FicWad

PLEASE READ ZIS NOTE. IT EXPLAINS THE LACK OF UPDATES.
I'm sorry I haven't been able to update,promises old you I would update some time last week, but I didn't. The reason is that I just moved house, and we don't have Internet yet. And we won't for the next two weeks D: But I'm using my school's Internet, so I just won't be able to update on the weekends. On a sidenote, this is the longest chapter I've written :3 Interesting fact, there. Thank you for reading! I love you :3 Rate and Review? :D If I don't update. Y Friday, then I will on Monday :3 xoxox

Naren's POV
I sat in the back of the car on the way to the police station, silently leaning my head against the window, the cool glass soothing on my cheek. Gerard had plugged in his iPod, and put it on shuffle. A few songs came on that I recognised. A few by The Misfits, Iron Maiden, The Smiths. A David Bowie song came on that I recognised from my childhood. My dad had played it a lot, he was a big David Bowie fan. I payed attention to the music, the rise and fall of the tempo, the melody of the song. I was reminded of my dad, my happy-ish early childhood, before my mom completely stopped caring for me.
"We're here," Mikey said softly, snapping me out of my reverie.
I nodded, and took my seat belt off. I opened the door and stepped out into the cold air, welcoming the breeze that gently played with my hair. I walked to the entrance with Mikey and Gerard, gathering my thoughts and shaking with fear and anticipation. There was only one way to describe this place. Hostile. It felt as if the walls were staring down at me with a thousand judging eyes, analysing my every move. Even though the reason I was in a police station was to report someone, not be reported myself, I still felt paranoia and anxiety creeping in. Gerard squeezed my shoulder reassuringly and it gave me some strength. Maybe the world isn't as ugly and cruel as I thought. Yes, I was abused by my mom. Yes, my dad was in the army and I hadn't heard from him in almost a year. Yes, my nanny is dead. But here I am. I'm alive. Two of my heroes, who have affected me in so many positive ways, are taking me to the police station, to report my mom. Then I'll never have to see her again, right? Maybe I do have something to live for.
We came to what looked like a reception, and there was a woman sitting at the desk, her face half hidden by a computer.
"Excuse me, I'd like to report someone..." Gerard said uncertainly. Not every day you take a fan to the police station to report her abusive mother.
"Yes, sir? How may I help you?" she asked politely, looking up from the computer.
She had beady brown eyes, magnified by thick black glasses. Her hair was dark blonde, and pulled back into what evidently was a neat bun, but now strands of hair were sticking up everywhere and anywhere. She probably needed to get herself some bobby pins, or else better hairspray. She was rather plump, but not fat. Her face had minimal make up on it, just enough to give her complexion a healthy glow.
"Na- Isabelle here... She's been abused by her mother," Gerard explained.
"Oh, hold on a second, I'll be right back," she said, getting up from her place at the desk and disappearing down a hall. We waited in an awkward silence, neither of us knowing what exactly to say. The officer came back, with another woman following behind her, this one bleached blonde and slender, with a pretty face and friendly eyes.
"Child abuse problem?" she asked.
I nodded, my throat too dry to speak.
"I'm gonna have to ask you a few questions, if you would come to my office, please, it's this way," she smiled sympathetically. We followed her down the hall, and into a small room which was obviously her office. There was a photo of her family on her desk, a laptop, a small pile of papers, and a pencil pot.
"Sit down," she said, gesturing to three chairs in front of the desk. I sat in the middle, Gerard on my left and Mikey on my right.
"Would you like a glass of water or juice sweetie?" she asked me.
"Water please," I croaked.
She poured me out some water into a plastic cup and handed it to me.
"What's your full name honey?" she continued, pen poised, ready to fill out a form she had pulled out of her drawer.
"Isabelle Grace Marigold," I said.
"And are these men your uncles or something?"
"No, we're not related..."
"Uh huh... So are you staying with relatives? Are you still living with your mother?"
"I ran away from home. I live in New York. And I just wanted to get away. So I got a train to here, and I had... An incident. Gerard is the one that found me in the park, and he called an ambulance. I just got out earlier today," I explained.
"Ran... away.... from.... home," she mumbled under breath as she jotted the words down. "And what type of abuse was it? Emotional? Physical?" she asked.
"Both," I said.
"What's your mother's name?"
"Catherine Grace Crookshank."
