Chapter I (edited)

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I bit my lip, holding back the tears that threatened to fall.

"I will do worse next time if I catch you stealing food again," he said as he buckled his belt and walked away.

I waited patiently for him to exit the room completely.

Sobs filled the room as I finally allowed myself to cry and release all my pain, wincing when I lightly touched my bruises.

This time, I didn't think they would fade in just a few days.

I lay in my scratchy bed and allowed myself to sleep, exhausted from all the pain.

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I wake up to the sound of yelling coming from downstairs.

I glanced out the window, 'it's getting dark' I thought. I'm used to the fights between my foster parents, and I don't really care if they kill each other.

But then I hear footsteps approaching the door, my heartbeat quickened.

Then I saw him, holding a gun. Fear filled me as he stormed towards me, and pinned me to the floor. I struggled but didn't cry because I knew it would annoy him more.

"Stop struggling, bitch," he said, his eyes filled with fury. He began removing my clothes, and I fought harder, hoping he would let me go.

I couldn't help it, tears started falling as he continued to take off my clothes.

Then I spotted a bottle of beer under my bed. Thinking it might be my only chance to escape, I quickly grabbed it and smashed it over his head.

"You motherfucker!! " he shouted pointing his gun at my head. "I'm gonna kill you for that, fucker" he continued.

Before he could hurt me again, I quickly took a piece of the broken glass and slit his face with it. I never stopped, I continued again and again

I then stabbed his arm, which was holding my clothes. He let out a scream, and that was the best thing I could ever hear, but he took out a knife in his pocket and stabbed my thigh.

Why the freak does he have a knife there! I screamed in pain and shoved him away, but he got a hold of my arm earning another stab from him.

Groaning, I endured more stabs, all in my legs. Then... just as I thought he would stop, the pain that followed was almost unbearable, but I found a sliver of strength, a desperate surge of adrenaline. I punched him and grabbed his gun, then I pulled the trigger, aiming for his head.

He collapsed on top of me, unconscious. I shoved him away, disgust mixed with the pain in my own body. The tears flowed again, relentlessly. He almost touched me!

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After what felt like an eternity of crying, I found the courage to stand. This is my chance to run, to escape.

I quickly went down stairs. But before I could get to the door, someone pulled me.

"Where do you think you're going, girl?" My foster mother questioned holding me tight  in place.

I didn't answer. But instead I pushed her hard that she fell to the ground.

She screamed at me, but who cares. I need to get out of this place. I ran to the door stumbling, groaning at the pain in my legs.

I ran and ran tell I can no longer see that terrifying house. Only then I was able to relax. I let out a sigh of relief. Finally.

I walked, numbly, hoping that someone would let me in for shelter. It's freezing, my blood-soaked clothes doing little to ward off the chill.

"You alright, kid?" A deep voice startled me. I quickly turned to find the owner of the voice, then saw a figure in the shadows of the alley, slowly approaching.

When I can finally see him clearly. I took a good look at him. He had tattoos peeking from his neck. A well defined jaw and a very broad chest. He's handsome too, I thought.

As he stopped in front of me I suddenly flinched.

"Hey, it's okay. I won't hurt you," he said, his gaze falling on my bloodied clothes. "Looks like you've been through a lot."

I didn't answer, I just stared.

"Why don't you come with me?" he offered. But I hesitated, thinking if I can trust this stranger in front of me. 'Don't trust a stranger' is a famous saying after all

"I won't hurt you," he reassured me. "Maybe I can help."

"Help me?" I frowned.

"How did you know I needed help?"

He suddenly chuckled, making me startled. "I have eyes, yah know. " he replied eying my blooded clothes.

I quickly looked down at my body. Oh yeah, I'm injured. I mentally rolled my eyes.

"Okay, I'll go with you. " I whispered.

He smiled, and gently patted my head. "This way." He led me to a black SUV. Oh yeah! This guy's rich, I thought.

He opened the passenger door and guided me in. He helped me till I'm sitted comfortably. Only then he went to the passenger side to get in.

I looked outside the window as he drove. Admiring the city lights that I last saw when I was 8, before I was locked in that damn place.

The silence in the car wasn't awkward, just... peaceful.

"I'm Michael by the way, but you can call me Mike," he said breaking the peaceful silence.

"Sylvia, Sylvia Monroe," I responded. "But my Nana calls me Sivi." I added, smiling at the thought of the only person who truly cares for me. She's my foster mother's aunt, but she loved me like I was her own.

"That's a nice nickname," he said, smiling back at me.

"Thanks," I replied genuinely.

"You can call me that too, if you want." I suggested.

"Sure." he said grinning. "So how old are you, Siv? " he asked.

"I'm turning fourteen next month. " I answered, as he hummed in response.

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"Here we are." I looked out the car window at my now new home. It was....huge.....a very modern house, I may add......and it had a swimming pool! 'I already love this house,' I thought, my eyes filled with excitement. Mike chuckled at my reaction as he parked.

"Who's she?" a boy who looked my age asked as  soon as we entered the house.

"Omg, it's a girl!" another voice exclaimed. This time it was a girl, accompanied by a few other boys who cast curious glances at me.

"Everyone, this is Sylvia," Mike introduced me to them, and I quickly learned their names. The boy who asked about who I was, was Mason. The girl's name was Alayah, and she was the only girl apparently. Antony was the tallest one, Eli was the slightly taller one, and Chase was the youngest. I also learned that Alayah and Antony were siblings, which wasn't hard to believe, they both had blonde hair and green eyes.

Alayah and I connected immediately. We talked for hours, sharing our stories, our favorite music, everything. She was the second person I felt I could trust.

Later on, I learned Mike's true purpose, to train us, to teach us how to fight, to kill. But unlike my previous tormentor, he was also a caring father figure. He owned several clubs, a little trivia most of the country's successful clubs and businesses are owned by the Santori family, the most powerful family in America, even though they're Italian . But, anyways, Mike's real goal was to help abused children like us, to give us the tools to fight back, to protect others. To help us become something more.

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