The next morning Rebecca just wanted to go back to sleep. Today was another day of school. Anyone day of torment. Damn, she thought, its only seven o’clock and I’m already sick of the day. she didn't know how she’s manage to get through the day.

“Becca!” Her mother stuck her head through the door, a smile on her face. At 49, Susanne was far from old. Rebecca’s foster mother was gorgeous; no matter how much she aged, her beauty didn't differ. Straight blonde hair, almond eyes, high cheekbones, thin as a stick. Her looks had helped her become as successful as she was now: the top lawyer in the area. Of course, though, there was a downside. Her job meant she had little time for Rebecca. She was okay with it though. Most of the time. Her life had been full of loveless relationships and abuse, so having caring parents was a huge step up from her past. Other times, though, she wished her parents were around a lot more. It was selfish, she knew, but she figured after her childhood she deserved to act selfish for once. “Hey. I’m going to work. Your father has the day off, but he’s exhausted. He’ll make you breakfast though, but you may have to help him.”

I love you, Rebecca thought. Her previous host families had been against any close relationships. They were not her parents; they were her “caretakers.” But, unlike them, Henry and Suzanne Smith had welcomed her with open arms, accepting her in their family. She’d been unsure what to call them at first, but from the beginning Susanne had been telling her to call the “mum” and “dad.” It had taken her a few months to work up the courage to finally call them by what they wanted and it hadn't been without fear, but afterwards she’d become comfortable with it. Now, after four years, they were her parents, not their adopted child who nobody had wanted.

“Yeah, mum. I’ll help him. Have fun at work.”

Her mother just walked into the room, standing by the bed.

“What?” Rebecca asked.

“What, my daughter won’t hug me before I leave?”

Rebecca smiled, stepping into her mothers comforting arms. She was surrounded by the familiar perfume, her heart warming. This was the reason why she had to lay low at school. Her parents were the best parents anyone could ask for; her heart would break if they were hurt in any way. As awful as it sounded, her parents without work were walking zombies. They would have no purpose, no enjoyment. And no money. Actually, they have money; a lot of money. As far as she knew, her parents had a few million in their bank accounts. They were not the sort of people that bragged about how rich they were, but occasionally they would go out and buy designer clothes or a new car because they could. Scratch that; Rebecca only knew of one time they had bought another car.

Her mother kissed her forehead and Rebecca felt the walls she put up daily in order to protect herself collapse. Opening herself up completely to the Smith's had been impossible, the bubble she surrounded herself with prior to living with them had been huge. It was a defense mechanism, on Rebecca was exceptionally grateful she'd held up. All her childhood she'd trusted, only for that trust to be broken in the cruelest way. She was always hurt in the end, no matter the intentions in the beginning. But the Smith's had convinced her otherwise. They loved her without expecting anything in return. It had taken them almost a year to convince her that they wouldn't stab her in the back if she let them in. When Rebecca had finally trusted them it was like a weight had been lifted off her shoulders. She wasn't constantly looking behind her, afraid of the dangers lurking. She didn't have to fear getting hurt. The Smith's loved her unconditionally. She still cried in her sleep because she was overwhelmed they were genuine and weren't trying to knock her defenses down so they could hurt her.

School was a different story however. At all times she kept her walls up; if they couldn't get past them, they couldn't hurt hurt her, whether it be with their words or their bodies. It was the reason she was able to handle school. She still hated it (she actually loved school, but the social games she dreaded) but it was bearable knowing she had her armor and no one could get past it.

Her mother let go of her, stepping out of her arms. "Okay, as much as I want to spend the day with you and your father, I have to work. Besides, you have school anyway." She looked down at her watch, frowning. "Shit! I was supposed to be leaving five minutes ago." Rebecca almost laughed; hearing her mother swear was like seeing an angel in Hell; the combination just didn't happen and you had to see it to believe it. Susanne was the professional lawyer who prosecuted murderers using words no one could understand; she didn't have the vocabulary of a teenage boy. So, when she did swear (which wasn't often) it was a sight to behold. Rebecca's father was the same.

"Darling, you're late!"

Susanne rolled her eyes in response to Rebecca's dad's comment. "When your father realises I'm late, then I'm late," she said, but there was affection in her voice. Wistfully, Rebecca wished she had a relationship like her parents. It wasn't likely though, especially not with the life she'd live. Rebecca could hope though. "I have to go Becca. I'll give you a hug then I have to go. Make sure you get ready for school and you’re not late. It’s bad enough one of us will be this morning."

 Hurriedly, her mother gathered her in a hug, almost squeezing the life out of Rebecca.

"Can't breathe," Rebecca wheezed.