For about the next thirty minutes, I felt like I was in some sort of examination on my own life. Then she asked why I was abused and how I dealt with it.
"Uhm... She's an alcoholic. And a drug addict. She would hit me when she wasn't drunk, but it wasn't that bad compared to what she did when she was drunk. From I about the age of eight I've been looking after myself, cooking dinner for both of us, staying home alone while she went out and partied till 5 am, which was most nights. Then she got a boyfriend, and he tried to rape me, but I called the police, and he was arrested. My mom got progressively worse after that. She would come into my room while I was sleeping, drag me out of bed by the hair and beat me till I bled. It seemed like a sort of relief for her. As though seeing me lying on the floor coughing up blood made her happy..." I trailed off.
"And your reaction? Did you tell anybody? Fight back? Keep a diary?"
"I... I uhm..." I stuttered, looking down at my hands, my cheeks flaming red. "I guess you could call it a diary," I said grimly. "But with a twist. I wrote it on my wrist... I was too afraid to fight back, and every time I cut, every time I cut too deep and passed out, it felt like I was killing myself. It felt that I was leaving everything behind. It just felt... Good."
"Oh... And did she find out about this?" she asked, while scribbling notes down on her clipboard.
"Yeah. When she found out she hit me even more."
When I had answered an endless list of questions, I thought I was free to go back to Gerard and Mikey's house, but I was wrong.
"Okay, I'll just need to get you a place to stay for now, I'll call the foster home now," she said matter of factly.
"What? She can't stay with us?" Gerard asked incredulously.
"I'm afraid, Mr Way, that seeing as you're not related to her, and she doesn't know you, she cannot live with you. How do we know we can trust you?" she said disapprovingly.
"That's bullshit!" I exclaim, standing up.
"I don't think that you're care home will approve of that sort of language, Isabelle," she scolded.
"Can you at least tell us how long she'll have to stay there for?" Mikey pleaded.
"Until we find either a relative or a suitable family for her to go to. But she has no relatives apart from her father, who is missing in action, presumed dead, so it seems like she'll have to go to a foster family." she said, making her way towards the door. "I'm going to make the phone call now, wait here."
I sit down slowly, feeling dead inside. I have no family. I'm going to grow up in a foster home. Who's gonna want me? The teenage girl covered in cuts and bruises, with no talent, no goal in life other than to get away from her mother. And I'm scarred more on the inside than I am on the outside. And it's irreversible. Putting me in one of those mad houses will only make me worse.
"Naren... Don't worry, at least your getting away from your mom. We'll sort this out. Somehow," Mikey promised me.
I nodded and lifted why head slightly. "Why do you still call me Naren? Why didn't you start calling me Isabelle?"
"Because Isabelle was a terrified little girl abused by her mother with no other family. And Naren is a slightly happier person. Isabelle needs to be left behind. And we know that you want to be Naren," Gerard answered.
I smiled slightly at him. "Thank you," I said, blushing a little.
"For what?" he asked, bewildered.
"Everything. I wouldn't be alive now if it wasn't for you. And I'm not just talking about my suicidal thoughts that I used to have. I would've bled to death in that park if you hadn't have been there. And you know it's true. Thank you for saving me, thank you for helping me, thank you for visiting me in the hospital," I said, looking into the eyes of one of my heroes.
"You don't need to thank us," Gerard said, hugging me tightly.

*
"You ready to go?" Lindsey asked me.
"Yeah," I mumbled, hoisting my guitar onto my shoulder.
She looked at me and pulled me into a tight hug, which was sort of awkward, because seeing that I was so short, my face was practically in her chest.
"You'll be okay," she whispered to me, as I leant into her for comfort.
"You know I won't," I said, tears forming in my eyes.
"Maybe there'll be someone there that you can make friends with. Or in your new school," she said, running out of ways to comfort me.
"Lindsey, I hadn't had a friend since I was eight until a few days ago, when Jason wanted to see what I was drawing," I said, a few tears trickling down my face.
"Well you have more than just Jason. You have me, and Gerard, and Mikey, and Donna, and Bandit. She loves you! It's not like you'll never see us again, either," she reminded me.
I nodded. "Thanks," I murmured.
"Any time," she said.
I stood back from Lindsey wiping away a few tears, trying not to cry.
"Do I really have to go?" I said, my voice going high from trying to hold back tears.
"I'm sorry. Please don't cry, it'll all end up okay," she soothed.
