You think you got the best of me
Think you've had the last laugh
Bet you think that everything good is gone
Think you left me broken down
Think that I'd come running back
Baby you don't know me, cause you're dead wrong

Kelly Clarkson- What Doesn't Kill You (Stronger)

***

I pushed the textbook away from my face and sighed contently as I dreamed about ponies and rainbows. No, I actually wasn't. But it was better off pretending I had regular girly dreams then horrid night terrors.

The textbook I had my cheek pressed on fell to the floor. The small collision alone woke me from my horrid nightmares making me revert into survival mode. I lifted my head and whipped my hand in front of me in a clawing motion until I realized that the room was occupied by no one but me.

My breathing turned irregular as my mind drifted to my dreams. They were flashbacks. Memories "I should have suppressed in my mind" according to the shrink I had to see at the orphanage when I was 15.

"They should have suppressed themselves in your mind, making them inaccessible due to the trauma and shock you felt that night."

He placed his hand over mine and I pulled away, partly in disgust. He didn't seem fazed by the sudden movement but got the hint.

"This only means that you're as strong as we need you to be."

What was that supposed to mean?

I was recommended to stop seeing a psychiatrist two days later.

A knock on the door pushed my thoughts away until my head was cleared and I was open-minded. I contemplated whether or not to let whoever it was in. It could be him, but it could also just be Luna or the twins. I pushed the chair behind me, stretched and stalked quietly to the door, my fist already curled.

My fist uncurled as I stepped back to let the wave of black hair burst into the room, ducking under my arm. His bony finger curled over the fabric of my sweatpants as he buried his face into the fabric. I rubbed a comforting hand over his messy hair and watched as his freckled face finally looked me in the eye. He gave me a small smile, revealing a few unnoticeable lines on his right cheek.

Leo.

I kneeled down and cupped his face in my hands as I looked over the fresh bruises that were obviously just given to him. This wasn't how a nine year old should spend his childhood. Giving him a small smirk after examining him to make him relax, I decided to keep the conversation light to keep his mind off everything. "Where does it hurt, Leo?"

His face shot out of my grip and he let out a few noises of protest when I didn't let his arms go. I let him drag his arm out and then watched as he folded both of them in a defensive stance. "How did you know?" He cried.

I let out a chuckle as he pouted and sobered when I noticed the door open. Panic fried my nerves causing me to shoot up to shut the door when another mess of black hair slipped through to stand next to his twin. I closed the door, not bothering to check if Luna had secretly been wanting to come in. Though she liked to spend time with me, she also had an addiction to Candy Crush on my sorry excuse of a phone. Feeling myself calm, I leaned against the door and watched the twins argue about who got to pull the April Fool's Day school prank.

Say hello to Jeremy and Leo, the Trouble Tunes.

They were the youngest in the house and made my sister's clumsiness seem normal. Both were twins with the same personality and same attitudes. Though they fought a lot, they pretended like the six minute age gap between them didn't exist. They caused trouble wherever they went, resulting in a lot more trouble for me since I was the oldest and technically responsible for them.  But their singing voices made up for it. They were nothing like him although they were his children. They were just like their mother.

They always told me that when they were younger, their mother sung them to sleep on the nights he started to be drunk and abusive. They told me with a bright smile how she used to sing lullabies to them when it got worse and worse. When he killed her in front of all of our eyes, they decided to sing it to themselves every night. In the two months I had known her, she treated my like her own and became a mother figure for both me and Luna. How social services never accused him of anything was beyond us. Knowing him he probably paid them off to get the fact that he was an alcoholic off the records. If only we hadn't kept our mouths shut.

I never told them but I knew, deep down, that they knew that they'd probably never get out of this horrid situation. It was either running away with three children and trying to sustain ourselves while the police were out looking for us or staying here and at least getting attention away from all of us. Everyone needed something to anchor them to the ground in a place like this. Their's was singing, Luna's was school and mine...

I didn't have one.

***

I ditched school for the first time today.

Not really, but I forged a note from HIM saying I had a Dentist appointment. The doctor one wouldn't work since it was the oldest trick in the book, so I settled with the excuse I heard less often.

I had been practicing forgery since Juan, Trouble Tune's mom, was murdered. Once I was sure I got it, I stole a few statements with his signature and writing on it and practiced forging it so Luna and the Trouble Tunes could go on school trips or stay home from school when they were sick. He never let us go on trips, and he never let us stay home whether we were sick, injured or whatnot.

