One Hundred Sleepless Nights (Vic Fuentes fanfic)

The File

KATRINA'S POV

A pounding headache greeted me before I even opened my eyes. All that was clear in my mind last night was getting in the car and cranking up my music. I specifically remembered playing Mockingbird by Eminem, but everything after that was sort of jumbled up. Shattering windows, sirens and a white room stood out in my memory.

Slipping out of bed, I exchanged the clothes I had worn last night for running shorts and a baggy crew neck. Putting on regular clothes didn't sound appealing.

I walked downstairs to see dad and Mike already awake and sipping coffee. Both sets of eyes turned to look at me when I climbed onto a tall barstool.

"You sleep good?" dad was the first to talk

"Um, yeah, I guess" I rubbed my thumbs in circles on my temples to hopefully reduce the pain in my skull.

Looking up, I noticed that both of them were bandaged up and Mike had a tiny row of stitches just under his shoulder.

"Seriously, what the hell happened last night?"

Dad and Mike nervously glanced at each other.

"You don't remember?" dad sounded worried

"Vic, she was passed out half the time" Mike cut in

"Ok?" I still didn't have any answers yet

"We were driving back from dinner and Mike and I were arguing so I didn't notice when we stopped in the middle of an intersection and then a car drove into ours. We both just got some cuts and bruises and you got a concussion"

Oh. That explained why my head hurt so bad.

"What were you guys arguing about?"

"Oh, um nothing. Just stupid shit" Mike sounded kind of nervous, like he was hiding something.

"Mike, to make sure we have enough alcohol for tonight" I had no idea what tonight was, but he nodded and walked away.

"Some bands are coming over for a party. All Time Low, Of Mice & Men, Sleeping with Sirens and a few others" dad explained

It sounded fine, I would probably just chill in my room the whole time, but whatever. We were both silent for a while, there wasn't much to say.

"I saw your wrist last night" dad's voice was quiet and soft

"It was how I dealt when I was younger. I don't do it anymore"

It was partially a lie. I'd only stopped when I met him a little less than two months ago.

"What was growing up like for you?"

"Absolute hell" I stood up and walked back up to my room.

Underneath my mattress I kept my file from the foster home. Right before I ran away, I stole it to get rid of any records of mine that they had. Inside were hospital reports, photos of me after beatings, failed adoption papers and general information that you expect to be there. I had only gone through it once before, the memories were to painful. But I couldn't get rid of it, something always held me back.

Dad still stood in the same place in the kitchen. I set down the thick file folder on the counter and say back down on the barstool. "Fuentes, Katrina Amy" was written in perfect handwriting on the cover of the yellow folder and a photo styled like a mug shot of me at twelve years old was paper clipped to the top.

Dad slowly opened the folders and started reading the papers. His eyes widened in horror when he came across the section that contained photos of me bloody, bruised and unconscious after beatings. The foster home only took photos of my injuries to keep track of how well I could take a hit. They never wanted to kill me, just show that they were in charge.

Through the course of about eight years, I had a count of three broken arms, one fractured foot, twelve broken ribs, five concussions, fifteen sets of stitches and an endless supply of cuts and bruises. Life sucked and I even contemplated just killing myself multiple times, but I really think that people are only dealt the problems they can get through. It just shows how strong you're supposed to be.

I just sat silently while dad read through my entire file. Mixtures of emotions passed through his face. Surprise, anger, sadness and nervousness.

To be honest, I felt a little ashamed. He was looking at the most vulnerable and pathetic moments of my life. But in a way, it also felt nice to get it off my chest. Before, I just buried all the secrets and pain, trying to forget it.

Probably one of the reasons why I hated being the center of attention was because I got beaten the most out of all the other kids. Everything there was always my fault and no matter how much I tried, I was never able to just shrink into the background.

Dad finished going through all the perfectly white papers and quietly closed the folder.

"I'm sorry"

"Why?"

"For not being there"

"You thought I wasn't yours. It's not your fault"

"But still" he insisted

I shook my head "It's whatever. It's the past. Nothing's gonna change it"

I stood up, grabbed the thick set of papers and walked back up to my room to put it away.

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Yeah, it's short. Sorry bout that. I kinda just needed to add in more of a backstory. I'll try to get more done before friday, I have a pretty good idea about what's gonna happen next.

-Rachel