"But what if I change? What if I become a bad person? I'm scared. I'm scared of losing myself, Lindsey," I was starting to get a little bit hysterical.
"Stay you. Don't let anyone change who you are. You know what my husband said. The world is gonna try and clean you up, what you gonna do about it? The world is gonna try and make you pretty, what the fuck are you gonna do about it?"
"I'm gonna say, 'I wanna stay ugly' " I conclude, pulling myself together.
"That's it. And if you ever need me, call me. No matter what the problem is. Boy troubles, girl troubles, school troubles, anything. And if you get bullied, just walk on. Hold your head up high and your middle finger higher,"
"Thanks, Lyndsey, I'll call you, definately," I said.
"Good. You'd better go now, Gerard and Mikey are waiting," she advised.
"Yeah. Bye, Bandit!" I called into the living room. She was watching Yo Gabba Gabba! How adorable!
"HUG!" she squealed, running towards me as fast as her cute little legs would carry her.
I gave her and Lyndsey a fleeting hug, and ran out the door to the car, where the singer and bassist of My Chemical Romance were waiting.
We drove silently towards the foster home, the only noise breaking the silence being The Smiths playing quietly, or the GPS occasionally giving out directions.
"You'll call us, right?" Mikey asked quietly.
"Of course I will," I said.
I watched as the timer on the GPS counted down. 10 minutes and we would be there. I would be alone once again. 7 minutes and I would be arriving at the place that I would have to call 'home' for the next three years. 4 minutes. Would they let me out to the mall? I had promised to meet up with Jason. 2 minutes. I felt dread gripping at me inside, pulling me slowly back into my deep, dark cave of depression. One minute. I drank in as much of Gerard and Mikey's features as I could, making them a permanent part of my memory. If possible, they meant more to me than they ever had before. I close my eyes and sink lower in my seat, hoping that I'll wake up and this will all have turned out to be a dream. Or a nightmare. Maybe I would wake up back in hospital, and Jason would be facing me, still asleep, or waiting for me to wake up. Or Amy would be shaking my shoulder, a plate of waffles waiting. I feel the car turn to the right, and suddenly we're not on the smooth tarmac of the road, but we're on gravel, the stones crunching under the weight of the car and sounding like hail hammering on my bedroom window.
The engine stopped, and I still didn't open my eyes. I wanted to fall asleep and never wake up again. Or at least until it was possible for me to have a normal, happy life. With friends, no abusive brother, no having to worry about keeping your arms and legs covered, no having to worry about concealing bruises. I wish the most I had to worry about were the trivial things in life, like homework and exams.
"Naren..." Mikey said soflty, disrupting the blissful silence. I chose not to respond. Instead I kept my eyes squeezed shut and bit hard into my lip.
"Naren, you have to go. Everything will get better, I promise. Just trust me," Gerard coaxed.
I felt a burning in the back of my throat, and tears threatening to spill over and make me look like a fool.
"At least.... At least I'm away from... My mom," I said shakily.
"Keep thinking like that. Just remember that no matter what, you're not alone. You can call us, you know. We would love for you to call us. In fact, you'll hear it if you don't call us!" Mikey said, smiling sadly.
I slowly opened my eyes and for the first time looked at my new 'home'.
"I'm never gonna have to see my mom again, right?" I asked them.
They nodded and smiled. "And if you ever have any trouble, phone the police. Take her to court and get a restraining order."
"Thank you. I'm gonna miss you," I said.
"We'll miss you too," Gerard said.
Sighing, I unbuckled my belt, and reached for my bag. Gerard and Mikey got out of the car to walk me into the building. Taking a last sweeping look at Mikey's car, I followed them up them towards the building. It had three floors, and was painted blue in an obvious attempt to make it cheerful. Maybe it once was. But now the paint was faded and peeling, and it certainly didn't look welcoming. The sky was grey behind the building and clouds cast shadows on it, making it look menacing and an undesirable place to live. The building was ominous, and I wondered whether the people inside would be just as unwelcoming.
We pushed through the front door and the chill of the air outside was extinguished, replaced with warmth.
"Oh, hi! You must be Isabelle! Welcome, come in, this is your new home!" said a woman with short curly brown hair.
"Yes, I'm Isabelle. Nice to meet you," I said, rather stiffly.
"Would you like me to call you Izzy or Izz or something?" she asked.
