A/N: So I thought this chapter had been posted forever ago, but apparently not! Hmm. Well, anyways, enjoy and chapter 3 might be up early as Friday :D Make sure to review/favorite/follow if you enjoyed!

My first night was a rough one. I'd keep waking up and random hours of the night screaming, begging to go home. I'd then remind myself not to scream so loud, or Derek might've heard me. It was early dawn when I was aroused by the loud footsteps echo through the hallways. My heart began to race, my stomach twisting in knots. Derek and Damian walked in the room, Derek with a confident smirk on his worn out face, and Damian, looking terrified and awkward, managing to look adorable while doing so.

"She's not very pretty, but she'll do, hey?" Derek asked him. He looked at me, an apologetic look in his electric blue eyes, and slowly nodded, attempting to please his father.

"Look, you want your prisoners like you want your furniture. Nice enough to look at, but not nice enough for other people to want to steal it. And that little bit of pretty ain't gonna stop people from not looking for her, so we have a bit of work to do." He said, his bony hand fumbling in his pocket for his knife, that I had been previously introduced to. Damian's eyes widened, a look of panic on his face. I simply put on a brave, emotionless look, and braced myself for whatever he had planned.

I found myself bound to the chair yet again, this time fully with duct tape, because "it would be more fun to remove", Derek insisted. Damian watched in disgust as the cold metal blade attacked my face, grazing across the empty skin, leaving sharp, jagged lacerations on my face. I slowly opened my eyes to find Derek proudly looking over me, and Damian, his emotion filled with sympathy and anger.

"Was that so hard?" Derek asked, thrusting the knife into Damian's trembling hands, walking out without waiting for a response from the horrified boy. He looked to me, carefully and agile- handedly slicing the duct tape and removing it gently, trying not to hurt me.

"Are you okay? I'm so sorry." he whispered.

"I'm alright. I promise. But you really should go. He'll be mad." I said, peeling the tape off my wrist. He nodded, and walked out, stopping at the door.

"Take care, and good luck." he said. I smiled, appreciating his kind words. I ran my hands over my face, and observed my crimson streaked hands. It was a steady swipe across the inside of my hand. That wasn't good. After sitting there with my hands pressed to my face, uneffectively slowing the blood flow, my vision became blurred, until I eventually fainted, hitting my head against the ground with a bang.

The smell of chicken filled my nose, as I awoke at around suppertime. I pulled my face off the floor, the blood supergluing my face to the ground. The room smelt metallic and sickly, reminding me of waking up as a kid, covered in blood, because my nose had began bleeding for no apparent reason. It was if someone had came into my room and sucker-punched me in the nose. Despite it being one of my least favorite memories, it reminded me of home, leaving a pang of sadness in my heart. I got up, my legs shaking, like they were about to give way, and zoned back in to reality. Someone fumbled with the doorknob, but as I began to panic, it seemed for no reason, as no one came into the room. But why? I recreated the previous days events, and suddenly remembered the note! I quickly gathered Damian's belongings, and slowly made my way through the empty halls. Peeking through the halls, I determined my safety from the noise of a faint soap opera playing in the basement somewhere, and the music of the show signified something intense was happening. The viewer wouldn't be getting up any time soon. The garage door slammed, so I waited, hoping nobody came back, and almost instantly, Derek came back to grab his pack of cigarettes, giving me approximately 5 minutes to get outside. Damian sure had this planned out. As I carefully leaped across the living room, making sure not to seem too rushed, in case the viewer heard me bounding upstairs. The gentle pads of feet climbing softly up the basement steps made me rush towards the back door, opening and closing it swiftly and quietly. Damian had been awaiting me, where the stairs would've been, had there been any on the abnormally high deck. He held out a scarred hand and helped me down. He held his gentle yet firm grasp and shook my hand. "The name's Damian." he smiled.

"Emily. Emily White." I replied.

