I know that in the beginning, you will like it's a shitty story, but please trust me it gets more exciting and better throughout. ________________________________________________________________________ Hello, my name is Fleurie, I am eighteen years old, and I live an awful life. Life was good for me until that storm came, the storm that smashed up my life. It was difficult to watch my mother slowly fade away as she battled breast cancer, I watched her struggle with the disease, and it was hard to believe she wasn't going to make it. It was only a matter of time before that monster won. The experience left me with many unresolved issues, as well as a sense of regret that I could have done more, that I could have done something; at the very least, I could have said goodbye. I Remember. In my memory, I remember her sitting at the piano, fingers tapping rhythmically, patiently listening to her students' rattles. Her love of the sea is something I remember. Sunflowers were her favo

Fleurie's point of view: I take a deep breath and hold one of my thin hands to my chest, soothing my heartbeat. I cautiously pushed the classroom door open. My gaze was drawn to penetrating dark brown eyes. He was smiling at me, and he was wearing a white shirt with his toned abs visible through it. I can't take my gaze away from his eyes as they evoke so many unknown emotions in me. They are breathtaking. Unlike mine, his dark hair appears silky, smooth, and healthy. My heart is racing as though I've been running for eternity. When someone cleared his throat, I jolted out of my daze. The teacher had brown hair, glasses that dangle on the tip of his nose, and blue eyes; he grinned and questioned. "You must be a new student, correct? Fleurie?" I confirmed with a nod. "My name is Mr Helton," he replied with a phoney smile. " The seat beside Marisa is empty, can you raise your hand?" He said as a pretty girl with blonde hair and blue eyes smiled at me as she extended her hand. The

Fleurie's point of view: My brother Ryan and I were quite close. When we were kids and mum was still around, we used to do everything together, from bathing with our ducks to getting each other in trouble and being mischievous. He was with me every second of my life until I was eight years old when everything changed: my mother left, my father arrived became a violent scumbag, and my brother fled. When he fled, he left me a letter. He said that he couldn't handle it any longer, from the violence of my father and the death of our mother and that he was going to ask for help and come back for me. He never came back. Just like my mother. I simply wanted to know whether he ever thought about me. Why did he leave when he knew the scumbag was violent? Was he ever considerate about the torture I would receive? or was everything a sham? Was I a mistake, as this scumbag claimed? Was it entirely my fault? What did I do to earn it? I hurried out of school like there was no tomorrow. I was

Fleurie's point of view: I suppose I tried pretty hard to fight back the first two or three times the scumbag hit me. But I gradually realized that when you try to physically defend yourself against a man who is bigger, rougher, and stronger than you, you wind up inflicting more harm to yourself than to him. Not only would I be damaged from the blows that scumbag inflicted on me, but also from my own attempts to defend myself. I eventually learnt how to crouch away in a safe manner. Retaliation was no longer a possibility. and I did this yesterday, the day before, and the year before that. I cooked for him this morning, but I didn't get any food today as well. There was pushing and shoving and throwing stuff at me at my previous school, and there was one of the students that were squirted squirting me with ketchup and had Skittles candy thrown at me in the cafeteria. I wish I had never lived a life where I fought with my body, leaving behind persistent scars that will never go awa

Fleurie's point of view: Doctor Brittany informed me that I had been unconscious for almost seven days. She informed me that I had four fractured ribs, which thankfully did not pierce my lungs. I'm hoping it did. I have nine stitches across my brow and another four on my jaw. She informed me that she had treated both old and fresh injuries on my body. She predicted that my jaw and forehead would scar. Doctor Brittany is a nice woman, and Victoria, the woman who was sitting next to me when I awoke, is Graysen's mother. I can see the anxiety in her eyes as she softly and caringly attended to me. I'm not used to receiving so much love and attention. It's strange. I'm still perplexed as to who brought me here. And I was more concerned about who would pay for the hospital because I had no money. I felt helpless and cumbersome, and I'm afraid of what would happen if I fell asleep. He could return to me, I know he will, and he will surely take me to finish what he was doing. Everyt