chapter 1

I am standing in front of my full-length mirror trying to decide the best way to hide the scars that litter the skin along my back and neck.

Thankfully, the new bruises I had acquired were along my ribs and could easily be hidden under my shirt. My old scars were the ones hard to hide, but I had to try.

My father didn’t like rumors floating around about us especially since he was a valued member of our community.

We lived in an upscale neighborhood thanks to my father’s successful company, but it was a version of hell on earth. My father was a monster in these four walls, and a god among men in the real world.

I wish I could say that his hatred toward me began because of my mother’s death, that he just couldn’t stand looking at me and that was why he hurt me. The fact is, he hated me the moment I was born.

He hated me the moment the doctor said, ‘it’s a girl’. He wanted a son to become heir of his company and all the shady activity he did under the name of his legitimate business. Mom didn’t give him what he wanted, and because he beat her near an inch of her life the moment they brought me home, she never wanted to get pregnant again.

The stress of my father’s abuse made it too hard for her to even stand his touch and when he found out that she had secretly taken preventive measure to never get pregnant again, she had signed her death sentence.

She died in a so-called accident, but I know that was a lie. She had ruined my father’s chance at having a son, and he killed her for it. I would have died in the accident as well if it hadn’t been for a Good Samaritan who happened upon the accident early enough to pull me out. Just after I was pulled out of the car the whole thing burst into flames confirming that my mother was dead.

My father decided it would be too risky to try to kill me again and playing the grieve in husband and distraught father was too good an opportunity to pass up. This was just for show though, because as soon as I healed from the accident, he took out his anger on me.

It started out with a few hits from his belt as discipline, but he would hit me in the back. Then he got creative with his methods of beating me and upgraded to other sorts of items. When I hit puberty though, things only got worse. His friends started to take notice of me, and he would leave me alone with them to do with me as they wished. Then he would walk in and punish me again for what I was forced to do.

I had hopped that at least school would be an escape from the hell of a life I endured at home, but I wasn’t so lucky.

It felt as if I was born into this world to become an outlet for people to take their anger out on. See some of these scars were from the many attempts to teach me who was in charge in the halls of my school. The long scar across my stomach was from the group of girls at my school who hated me the moment they saw me freshman year. They had been pushing me around and there was a broken railing on the bleachers, and I collided with it hard enough for it to cut through my skin deep enough for it to require stitches.

They had left me there bleeding and in shock until a faculty member found me. Andrea, the typical mean girl and her crew made my life even worse. Then there are the four boys who hung around her, bullies in their own right.

The Dark Angels….Asher, Logan, Jayden, and Leo.

That was the name of their crew, although I didn't know much about all that. Andrea and Asher had been a thing since as long as I could remember, and although the others hung around them, they didn’t stick with the same girl longer than a week. Asher even had a few girls here and there that Andrea pretended not to see. She was more worried about the statues of being with the leader of The Dark Angels than having his loyalty.

Now The Dark Angels had their own way off tormenting me, in the way of more sexual harassment. Anything from a smack to my butt to pushing me into a dark corner and grinding against me before taking of and laughing.

I had no idea why any of them targeted me since I always tried to keep to myself and avoid interacting with anyone. I didn’t have a single friend, and that was because I couldn’t trust anyone.

“Emma Grace! Hurry up!” My father yelled up to me from the living room.

I closed my eyes and sighed, going with my usual jean jacket to cover my scars. I wiped away a stray tear from my cheek before opening my bedroom door and making my way down the stairs. I swallow when I saw my dad leaning against the wall next to the door waiting for me. He looked up when he heard me and smiles at me sweetly, but I know that look is lethal. I walk slowly near him and pulled my back pack onto my back and reached carefully for the doorknob. For a moment I thought he would really just let me go, but as I pulled the door open, I was yanked back by the hair and he wrapped it tight in his grip.

“Remember the rules, Emma. Keep your head down, and your mouth shut. Got it?” He asked turning his nose and burying it in my hair.

I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to think of anything else, and when he finally let go, I stumbled out the door and raced down the front steps. My bike was hidden on the side of the house and I sprinted to grab it and mounted it all in one quick motion.

My school was in no way a haven, but I was too scared to stay here a moment longer. One thing I knew for sure was that although the kids at school enjoyed hurting me, my father would enjoy killing me. For some reason I still wanted to live, but that could change at any moment. I mean what kind of life was worth living when it was full of pain?

I took my time getting to school so that I could enjoy a bit of peace and fresh air before climbing right back into the lion’s den. The peace was short lived though, and soon my eyes fell on the outer building of my school. Other students were laughing and smiling as they filed into the main entrance, and I carefully parked my bike. I kneeled to lock a chain to it and stupidly turned my back. I should have known there would be no reprieve before the tormenting would start again. Before I even registered the sound of approaching steps my face was crashing into the chain of my bike making me cry out from both shock and pain. I fell to my butt and cradled my face in my hands as my face throbbed with pain. As expected, a stream of blood began to run down from my nose, and I leaned my head back but it had already started dripping all over my clothes.

Snickering came from above me and my eyes met Andrea’s and she smirked at me.

“Welcome to senior year!” She said before turning and sashaying toward the entrance of the school with her minions in tow.

I little out a shaky breath and push myself off the floor and try to keep my head back slightly even though it probably would do little good.

First day and I already had blood all over me, great. I heard another snickering laugh as The Dark Angels walked past me in the direction of the front door.

“Hey sunny! You got something on your shirt there.” Logan called out with a laugh.

Sunny.

Not the worst nickname out there but it annoyed me that it meant the jerk didn’t even know my name even though his crew had been targeting me for the last three years. He started calling me sunny because my hair had a tendency to turn a golden color in the sun. So, around the beginning of the year after summer break my hair usually turned a lighter color, but that wasn’t the full extent of the joke. He often made comments about whether or not my other hair looked the same and if I sunbathed ***** to make sure everything matched. It was stupid but he and his buddies found it funny, so I ignored the comments.

I let them pass without a reply and waited a few moments longer before walking into the front door myself and immediately heading toward the bathroom. I made quick work of washing my face off and making sure the bleeding from my nose had stopped. Once I was finished, I examined my nose in the mirror and concluded that my nose wasn’t broken but there was some slight bruising appearing on the ridges and in the inner corners of my eyes. Thankfully I carried a foundation stick with me for such events, and I quickly covered as much as I could.

My father did not allow me to wear makeup, so this one stick was a rare commodity that I had been able to hide from him. I had to use it sparingly, so I hoped that my future confrontations with the devil’s spawns would consist of bodily injuries and not face injuries.

I am sure you are wondering why I have never fought back or why I don’t whine more about pain. The truth is about ninety percent of the time I have a severe injury that makes these small injuries not worth my breath. Right now, I was sporting bruised ribs and bruises to my legs as well that hurt far worse making the injury to my face feel like a paper cut. I have been in pain every day for my life, so I was used to it. A sigh escaped my mouth when I realized there was areas that the makeup wasn’t covering well, and I gave up. As I walked closer to the door, I heard voices on the other side and quickly ducked into one of the stalls.

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