I didn't leave because the Populars were getting to me, because I didn't have a problem with them calling me names I didn't think were true. I thought I was average, a bit on the pretty side. My dark brown hair was often mistaken for black by them, and because black was the color of ashes I was often called Ash even though my name was Amber.

At least they both started with an A.

My face skin was flawless, not a single sign of acne or scars covering it despite the bruises that covered my stomach, arms and legs. My features complimented the paleness of my skin nicely, and they were one rank short of perfection. My definition of perfection, of course. But most of all, I had my mom's beautiful hazel eyes that were carefully guarded by me. No emotions flickered across my face after years of practice and the dark past that followed their death like my parents, who were both so easy to read just like Luna.  

Luna went after my grandma, and my dad's two sisters, one younger and one older, who both died of cancer, whereas I had more characteristics from my mom's side of the family. Luna had freckles just like my grandma did, but her hair was the same as mine. Her skin was a bit more darker then mine, just crossing to the tan territory. Her hands were filled with bruises and scars, but he left mine alone and went for the arms.

I knew that in two years, I wouldn't look like any of them. My sister however, she'd grow into looking not only like Mom, but like Dad too. She'd be a reminder of something I need to trudge on for, or something I lost and will never forget.

I left because I was frustrated. This morning, Luna was beaten for something I couldn't take the fault for. She snuck out of the house while he was dealing with me.

Why? I still don't know. She refused to talk to me as if this was all my fault.

I took a walk across a few blocks, knowing where I was going. I knew how to find my way back even though I was never allowed out of the house unless it was to run an errand or go to school. That didn't mean I didn't find a way to sneak out. And somehow, I never got caught, unlike Luna.

Just as I exited an alleyway so I was at a street corner, a name caught my eye. I  unconsciously turned around and pushed my way through the crowd until I was inside the building. Tyrone's Ring. 

A boxing ring was set in the middle of the room, where a couple people were cheering on two women who were sparring viciously. No one pulled their punches and the more bloody the fight got, the more the crowd cheered. #1 was sticking to the punch three times, throw in a kick and try to sweep the opponent off her feet pattern. #2 was looking a bit spontaneous, but she was also using a fighting pattern, just bigger and more complicated so the other wouldn't figure it out.

I waited two minutes patiently and just like I predicted, #2 found #1's pattern and won the match. While everyone clapped and the next match started, I looked around the ring to the bags where a couple mix of genders and races were punching them. On the right, people were wrapping and unwrapping their hands by the equipment obviously used to work out.

A gentle woman sat on a bench, a whistle around her neck as she observed the people punching the bags. She didn't seem like she belonged here with her soft features and light red hair. She smoothed out the wrinkles on her shirt and tilted her body until she caught me staring. A crooked smile grew on her face and she beckoned me over with her hands.

I sat beside her and stayed silent, the only sound was the rhythm of the fists hitting the punching bags and the cheering of the crowd as the winner took on a challenger. The woman I presumed was Tyrone spoke up without turning to me. "What's your name, Kid?"

I hesitated and contemplated over my answer. These people could be involved with gang violence but judging by the woman next to me, they probably weren't. Although looks were deceiving, my instincts pulled me here for whatever reason.

"Ryder. Amber Ryder," I finally answered, leaning back comfortably.

She smiled and lifted her wrist to her face. I flinched, thinking she was striking but she didn't seem to notice as she examined the watch and placed her arm down. She blew the orange whistle around her neck and everyone stopped. Without looking back at her they all headed toward two doors. Changing rooms.

"So Amber," she said. "My name is Tyrone Finn. And I run a class designed to help youth fight back and learn defense against whatever they're dealing with. You look like you could use some help, but I see you already have the capacity to emotionally deal with your problems. So my question to you is, would you like to learn?"

I kept an impassive face and looked over to the ring, imagining myself up there knowing how to fight with my fists.

"Yeah." I looked at her and met her gaze. Her chapped lips curled up into a smile, mirroring my own. "I would."

She nodded and stood up, walking over to a hallway I hadn't noticed. "Tomorrow, midnight. Don't be late."

A/N: I've never punched a punching bag before, but I'm sure I will sometime in the future. Don't mind me, just spurting out nonsense.