"What a nice name." he complimented. "It really suits you." I felt myself begin to blush, and bit my tongue sternly to keep my face from flushing.

"Come under here." he said, pointing underneath the deck. I looked at him with disbelief. "Don't worry, there aren't any bugs or rats down here. I would know, I write music under here all the time." I gave him an unsure look. "Look, I'll go first." he volunteered, slithering under without thinking twice. I followed hesitantly.

"Why exactly did you invite me out here?" I asked, shoving his notebook behind my back, as he lit a few candles to light up the dark underneath of the deck.

"Because," he began, as the match ignited, " I decided to take it upon myself to help you escape. If I can't, I might as well help others hide from my father's abuse." I nodded, a bit stunned by his words. I knew he had been hurt, but I didn't necessarily want to confirm that Derek was the one hurting the poor boy. There was a few moments of silence between us, until he began to speak again.

"I'm really sorry. I should've stopped him." he apologized, embarrassed he had to take responsibility for his father.

"It's alright, I'm fine. I rather him hurt me then you. You've obviously experienced it enough." I said, motioning towards his numerous scars on his pale arms and face. He paused, before continuing our conversation.

"I hope you know I don't agree with what he's doing. Ever since I was about five or six, when he had his first "prisoner", I knew immediately it was wrong, and since then I've despised him for hurting people. He doesn't know though, so he kidnapped you, hoping he could teach me how to treat people like trash. I just don't want you to get hurt because of me." he confessed. I was about to respond, when a booming, obviously drunken cry interrupted my thoughts.

"Damian!" Derek slurred speech demanded.

"I'll be right back. Hide somewhere under here and blow out all the candles." My heart was racing, like he had called my name, not Damian's.

After approximately 20 minutes of hiding in fear, Damian came back, just as he promised, his nose gushing blood.

"Are you alright?" I gasped.

"Yeah, I'm alright, it's just a bit of blood." he said calmly, pressing a tissue he had stowed away under the deck to his intensely bruised nose. I pulled out his notebook and pen, hoping that seeing them would cheer him up.

"These yours?" I asked, handing them to him. Damian grinned.

"My plan worked." he said proudly.

"What plan?"

"They all had hints, to give you sort of a backstory, to help you. Thankfully, you trusted me, but I want to make this very clear. I am the only person here you can trust. Understand? Nobody else is safe. You can't trust anybody, because they may hurt you."

"I understand." Damian checked his watch and peered out from under the deck, to find out what was going on his house, noticing his mom was setting up dinner.

"Meet me out front." he instructed, leaving me to fend for myself for a few minutes. I carefully made my way to the front, avoiding standing near the large windows adorning the building. I finally relaxed, as I pressed against the garage, waiting for the next move. A green marble bounced near my feet, and after I picked it up, I looked to the sky to see Damian peering out his window. I pocketed it as a rope fell to the ground.

"Climb up." he shouted.

"I can't climb ropes."

"Then I'll pull you. Just hold on real tight." I did as I was told and closed my eyes, fearing for my life as I was steadily pulled towards his bedroom window. I scrambled onto his window ledge, and he helped me down.

"Thanks."

"No problem. Anyway, this is my bedroom," he said, in a tour guide tone, extending his arms. He turned to me, and smiled. "No pictures, because it's kind of messy." I giggled. "Every night, we can get together, so we can become friends and help each other get out of here."

"Why are you making such an effort to befriend me? If we get caught, your dad will be furious."

"Because, I need to help you, and you need to help me. I know a lot about you, Emily, and you and I make the perfect pair. We can help each other get out. It's a win-win."

"Damian, dinner's ready!" A cheery voice interrupted the serious mood of our conversation.

"Come on." he whispered, rushing me to my room, and locking my door, as he headed for the dining room. I sat back down on my mattress and began to think. That had turned out much better than I thought. Damian was exactly how I hoped he would be. I needed to think of ways to get out of here. He deserved to escape, and anything could make us one step closer to getting out of here.