"Just Isabelle," I replied shortly.
"Oh..." she said, her expression falling slightly.
"Isabelle isn't going through a particularly good time in her life, at the minute," Gerard warned.
"Oh, don't worry, teenage years are always difficult, I'm used to teenage breakups and such," she said dismissively.
I seethed with anger. She though that I had just went through a breakup?
"I've never had a boyfriend," I said.
"Things are a little more serious than that," Mikey said. Obviously she had gotten to him, too.
"Well I'm sorry if I offended you," she said. "I'm Jayne, anyway."
"Nice to meet you, Jayne," I said politely.
"Yes, well, come along, you need to meet everyone and learn the rules," she said briskly. What did I do? Well, maybe I was a little cold...
I turned round and looked up at Gerard and Mikey. The eldest brother handed me a piece of paper.
"Our numbers. Call us, please," he said, clasping my hand over the paper.
I hugged them both, and I never wanted to let go of them.
"Hem hem," Jayne interrupted.
"It looks like you have to go," Mikey said. "And we may have outstayed our welcome."
"Yeah, maybe we have," Gerard said.
Mikey leaned down and whispered into my ear. "Do yourself and Jason a favour. Text him!" he whispered, and a little red glow came to my cheeks. "He was really cute!" He said, in a ridiculously girly voice, that made me giggle a little and blush.
"Perhaps you ought to leave now," Jayne said to Gerard and Mikey.
"Of course," said Gerard.
They did a strange little bow to Jayne, Mikey winked at me, and they left. I stared after them, until a sharp voice brought me crashing back to reality.
"This way to your bedroom. I'll explain the house rules on the way."
I nodded silently and followed her.
"There are of course rules, and disobeying them will obviously result in punishments. You may be grounded, a possession may be confiscated, stuff like that. If you go out, you must notify someone and be back by eight pm, if you are on your own. If you have a friend going with you, that lives here, then if you can be out until nine pm. Of course bullying will be severely punished. If an adult asks you to do something, you must do it. Every child gets $5 allowance a week. Good behaviour may result in getting more money, bad behaviour may result in getting less. If you want to listen to music, keep it at an acceptable volume..."
She rambled on for a while, and I didn't pay any attention whatsoever. As usual, my mind was wondering. I was thinking about My Chemical Romance. And the experience I had just had. And... Jason. Lost in my own thoughts, I was caught out when Jayne stopped suddenly in front of a plain brown door with a silver doorknob.
"This is your room. You don't have to share with anyone. You can put posters up, paint the walls however you like. We have some paint here, but anything else you need, like wall stickers or posters, should be payed for with your allowance," she said, opening the door. It was a plain room, painted white, with a single bed, a small bedside table and a desk under the window, which had a surprisingly nice view. I put my bag and guitar on the bed, and discovered that the mattress seemed pretty soft and bouncy, judging by the impact my luggage had on it.
"You can meet the others now," Jayne said, stalking out of the room.
Downstairs, in what seemed like some sort of entertainment room, a group of mismatched teenagers and children were assembled. Some of them pretty bored looking, other texting or playing games on their phones.
"Everybody, this is Isabelle," Jayne said.
"Hey Isabelle," they chorused dismally.
"I'm sure we could have a better welcome than that," she frowned.
"HI ISABELLE NICE TO MEET YOU I'M JONATHAN!" Mocked a boy with wild curly black hair.
"Uh... Hi..." I said.
"Why don't you sit down? Tell us about yourself?" said a man standing in the back. He was bald and looked to be around his mid thirties. I hadn't noticed him until he spoke.
I sank down onto one of the seats shyly and said. "I like music. And books. And comic books. My favourite bands are My Chemical Romance and Green Day," I said.
"Pfft. Emo," remarked the boy that had yelled at me.
I looked down and tried to brush it off. I couldn't let them get to me.
"What do you like to read?" asked a skinny girl with wavy blonde hair and big blue eyes.
"Harry Potter, The Mortal Instruments, The Hunger Games, Percy Jackson, The Lord of the Rings, and Terry Pratchett are my favourites," I said.
"Oh, I love the Hunger Games, Josh Hutcherson is so hot!" she giggled.
"Er...." I wasn't much of a Josh Hutcherson fan. Personally, I didn't find him 'hot' at all.