Her mother let go immediately, looking over her to make sure she was okay. Finally she nodded and said, "sorry." Then her mother was out of her room muttering about how she'd be late and how she'd forget something.

Rolling her eyes at her mother, Rebecca walked into the bathroom. Her mother was too organised to be late; neither of her parents had ever been late the work, and they'd been working at the law firm for over two decades. Intentionally her mother left twenty minutes early for work, just in case, like today for example, something slowed her down. As perfectionists, both her parents stressed over the littlest things and often worked themselves into a ball of panic over nothing. So, right now, her mother was over-reacting. She wouldn't be late, that Rebecca knew for sure. Her mother was just stressing herself out unnecessarily. Later in the day she'd realise how insane she was being, but right now, the thought of being late was something her mother wasn't able to fathom.

As Rebecca started the shower she could hear her mother downstairs panicking. Ever the voice of reason, her father was trying to calm her down. It wasn't working, because at this point nothing would calm her mother down, other than arriving at work on time. Rebecca laughed to herself, unable to help it. She loved her parents, even with both their weird quirks.

Slowly Rebecca stripped out of her clothes, a habit that she’d built. When she’d been younger, she’d constantly had to be careful changing clothes. Everything had hurt. Whether it had been her bruised arms, legs, or anywhere else that had been the victim of her abuse, changing clothes had always been painful. More often than not, her body had been tender; the bruises still fresh and she’d nursed cuts that would re-open if she wasn't careful enough. In worst case scenarios, she’d been able to feel the abuse as if it had been in that moment. So, in order to cope with the pain she’d learned to change clothes at a snail pace. It had become a habit; no matter how many time she tried to break it, it didn't work. Now, it was just instinctual.

Rebecca knew exactly where the mirror was in the bathroom; she could find it with her eyes closed. How could she not? It was her worst enemy. Insults from other teens and abuse, she could handle because they were temporary – technically. But mirrors were everywhere. They couldn't be destroyed. Rebecca couldn't escape them, no matter how hard she tried. And she had tried.

When she was naked, Rebecca closed her eyes, warring with her mind. It was a losing battle from the beginning. It was the same routine every day. No matter how monotonous it was, Rebecca dreaded it. Mirrors meant facing the truth. In her head she could pretend that she was a different person – someone who hadn't faced years of abuse, nor someone whose skin was marred with the aftershocks. She couldn't hide in front of a mirror. During school she could put up walls, bury her emotions as if she weren't feeling them, or create a false sense of bravado. Her inner turmoil wasn’t known to everyone; even she could pretend that it didn't exist.

Knowing she had lost the fight, Rebecca sighed, warning herself of sight she’d soon see. It was daunting and terrifying and Rebecca hated it. As much as she hated Skye, Rebecca was envious of her. Skye was able to look at herself without fear because she was perfect and beautiful, whereas Rebecca felt like she’d cry every time she looked at herself. She wasn’t beautiful like Skye. Her skinned was marred and ruined – ugly.

Steeling herself, Rebecca opened her eyes. And winced. She was broken; who would want her? From memory she could count every scar on her body, knew where they were. In total she had over a hundred scars, some glaringly obvious, other semi-hidden. The most she had were on her stomach, since it was the easiest place to hit. She despised her stomach. Sure it was mostly flat, but who cared about that when you had a scar running from under your breasts down to your waist. She could vividly remember how she’d received it. Somehow, when he’d been drunk her first host father he had managed to grab a knife, with her coincidentally within reach. With no preamble he’d cut her with it. Deeply. He’d ignored her screams as he’d plunged the knife in, dragging it down until he’d decided it was enough. As she’d writhed on the floor afterward, bleeding out, he’d just sat and watched as if she were a movie. Unlucky for her, they’d been the only two in the house at the time so it had been hours before somebody had found her. By that point, she’d nearly been dead. Rebecca could remember seeing a white light, but the she’d passed out. It was the first time she could remember wishing for death. When she woke she was in a hospital, her stomach bandaged. She’d been “lucky” – yeah right – that the knife had missed internal organs. No one had found out it was the host father; the doctors had all believed the bogus story he’d told: “She fell over in the kitchen and I heard her scream. I ran in and saw a knife in her stomach. She tripped and fell over it. I called the ambulance immediately.” Then he’d had the audacity to laugh, as he’d said to the doctor treating her, “she’s only five y’know. What can you expect?”

 As Rebecca looked over herself, she wanted to cry. It was torture, subjecting herself with a mirror. But everyday she looked, hoping that she’d wake up and the scars would all disappear. They didn't. They never did. Still, everyday she tormented herself in the hopes they’d fade. Since living with the Smith’s she’d grown stronger, but whenever she was affronted with the abuse she felt weak all over again. All the progress she made just disappeared.

