Anger. Burning, sensual, lighting up my entire world. It controls me, and I let it, savor, love the feeling. My name is Blake, I'm 14 years old, and I've been through hell. You can never guess what I've been through, yet you see I'm tipping on the edge of sanity. I'm adopted by One Direction, but even they won't be able to fix me. I won't let them. No one can put out the flame that's burning inside. No one can make me put my guard down. I won't let them.


1. 1.

My feet skid on the ground as I try to come to a stop. The force of the blow on my face started to settle as I slid across the ground, crashing into one of the desks and falling back hard, hitting my head on another desk. Half the kids had there phones out in a second, hoping to catch an amazing fight. Well, I was about to give them what they wanted. The girl, the person who was supposed to be my best friend, but had turned against me for the oh, so popular Sahara Jake's, smirked as I struggled to my feet. Mari got a fake-frightened look on her face and giggled as I slowly neared her. I stopped right in front of her.


She giggled some more. " Aaawww! What are your going to do? Cry for your mommy?" She asked, her voice laced with knowing. She know's my mom died two months ago. And she's using it against me. Anger churned inside me, a raging fire that I wasn't even going to try to control anymore. " When I'm done, you won't be able to talk for a week." I say, my voice steady and cold. Fear races in her eye's for a second, then it's gone. " Oh? And how do you plan to accomplish that?" She asks, and I can't help notice how short her skirt is, or how she wiggles her hips lightly at the end of each sentence. My best friend has turned into a slut.


" I'm going to bust your lip so hard, you'll be gulping down bucketfuls of blood. Your throat will be so raw, you won't be able to speak for a week, a month." Everyone is probably surprised because I don't talk all that much. In fact, I think I've barely said about two words in each of my classes since the beginning of the year, which started about six months ago. Yeah, we have long school years. I took another step forward and, true to my word, I punched her in the face, hitting her lower lip. She stumbled back a few feet, then fell back, crashing the back of her head against the edge of a table. She looked up at me, tears brimming her eye's, making me feel so sad. . .Ha! I couldn't care less.


Just my luck, at that moment the teacher walked in. She stopped for a moment, taking in the scene, and her face clouded with anger. " Mari Branch and Blake Frost! Principles office now!" She nearly shouted, and I jumped a bit. Mrs. Boru hardly ever gets angry, so this was a rare occurrence. Mari nodded and we left the classroom, staying as far away from each other as possible. I started speed walking and made it to the principles office first. Mrs. Malice looked up at me and shook her head. "Your teacher just phoned in and told me what happened. Principle Sophism will see you in a moment." She said, showing no sympathy. She probably hates us now. . .I couldn't care less.


I sit down at one of the chairs next to the Principle Sophism's door and played around with my phone a bit. Suddenly my phone buzzed in my hand, signaling a text. Mari. M: Thnx a lot Frost! This is all ur fault! It read, and I peeked into the health room where Mari had been settled. I sighed before answering back. B: Leave me alone. I typed, then pressed send. I could feel another crack appear in my heart. Too late. It had already shattered, already been broken a long time ago. Way to go Blake! Your a disgrace! See, this is what happens when you trust someone. when you open your heart enough to let them in. They crush you and destroy you! How could you turn against yourself like that?! You can't trust anyone! No one! I scold myself.


Suddenly someone clears their throat and I look up into the angry eyes of Principle S. The same angry look my dad gets before whipping me with his belt. I flinch and stand up quickly. He motions me and Mari into his office, walking stiffly inside. I gingerly sit at the edge of one of the seats, Mari sits as far away from me as possible, and Principle S sits in his chair, smirking at me. What was he planning? I started shaking, and I couldn't stop, no matter how much I tried. I bit my lip, drawing blood. Mr. S noticed and smirked some more.


" Well, miss Frost, you have officially broken the record for most fights in school. Mari, your parents will be called and your receiving a months detention, and Frost will be suspended. Mari, please leave my office and wait for your parents. I have something I'd like Frost to do." Mr. S said, and their seem to be some kind of spark in his eyes. Mari nodded and rushed out of the room, terrified. Suddenly my stomach started to hurt like it always does when I know something bad is about to happen. I was right.


Mr. S leans forward and rubs his thumb over the scar that goes from my forehead, right over my eye, and just above the corner of my mouth. It's white and about 3/4 cm thick. I flinch away and he chuckles evilly, then gets up, grabbed me firmly by my shoulders with is big hands, and forces me to my knees.




I will not say what happened. I can't. I won't. This is one of those things that has to stay lock up in the darkness forever. It cannot be brought to light. No one can find the key. No one. I heard chuckling behind me as I stumbled out of Mr. S's office and passed Mrs. Malice, who gave me an evil, knowing look. I shivered in fear. I stumbled out into the hall, ignoring the stares and looks from other students, and made my way into the bathroom. My raw throat burned, and I must have washed my mouth out at least fifty times with strawberry hand soap, ignoring the horrid taste. Nothing can be as horrid as the taste that had filled my mouth moments ago.


Suddenly, I felt as if I was going to puke. I rushed into a stall, locked the door behind me, and practically puked my guts out. I flushed the toilet, cleaned myself up the best I could, and held my head in my hands, reciting soothing and kind words to myself and calming myself down. Finally, when I thought I was going to be okay enough, I made my way out of the boarding school bathroom and took the elevator to the dorm room I had been sharing with a bitch, Jenni Bost, for the past 6 months.