"Who are Green Day and My Chemical Romance? Don't you like One Direction?" asked a girl with dark brown hair. She was wearing, of course, a One Direction T Shirt.
"No. I don't like One Direction," I said. I didn't have a problem with people liking One Direction. They are actually pretty good singers. But I don't like their music, and to me there lyrics are all the same.
"Freak," she muttered. That stung a little, and a sank lower into my chair.
"You read comics?" asked a boy with shocking red hair and freckles. He put me in mind of the Weasley's. He looked to be about eleven or twelve years old, and had a shy manner about him.
I nodded silently.
"Well I have work to do, so I'll leave you to socialise then," said Jayne, walking swiftly out of the room and shutting the door behind her.
As soon as she left the room I was eaten alive.
"What the fuck are you wearing?"
"You look like a lesbian!"
"You're so ugly!"
"You're such a nerd!"
"Why are you here? We don't want anybody here!"
"When are you going to die?"
"HAHA, YOU'RE EMO! GUYS, SHE'S EMO! I BET SHE CUTS HERSELF TOO!" jeered the very same boy that had mocked me earlier. Laughing like a maniac, he strode over to me and grabbed hold of my arm. I struggled against him and tried to wrench my arm out of his steely grip.
"Get - off - me!" I said, through clenched teeth.
"What's the matter? You're not scared of us are you? We don't bite," he taunted, getting extremely to close to my face for my liking.
"Get off me!" I screeched.
He only laughed and dug his nails into my skin. I didn't look but I could hear the others laughing like it was an episode of Live at the Apollo.
"Ouch!"
He tightened his grip on my arm and I felt bruises begin to form. And without any forewarning, he yanked my sleeve up, and revealed my battered arm. There were two fresh bruises where he had grabbed me, and the scars from the burns and cuts of the last two years permanently etched into my skin, like a grotesque tattoo. And then there were the bruises that my mom had painted onto me. I had worse on my leg and my back, but thankfully they wouldn't see those due to the clothes I was wearing.
Tears stung my eyes for what seemed like the millionth time that day, but I refused to give in.
"Fuck off," I said warningly.
"Oh, little Issy thinks she's a big brave girl now that she's dropped the 'f bomb'," he said in a baby voice. The others cackled in delight.
"I'm warning you," I said. But what I was warning him about, I wasn't exactly sure. I just knew that there was something boiling up inside me, and if pushed another millimetre, it would erupt. Maybe I would be like Bruce Banner. Maybe I would turn into Hulk, and destroy this building, and seriously injure or kill these people.
"What are you gonna do? Make me cry and run off to my room to cut myself?" he laughed.
That. Was. It.
Stand up fucking tall, don't let them see your back, and take my fucking hand, and never be afraid again.
I drew back my arm and punched him in the face, and my fist collided with his nose, making a satisfying crack. He stepped back, giving me and opportunity to rise from my seat, and raise my knee to kick him in the place where the sun don't shine. He doubled over in pain and I stepped back, admiring my work. I decided that I didn't need to do any more, and stormed out of the room.
I made my way back to my new sterile white room and locked the door. My earphones had been dumped on the bed, so I picked them up and shoved them in my ears, blasting Territorial Pissings by Nirvana and thinking of what I had just done.
There was no way Gerard would be happy. I had just resorted to using violence as a solution to a problem. I groaned and smacked my head off the wall behind me.
I've betrayed everything I've ever believed in.
I'm a terrible person.
Gerard is going to hate me.
He's never going to talk to me again.
I'm such a horrible person.
And I'm so fat and ugly, they said it downstairs!
Why am I such a freak?

"And if you get bullied, just walk on. Hold your head up high and your middle finger higher,"
Lindsey's words echoed through my head, and made me feel a little better. There were so many reasons why I should be happy now, so many reasons not be sad. Yet, it was impossible to find that emotion inside of me.
'It's like there's dementors around,' I thought grimly.
The walls around me where sterile white, and I felt like a was in psychiatric ward. Like there was something wrong with me. But maybe there is. I stood up so quickly that I shocked myself, and a sudden spell of dizziness washed over me. I waited for it to pass, then wrenched my bag open. I found the money I had taken from my mom, and pocketed it. I grabbed my iPod and phone, and left the room. The time was 5:30. That meant that I still had two and a half hours until I had to be back in. I met Jayne in the hallway, carrying a stack of papers into her office.
"I'm going for a walk," I mumbled to her.