Blinking away tears, Rebecca ripped her eyes away from the mirror, stepping under the spray of water. Standing in the hot water calmed her down. As a child she’d never been allowed to have hot showers, so they weren't a novelty to her. She treasured them and was grateful for every day that she stepped under hot water.

There was a knock on the bathroom door then she heard her mother’s voice. “Bye, Becca! I’ll see you after school!”

Rebecca forced away any nostalgic thoughts from her mind. Sure, her life hadn't been flowers and rainbows up until this point, but the Smith’s were her saviors. They didn't deserve dealing with her self-pity.

Stepping out of the shower, Rebecca wrapped a towel around her body. She avoided the mirror, wanting any nostalgia to stay away and dried herself as fast as possible.

“Becca?”

“Yeah, mum?” Rebecca opened the bathroom door. Her mother’s smiling face greeted her at the door, though Rebecca knew she was forcing the smile. Internally her mother was still panicking.

“I came to say bye. I have to go now.”

Rebecca laughed. “You've already said goodbye twice this morning. Go mum, or you’ll be late.”

Her mother sighed. “That’s what your father told me.”

“That’s because we’re both right.”

Her mum rolled her eyes. “Yes you are.”

“Mum, go to work. I love you, but you’ll be late.”

Her mother laughed, placing a kiss on Rebecca’s wet hair. “Bossy, bossy, that’s what you are, my daughter,” she tutted, as she was walking to the door. She turned when she was at the door. “Love you Becca.”

Rebecca smiled in return. “Love you too mum. Now go.”

With one last smile her mother was out the door. Minutes later, Rebecca heard a car start as her mum drove to work.

Smiling to herself, Rebecca walked to her closet grabbing random underwear. No one would see them, so she didn't care. Then she went in search for the rest of her clothing. Her wardrobe was full of clothes, all at her mother’s insistence. With hundreds of things to choose from, Rebecca wanted to grab something at random. Normally that’s what she did. Today, however, was different. Knowing she’d already be targeted, her clothes had to look good. Well, not good per se, just average enough that no one could talk about them.

Black jeans and a shirt would have to do. Once the jeans were on, she grabbed her favourite Fall Out Boy shirt. Nobody would know it was Fall Out Boy unless they listened to them; the FOB on the shirt could mean anything. It was simple enough that no one would make fun of it and unlike some of her other band shirts it couldn't be classified as “emo.” She’d been down that road one too many times. Her green Vans were next.

As she walked down the stairs, she could hear the TV on. From what she could hear, Rebecca knew her father was watching a football game. Sure enough, when Rebecca reached the bottom of the stairs, her father was watching football. The crowd in the background was going crazy, so one of the teams must have scored a . . . basket? Goal? Rebecca didn't know, but she didn't really care either.

He heard her footsteps and turned as smile on his face. “Hey. What do you want for breakfast?”

Her father was still in the best shape of his life, even at 50. Probably the result of him never relaxing; he couldn't sit still, always moving. His blond hair had started to go grey but unlike other people he suited it. Strangely, it made him look younger, which didn't make much sense. Henry had green eyes that were impossible to miss. He looked like he was 40, not 50. Instead of his usual immaculate suit, he had on a pair of sweat pants and an old Beatles t-shirt. It made him look a lot less serious than usual. 

Rebecca smiled at him, still, even after four years, touched by his concern. “No thanks, I’ll just have cereal.”

The look her father gave her was one of confusion, as if he couldn't believe she’d turn down an opportunity for someone to make her breakfast. “Nonsense Becca. I’ll make you scrambled eyes.”

He stood, walking towards the kitchen, making Rebecca feel short. Her father was six foot two, and standing next to him Rebecca felt like a midget.

Immediately, Rebecca started to protest. “Dad, stop. You worked all week; this is your only day off in a month. Rest; I’ll get my own breakfast. Sit and–”

Her father ignored her, grabbing a pan from the kitchen and turning on the stove. “Yes, Becca, I know. I have seven hours while you’re at school to relax. Besides, I want to do this for my daughter, okay?” 

“But–”

“Daughter.”

The word was enough to stop Rebecca’s protests. Once her father was set on something, nothing could deter him. It was a reason he was such an accomplished lawyer. He clearly wasn’t going to budge on this, so Rebecca sat down on a kitchen stool not wanting to waste her breath.

She watched father cook, walking around the kitchen like he owned it. By the time the eggs were done she was practically salivating. Rebecca had no idea how her father could make scrambled eggs taste like a delicacy but he could and she couldn't complain.

