Under the Surface (Raphael x OC)

Chapter 1

(Nellie's P.O.V.)

I don't remember what I did to get in trouble, just that I was. I got in trouble often, and my dad didn't take lightly to my mistakes. Of course I couldn't blame him. I was a mistake. And ever since my mom died it had just gotten worse. Dad had remarried and we'd moved to New York City. It wasn't all bad though. I had a window and could, when Dad and Jackie, my step mom, were asleep, could sneak out and sit on the roof. Of course I could never escape the beatings.

I whimpered through gritted teeth as I covered my head with my arms, my dad using all his strength to kick me in the stomach over and over. Tears were streaking my face and sweat was rolling down my forehead from how hard I was clenching my jaw in pain. I was on my side on the floor, pressed against the wall as Dad kicked and stomped at my gut.

Dad knew better than to hit my face as that would leave visible wounds, whereas my gut, legs, back, and arms could all be hidden with clothes. I don't know at what point I passed out from the immense pain, but I did. When I woke up it was dark and Dad was gone. I groaned quietly in pain as I slowly pushed myself to sit, leaning carefully against the wall with a slight wince at the pain it sent through my back.

I sighed as I tugged my phone out of my back pocket to check the time. 12:39. Dad and Jackie were asleep. I slowly stood on shaky legs, grabbing my small backpack that I carried a few particular items; wallet, sketch book, pencils, markers, knife, lighter, and sewing kit, as well as my phone when going places; in. I slipped my phone in the front pocket with my pencils and markers before climbing out the window.

I lived on the top floor, so I only had to climb one set of stairs to get to the roof. I sat on the edge, pulling the lighter from my bag. I was worthless. No one needed me around. Over time I had fallen prey to severe depression as well as very low self esteem, and while I didn't like the pain my father forced upon me, I had resorted to self harm nightly. At least it was Summer, so I didn't have to worry about being tired for school the next day.

I sighed and lit the lighter after pulling up my long sleeves to reveal my bruised arms, allowing a good twenty or so seconds before letting the flame go out and pressing the hot metal to the underside of my wrist.

I whimpered in pain, tears pricking my eyes, but I didn't stop until the heat subsided. I deserved this. I was nothing. Nothing but a mistake. I lit it once more, waiting another twenty seconds before letting the flame go out and pressing the metal a bit higher up on my arm. I continued on for a good seven or eight minutes before finally putting the lighter away, feeling somewhat better.

The night air was chilly on top of the building and the streets below were busy. New York never slept, although some nights were, admittedly, better than others. That night was not one of them. I sighed as I stood and stepped away from the edge with my bag. I wanted to go for a walk. I took the long walk down the stairs and into the alleyway below, my bag slung over my right shoulder. I took only two steps before a muscular man stepped out of the shadows and slammed me against the building, my head jolting back and smashing roughly against it. Tears immediately swelled in my eyes as my vision blurred.

"Your money is mine." The man said, his voice low and gruff, as he buried a heavy, metal, cold knife in my stomach. I screamed out in pain, but the few people on the side street the alley lead to ignored me, barely sparing a glimpse in my direction. I was completely and utterly defenseless.

Tears streaked my face as he snatched away my bag and stepped back, taking the knife with him. My body crumbled to the ground as I tried desperately to stop the bleeding by wrapping my arms around me.

"Hey Jerkface!" I heard a Brooklyn accent yell. I didn't have time to look for the person the voice came from before darkness consumed my vision and I was out like a light during a blizzard.