(Warning before you read: This story has swearing and talks about abuse of all kinds. If you are uncomfortable with those things, please DO NOT read this story. Thank you.)
CRACK
The single sound alone could be heard for a mile at least. Ok. Maybe not a mile, but it was definitely loud, considering that with that lovely sound, a yell of pain was what echoed right after it.
That sound was the sound of a nose breaking and a jaw popping at the same time. The victim's head turned a sharp and quick 90 degree angle sideways as his nose started to already drip with blood. He was breathing heavily as his arms and legs were littered in bruises and all sorts of marks from the previous fight he just had. He knelt on the ground, head still turned away from his attacker.
His "attacker", a 18 year old girl by the name of Samantha Speckman just stood there, her hand still reached out in an "after punching" position. That position being one that her face was in the crook of her elbow, and her fist still clenched tight. Her eyes were still narrowed, as if she was daring the man to make any sudden ambush attacks on her. She stared as the victim struggled to get up due to his multiple bruises and most likely a twisted ankle. And, as he did get up, he limped away quickly, wanting to get away from the rather strong female.
As he disappeared around a corner in pure fear, the girl's hand dropped heavily to her side. That fight had given her nothing more than a small scratch on the cheek from a fingernail and bruised-up knuckles.
"Good job..." Said a man, who had been standing on the sidelines of the ongoing fight the whole time. He was currently doing that 'slow clap' that most sarcastic people do.
Sam slowly turned her head and gave a bored, yet annoyed expression. "Fuck you too,".
The man chuckled.
"Now that's no way to talk to me, now is it?" He said, giving a small smirk.
The girl turned her whole body, giving him the dirtiest glare that she could muster.
"It's a free country. Ever heard of freedom of speech?" She said, clearly annoyed with the current situation.
The man shook his head in pity, still chuckling his ass off.
"Ever heard of the rule between you and me; no food unless your respectful towards me?" He said, a sickening sweet smile plastered onto his face.
Sam sighed, looking away in defeat.
The man grinned, crossing his arms. "That's what I thought,"
The man, who went by the name of Kyle Diggs, was one of the few people who could beat Sam in a fight. Yes, Sam was strong indeed. But Kyle was stronger. He even looked stronger. Being a height of 6"9, he had a dirty blond haircut consisted of a short style, hair sticking out in all places, like he just got out of bed. He was free of facial hair on his clear, free-of-acne face and his eyes were a piercing blue that just screamed "Don't mess with me". He wore a red and white letter man jacket, with a white t shirt underneath. He wore black jeans and brown combat boots along with black fingerless gloves. All complete with a single dog tag hung around his neck.
Sam, on the other hand, was a small 18 year old, having a height of 5"2. Her clothes usually was just a black summer dress, with her mother's dark green scarf tied around her neck. Her shoes were dirty black converse, neither of the two people having the energy to clean them. Her eyes were a bright hazel, that also screamed "Don't mess with me" most of the time.
And of course, Kyle was the one that first introduced her to fighting.
It was when she was around 10 years old, her father started getting abusive. He would be completely fine in the morning, go to work, but then go to the bar after to "relax" and "let off steam". Between those two wonderful phrases, he would drink. He would drink a lot. And when he got home, he would be a drunken mess. Yelling at every single thing Sam and her mother did. Most times, hitting them, but nothing major.
It was a few weeks after that started, Sam and her mother started to worry. It was almost every night now. And it was slowly starting to seep into the mornings also.
It got worse and worse, until the beatings and hits from him would actually leave large bruises on both Sam's and her mother's body.
Her mother started to have mental and emotional breakdowns when he left for work, the only person to comfort her being her daughter. They both agreed to not let Sam's father know about the breakdowns.
Well, he did. And the night he did find out, was one of the terrible nights of Sam's life.
The night he found out about the breakdowns, was the same night he "accidentally" sent her mother to the hospital, ultimately ending in her dying in her hospital bed with terrible gashes in her head.
Sam hated to re-live those memories. But they just kept coming back to haunt her.
And that is where Kyle comes into the story.
At the time, Kyle was a stubborn senior in highschool. Sam, still 10 years old, put on her mother's scarf, packed a small backpack and ran away, frightened by her father. Kyle had taken her in, giving her a place to live and food on the table. He was like a brother figure. He taught her defensive attacks and fighting techniques by the age of 12 and she mastered them in a short span of time, due to her lightning fast learning skills.
By the age of 15, Kyle started to use Sam to beat up people, so he wouldn't get in trouble himself. She refused at first, but then agreed when he threatened to kick her out with nothing.
She was now 18, nothing had changed with Kyle except her hatred that was growing towards him. But he was keeping her alive for now. That's all that mattered...right?
The two people walked down the dark alleyway they were currently in, Kyle being in front. Sam followed behind, giving small glares to the man every now and then. Her fingers itched to just slap him across the face.
They got to his apartment door and once Kyle punched in the numbers to unlock it, they went in.
The apartment wasn't very big, but the pair managed. It had a small kitchen to the left of the entrance, a living area with a coffee table that could only be described as "miniature", to the right. Right next to the living room, was a tiny bathroom, only big enough to fit one person. Straight ahead of the entrance was the bedroom that Kyle slept in, while right next to it, a small guest bedroom, the one that Sam slept in.
"Alright! Eat up! Before I throw it out..." Kyle yelled, placing a small plate full of cold chicken and rice with half a breadstick on the side, on the coffee table.
Sam quickly went over to the plate, sat on the couch, and started chowing down. She knew full well that he would throw it out if she didn't eat it.. He wasn't one to lie. Ky;e sat across from her on the floor, eyeing every move she took.
"So," He started, folding his hands together on the table. "You've been getting better,"
Sam cleaned her plate, slid it off to the side, and glared at Kyle.
"Oh, who shall I beat up now, master?" She said, beyond annoyed with this guy's shit.
Kyle gritted his teeth at her attitude. "No," He said, standing up after pounding on the tab;e with his hands. "Just no. Nevermind," He said before storming off.
Sam's eyes followed him, punching his lights out in her head. "Anger issues much?" She pressed on, smirking a bit.
Ky;e stopped in his path to his trashed-up bedroom. He turned to her, giving her a glance that could only be read as, "how dare you". "No food for two days," He spat before he went into his bedroom and slammed the door,shaking the whole apartment.
Sam gasped a bit, and clenched her teeth before going into her own room, shutting the door louder for effect. She could hear Kyle through the wall.
"Just remember, I'm keeping you alive! So unless you want to die out on the streets alone, don't disrespect me!" He yelled.
Sam yelled a, "Shut the fuck up!", expecting a smart comeback from his piece of shit mouth, but hearing none. She fell down onto her creaky bed and sighed out of frustration. She couldn't stand this. Everyday...beat him up! Beat her up! Don't disrespect me or no food or shelter! Her life was literal hell. But not half as bad as her childhood.
She sighed again, but this time, out of anger and sadness. She just wanted a normal life. A normal, adult life. Yes, she was 18, and yes, 18 is the age where you are considered "legally an adult", but she has felt like an adult since she was 15 due to the fights. Kyle had ditched her out of school, deciding to teach her himself. She wasn't learning anymore. She was only observing what others did.
She looked over at the picture of her and her mother on her small desk. It used to be a family portrait, but she had crossed out her dad with dark red marker. She felt herself getting teary-eyed, but held back the waterworks. She had never been taught to cry. It was weak. But that always got her thinking...was the way she was taught, really the right way?
She slowly unraveled her mother's scarf from her neck and hung it on the bed post. Not caring about pajamas, she climbed into the blankets and sheets of her bed, hoping that her dreams that night would be better than reality.