Living with the Millers

Chapter One: Just an average day for a depressed kid

I mourned as another slap hit my face.

"Shut up little punk." Mom screamed. I did. Crying became like a habit to me at some point but now I was used to it all. The slaps, the punches, everything.

Dad threw a broken bottle at me that missed my face by just an inch.

"Go to your room you little slut. I don't want to see your bitchy face again." I grimaced. I said I was used to everything. Everything but the cuss words.

I instantly bolted upstairs to my room. My room wasn't like most teenage bedrooms. Instead of a normal study table, I improvised with a bunch of old boxes. The bed was simply a tiny old mattress on the floor. There was a tiny window that let in light. Instead of a normal closet or wardrobe, my not-so-many clothes were summed up in a tiny suitcase and an old traveling bag. And don't even get me started on my shoes. I only had a worn-out pair of sneakers and one pair of flats. Situated next to my ' study table' was my collection of novels gifted to me by Mr. DeLorentes, the nice (ish) librarian downtown. At the very top of the novel mountain, held the thing most precious to me, my camera. Grandma Alice bought it for me back in my second year of middle school before she died.

Sighing, I fell into my bed and curled up in the old torn bedsheets and before I knew it, I was fast asleep.

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Sweating and panting, I ran till my feet decided to give up on me. I crumbled to the floor and realized I was at a dead end. The dark voice laughed again, the same tall man appeared in front of me. He has a somewhat chiseled face and dark hair, cruel cold gray eyes that could make you pee in your pants on spot. His dark aura and mischievous smirk made me want to squirm and dig a hole and then crawl in it.

"You thought you could out-run me you sick twisted bitch!" I grimaced. I felt like picking a stone and shoving it down his throat screaming "Language". But then again I felt like doing that to everyone in my neighborhood including my parents.

The man grabbed me and pinned me against the wall. He brought his face uncomfortably close to mine.

"You won't escape me this time little one. I have you trapped." He laughed again and tried to kiss me but I had the guts to turn away. Tears swarming my face as I realized I was about to be raped.

"Just give me what I want and I'll let you go." He said.

"I will never do that. You are whore. And if you think I will give myself to you then you must be dreaming." I countered as bravely as I could. Which wasn't that brave.

He laughed again. "I guess we are going to have to do this the hard way." He whistled and four huge men with batons and chains came from behind him. They chained me and I knew I couldn't do anything about it. They were armed and huge and I was outnumbered. They sealed my mouth with tape so I couldn't scream. But in any case, that would be useless. Nobody in my neighborhood ever cared about anything. Why? Because they were all criminals. And this is what they do for fun. That's why.

The man-whore came forward and started to undo the buttons of my top. I cried and moaned but with chains holding up my arms and legs and tape on my mouth, there was nothing I could do. This was the most traumatizing moment of my life. And now I was going to join that group of damaged girls that were classified as Shameless sluts that gave themselves to the biggest most wanted criminal, Thomas Grayson.

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I jolted up sweating and calming my nerves. Calm down, Ella. It was just a dream. Only, I couldn't convince myself of that. I very well knew that it was all real. If it wasn't for him, I would never have escaped that terrible man.