They ate in relative silence since Rebecca wasn’t a morning person – she hated mornings so getting a decent conversation out of her was almost impossible. Both her parents respected it and didn't really object to her silence in the mornings.

Too soon the scrambled eggs were gone from her plate. At least she had dinner to look forward to. Her father loved to cook, but he was often too tired from work to cook at night. Rebecca knew he’d been cooking tonight and couldn't wait.

As she was walking out the door, school bag on her back, her father gathered her in a hug, kissing her forehead. “Have a good day. Love you.”

Rebecca smiled at him, pulling out of his embrace. She called out as she walked out the door. “Love you too.”

*             *             *

As Rebecca walked through the doors of school she could feel all the eyes on her. Apparently everyone had caught on. Rebecca wasn’t surprised though. The pyramid that was high school popularity wasn’t hard to understand.

Basically, there were three different groups. The smallest, top of the food chain group was the cheerleaders and football jocks, though who was most popular depended on your perspective. Some thought that the cheerleaders were only popular when they were with the jocks and some saw it the other way around. Either way they were top dogs in the school; it was unspoken protocol to follow their lead. It was the hardest group to join; you had to be pretty enough to be a cheerleader – and stupid enough, as cliché as it was. To be a jock you had to be hot and fit the bill in appearance – big, strong, and arrogant.

 The next group was the random kids that no one cared about. They were in the middle; they’d never become popular but very easily they could join the lower class of the school. All they had to do was one mistake, offend the King and Queen of the school – Skye, and whoever her boyfriend was at the time – and they went to the bottom of the food chain.

The last group was annoyingly stereotypical – the nerds. They weren't the lets-read-books nerds or lets-play-Call-of-Duty-tonight nerds (because, apparently, Call of Duty was cool, since it was violent and not nerdy at all), they were committed nerds. Every moment of their life was Dungeons and Dragons or anime card games. Their lunches were spent in the library playing computer games or Yu-gi-oh. Out of all the groups they were singled out the most, hated the most. The popular group made it clear that they didn't like them, and ta-da, hello ruined social life. That was all it took. If someone saw a cheerleader glaring at anyone that was in the middle they were immediately an outcast – at the bottom of the social ladder. It was a chain effect: once one person caught on, word spread like wild fire, and then everyone caught on.

Rebecca wasn’t sure where she fit in. At times she thought it was the middle group, other times she was a nerd. But then she realised that even the nerds didn't like her and they pretty much accepted all the rejects into their social circle. So, Rebecca liked to think she didn't fit into any of the groups. Sadly, though, that meant she was a loner without friends or anyone that liked her. Most of the time she was glad that she was by herself; she doubted she’d be a very good friend. All it would take was for someone to complain about their boyfriend or mother not letting them go out, and she’d lose it. She had lived an abusive childhood and did she constantly talk about it to get sympathy? No. What was the point? People could pretend to care, but in the end they didn't care. However, there were times that she got incredibly lonely. She wanted someone she could rant to about her favourite books because in her head she was talking to herself. Anything would do; she’d talk about clothes and fashion, she was that desperate. Rebecca knew though that after three years of solitude, making a friend wasn’t likely.

Rebecca put her head down, hoping it would dull the stares. It didn't. Math could not come fast enough – and she hated math.

*             *             *

Rebecca walked out of her period three classroom trying not to get noticed. Luckily Skye wasn’t in her English class, so she hadn't been anybody’s target during the lesson. She’d felt all the stares – or, more accurately, glares – of course. Rebecca could almost taste the questions surrounding her: what did she do? and how long will I have to keep this up? Rebecca hoped it wasn’t long.

The good thing about having no one to talk to was that she was always listening and observing. She’d become an expert on body language. Rebecca could tell when someone was fighting with someone, which only really happened with the popular people. Fights were constant, especially with the girls. The guys fought, yeah, but they were guys – one punch to the face and they were friends again; it was like it had never happened. However girls were a different story. When someone was hated by one person within the group, they were hated by everyone in the group. A person could be kicked out of the group for months before they were accepted back in. The fights were over the pettiest things too – you’re prettier than me, now I hate you or you took my boyfriend, you’re dead to me. It was ridiculous. A reason Rebecca was fine on her own.

At least she’d learned during English, that there was a new male student coming tomorrow. No one knew his name, but there was plenty of speculation about what he’d look like. The cheerleaders thought he’d be hot with deep blue eyes with a name that was just as hot – they'd chosen Javier as his name, which Rebecca didn't understand and doubted was correct. Rebecca didn't really care; basically whoever they were didn’t matter. In no time, they’d just become one of her tormentors. Rebecca couldn’t deny she was curious though. Who was the new kid?