The blonde was sitting on her bed with her best friend, Suzi Makan, obviously skipping class and painting her nails, looking at disgusting magazines with pictures of naked boys on the front. She sent me a sickeningly sweet, fake smile. " Going somewhere?" She asks in a fake voice dripping with false sweetness. Her friend does something between a chuckle and a giggle, which sounded more like a dying elephant, at least to me. I don't answer, since I know she already knows. Word gets around fast in this school, and when I say fast, I mean fast. She scoffs at my silence and clutches her chest dramatically, acting out fake hurt. 


I ignored her as I packed the little stuff I had into a silver and black backpack that my mom gave me before she died two months ago, and made my way out the door. I started to get choked up at the thought of her but I forced the tears back. I had to be strong. I stumbled out of the school, and rounded the corner heading towards the street behind the school, when suddenly I felt a large hand on my shoulder. I jumped and yanked my arm back and struggled, but the dark figure next to me wouldn't let go. I heard laughter and I looked up, peering through my thick eyelashes to see four boys, all dressed in black and cover in tattoo's and piercings. 


I gulped, and  tried to yank my arm back again, but it didn't make a difference. " Hey, pretty girl. What ya doing out here? Shouldn't you be inside getting perfect little A's, teachers pet?" Asked one with a large scull piercing above one eyebrow. I didn't answer. Suddenly, the boy holding my shoulder bent down and yanked off my shoe, then straitened and tossed it to one of his friends. I jumped a bit, and tears started to prick my eye's as they started to toss it around, out of my reach. I forced the tears back and said, in the strongest voice I could muster, " Stop."


They stopped, and  a dark look came over their eye's." Did you just tell us to stop?" One of them with purple died hair nearly shouted. I winced and and shook my head as fast as I could, but obviously not fast enough. The guy that was holding my arm was now pressing me against the wall, his nose just inches from mine. " Did. You. Just. Tell. Us. To. Stop?" He cut his words carefully, then suddenly a janitor came around the side of the building. " Hey! You kids!" He shouted. I flinched again as the boy slammed me once more into the wall and he and his friends ran off.


" You okay?" The janitor asked, pushing his cart towards me. I shook my head fast, grabbed my backpack from the ground where it fell a few feet away, and started heading for home. As I neared our neighborhood, (which happens to be in a very dirty and unsafe part of town), I started to prepare myself for the horrors of my fathers wrath. I was starting to with that janitor hadn't come around. I opened the door, and my dad stood there, arms crossed, an angry look on his face. " Your school called me and told me what happened." He said, slowly coming towards be and unbuckling his belt. . .


I woke up from the dream screaming, sweat pouring down my face. That's the thing about my dreams, they're very long, and always very detailed. I know that it hadn't been just a dream. It had been a memory, something that had to be kept closed, locked away, the key never found, the secret never revealed. I knew I could tell no one about anything that has happened in my life. I can see it, their laughing faces, and snickering. I couldn't trust anyone. What happened in the dream happened nine months ago, and a lot has happened since then. Now I sit here, panting on my bed at the orphanage. 


Things aren't any better here. The older boys have been doing some, uh . . . things to me by force, the girls constantly bother me about my scars, and the headmistress, Mrs. Pamita, is always picking on me. She forces me to do all the chores, sometimes abusing me if I don't don't them or if the last family that had adopted me returned me. I have been adopted and returned six times, and in every one the family would abuse me before giving me back. Sometimes even rape me.


Anger explodes within me, and I cry out, falling to the floor with a thump. The pain spreads to my chest, my blood pumping in my ears, my head throbbing. The urge, the need, to punch something, destroy something burned through my entire body, consuming it in it's heat. I curl myself into a ball, holding my head in my hands, pulling my fingers painfully against my scalp. I lift my head, and everything is red and white, seemingly glowing. Easing myself back onto the bed, I lie on my side, hugging my arms to my chest, until the flash passes.


That's what everyone, even the doctors, call it. Flashes. Flashes of anger that send my body temperature rocketing and my mind spinning, taking the colors except for red, orange, and white, fire colors, till it passes. Anger that just makes me want scream, cry, scratch something, kill something, yell non -understandable phrases all at the same time. No one is sure how these came to be, or why I have them. I just do, and as far as over fifty therapists iv'e seen are concerned, there's no remedy. No cure.


Finally, the pain fades, and colors return to my vision. I don't cry. I'm too used to it. pulling myself up and wrapping my arms around my knees, I sit there for another half hour till i'm absolutely sure iv'e calmed down enough.


I sigh and jump out of bed, the best I can do with my sore muscles, and wash my face with water at the bathroom sink. The two other girls I share a room with are gone, probably to their cheer leading practice. " Miss Blake Frost, please pack your bags and come downstairs. Someone is here to adopt you." Says Mrs. Pamita's voice over the intercom.


I don't get exited. I've been adopted enouph times to know i'll just be coming back with new scars. I pack my blue star wars R2-D2 backpack with the very little clothes and things I have. I hear hooting from the boy's room across the hall as I check my appearance ( ugly as ever) one last time, and then head slowly down stairs. 


Well, time to face my doom. . .





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