I got the opposite of the effect I wanted.

For the first time in years, I dreamed.

Flashback

I heard somewhere that parents weren't supposed to abuse their kids. Or at least not beat them until they're black and blue. Or yell at them until they don't want to live anymore. I didn't like the

physical pain, but it never hurt as much as the words. I wanted to escape.

The one time I went to the police, my parents managed to brush off my accusations with a few lies about my sanity and how this was most likely a revenge attempt for past punishments. They believed my

parents over me. Most of the officers left with wary glances directed at me as if at any moment, I would suddenly fulminate and attack them. There was one male cop with long argent hair and amethyst eyes who seemed to believe me or, at least, didn't trust my parents. Something echoed in the back of my mind, something vague and blurry resurfacing from the darkness. The memories faded before I can process it. I know those eyes. They look so familiar. But where had I seen them before? He periodically glared at my parents while they pointedly ignored him the entire time. Before he was pulled out of the door by another

officer who was probably worried that he would strangle my parents to death, he looked at me apologetically as if to tell me with his strangely familiar eyes that he was sorry he couldn't do anything. I was confused. Why did he even care? My thoughts turned away from the violet-eyed cop when I was thrown across the room, slamming against the wall with enough force to make my head spin. My eyes danced with dots of color and before I knew it, darkness mercifully took me.

One day, that silver-haired guy came back. He burst in through the door when my mother was in the middle of smacking me and screaming at me for burning the bacon. He looked like an avenging angel with the breeze fluttering through his hair and the light shining from behind him into the darkened room. I had never seen anyone so furious. He caught her fist before she could land the next hit. He took me away and brought me to a safe place. He told me that he was my brother and his name was Lemmy. He said he'll never let them touch me again. I didn't believe him at first. Why would anyone want to help me? And wouldn't I know if I had a brother? He told me that our parents kicked him out when they

found out he was gay. I was four at the time, so I probably didn't remember him. It took him a while—a long while—but he slowly broke through my distrust. I lived with him and Terry while we waited for my

parents to be put on trial. However, they escaped. Their car was last seen in burnt pieces at the bottom of a cliff. It was believed that they were dead.

I could breathe more easily and relaxed into my high school life. During all of this, I met my friends or rather they met me. They all had a reason or another for not possessing a home. Somehow, we got a house and lived with each other ever since.

I remembered a conversation I had with Lemmy. I didn't think I could be fixed, but Lemmy did.

"As much as I appreciate your concern, you can't help me. I'm a lost cause." I smiled, trying to soften my words. As far as he'd shown me, he seemed kind. I didn't want hurting his feelings weighing on my

conscience.

"Oh, sweetie, no one is a lost cause." Lemmy sat beside me, wrapping his arms around me. Compassion radiated off him.

I shrugged off his arms. Standing up, I started to walk away. "You are if you've given up on yourself."

I felt a hand on my arm. "I know I haven't been there for you, but trust me. I'm here now. I will never let anyone hurt you again."

I left the room, knowing I had hurt him and hating myself for being the coward I was. I wanted so badly to believe him. It wasn't so much of believing him that I was scared of; it was the believing that sent

me scurrying away. I was deeply terrified that my trust would be betrayed. I was scared out of my mind that believing would be a fatal mistake and anyone I cared about would end up paying for it. Being dead set that people either didn't give a damn about or exploited you didn't push me towards finding my hopelessly lost faith. Now, I met people who seemed to not fit in any of the two categories. It messed with my admittedly cynical view of the world and I didn't know how to react to it.

They showed me love and I slowly, little by little, began to heal. It took me two and a half years, but I finally realized that there are good people out there.

Because of them, I learned to smile.

-x-

Warmth surrounded me and I snuggled deeper into it, struggling to stay asleep. Slowly, it registered to me that I was constantly being slightly moved. I realized that someone was carrying me. My body tensed up, now wide awake with my eyelids still shut and ears open. Then, the familiar mixed scent of vanilla and coffee wafted up and I slowly relaxed.

"You're safe. It's me," Lemmy whispered, further confirming to me what I already knew. Lemmy didn't need to speak to let me know it was him, but it did soothe me to hear his voice. I felt his hand stroking my

hair. Consciousness started slipping away.

-x-

I was jerked out of the darkness by muffled sobs. Lemmy was cradling me in his arms, stroking my hair and cooing to me. Terry was standing behind Lemmy's shoulders, looking worried. Sofia was hugging Aimee who was trying to hold back tears. Glenn held Cassie's hand. His face was expressionless, but I could see the concern flicker in his eyes before he masked it. Luke looked sad. Max stood in the doorway to my room. Sam was behind him. They all (except Glenn) had worry etched across their faces. Then, I realized the sobs were coming from me.

Slowly, Aimee came over and cupped my cheek. Cassie entwined our hands together and Sofi took the other. Terry stroked my hair. Sam rubbed my shoulder and Luke put his hand on my other shoulder. Max patted my knee. Glenn gave me a small, sympathetic smile.

"Baby, take as long as you like," Lemmy murmured, still caressing my hair. "We love you and want to help you. Because you saved us."

I cried.

I cried for the first time in front of people and I wasn't afraid. I knew I was safe. Wrapped in such warmth, I was happy.

I cried until I couldn't cry anymore.

I fell asleep.


Thank you for reading. A lovely present and future to you. (Does anyone still want to read this?)