Author's Note: So, this is really weird for me, because I wanted finish a story before posting a chapter of it. I decided that I wanted to test it first, so here is the first chapter of my first multi-fic.

Hands, some curled in fists, some reaching out to touch me, were all I could see. Words that cut me were all I could hear. I was waving my arms, trying to grasp something, anything, to keep me from sinking deeper into the Darkness. Wake up Wake up Wake up!

My eyes finally snapped open to a bare ceiling, sheets kicked off my now freezing body, and a still sleeping Marianna.

Shaking, I made my way to the bathroom, whispers from the dream still invading my mind. Bitch. Seductress. Waste of Space.

I had to get them out. I had to let them out, in the only way that worked.

Unlike other homes, I had to be careful how I did it. Other homes would shrug their shoulders and simply ignore it, or they would simply smile and add to the whispers. If Lena or Stef saw the bruises, cuts, or even the old scars, they would go ballistic. They would try to help me No one can help you. It was the first time I did this since arriving at the house. Usually something, the parents or other kids did would trigger it but it took a nightmare for me to go back to the Darkness.

The pain was getting to me, my head was pounding and I needed to find a way to numb it. A small pair of scissors used for nails sat on the sink and I took it, placing it against my wrist. It was easy to hide. I could just wear a bracelet or something to cover it until it fades.

I was about to cut down when something stopped me. A sound, no a melody.

Brandon.

He's awake. Talk to him. You trust him; you care about him More than you should. Don't talk to him. He'll tell them. He will look at you like garbage. Remember Liam? Remember how he hurt you, used you, ruined you? I took the scissors again, trying to ignore the flooding images. Him on top of me, how his voice that made my heart melt now makes my skin crawl. Do it. Ruin yourself more. You're too broken. Go to Brandon. Do it. Go to him. Do. Go. DO.

I slammed the scissors down. With tears in my eyes, I blindly stumbled to his door. I knocked and the soft melody stopped.

Through the door, I heard, "Come in." I tried to move my feet but they were like stone. I knocked on the door again and thankfully, he came to the door and opened it.

"Callie." He whispered, surprised. He worried when he noticed the state I was in. "You're crying."

I didn't move. I didn't know what to do. I didn't know what to say. Why did I come? Why did I have to bring him into this?

"What is it? What do you need?" Brandon was in a panic. When Marianna cried, it was mostly over shallow things, like a guy or some new fight with one of her friends. I wasn't like that. My problems ran deep, deeper than anything he ever experienced.

I struggled to get the words out through all the tears choking up my throat. I stuttered out, "Help me." and my legs gave and his arms came just in time to catch me.

"Callie?" He mostly carried my to his bed and I curled up into a ball. The whispers were screams now and I couldn't open my eyes for fear that Liam's cold eyes were staring back at my. I started pressing my fingernails into my arms, scratching my skin, trying anything to bring the pain to a stop, when Brandon grabbed my arms and pinned them above my head. "What the hell are you doing? Are you trying to hurt yourself?" I could feel his labored breathing against my face and I opened my eyes to see his bright, bluish eyes inches away from mine.

"I need help Brandon. From you." He softened his gaze and released my arms, which flopped next to my side.

"What do you need help with?" He was sitting on the edge of the bed and I scooted closer to him.

"Don't you see? I'm sick Brandon. Look," I gesture to the nail marks on my arms, "at what I do to myself." I took his hand and pressed it against the bumpy scars on my forearm.

He stroked the scars like he was touching something delicate, and it was causing new goose bumps to form on my arms. This time, it was the good ones.

We sat in silence, eventually his fingers stopped tracing and he took my hands in his. I could tell he was waiting for me to speak. It took some time to figure out the right words to say, considering I had to remember why I started this conversation in the first place. Was it because I wanted his help? Because I felt closest to him out of everyone in this house? Because he was, awake?

The answer was there was no one else I could talk to about this. No one knew what I went through, nor could they understand, but Brandon was learning. I knew he would make the least assumptions about me. Tell him. I took a deep breath and started, from the beginning.

"The first home I was in the mom was single and she went off her meds. That was the first time I ran away. I came back because I was only 10 and Jude was scared of being out in the streets. The woman knew we left and told Bill. He took us away."

"The next year we spent in a group home. It was okay but the parents in charge thought there were too many kids so they told Bill to take some older kids and me away. Jude refused for us to be separated. So we got sent away together."

"The next home was the shortest one we ever had. It was one week. The parents weren't feeding us because they were using the money to gamble. I stole food and they called the cops telling them I was a thief. Bill saw that Jude and I were starving and it gave him reason to take away their license to foster." I smiled a bit but it left my face when I remembered the next part.

"The next homes were when I started acting out. They were the only homes I regret being a brat because they weren't that bad. But when I started giving them attitude that's when the yelling and frustration started. They tried separating Jude and I a few times, but then he wouldn't let them. He broke things, wouldn't listen, and I can't help," my voice broke, "but feel like we lost our chance to be safe, because the next home we went to was the worst."

I put my hands over my face, the migraine was starting, and I was blacking out, starting to loose focus of what was past and what was present. Brandon's arms came around me and he rubbed my back as a fresh onslaught of tears came. The soothing touch brought me back to the current moment in time.

"You don't have to tell me." He comforted me. He started singing a melody I recognized as a lullaby my mother used to sing. Strangely, instead of making me sadder, it calmed me down.

"Where did you hear this song?"

"My dad used to sing it to me. My mom can't sing for her life," I laughed and took my hands away from my face.

"My mom sang it. I sing it to Jude sometimes. He doesn't remember her." I say sadly.

"Do you want to talk about her?"

"I don't know if I want to talk anymore." He loosened his hold and he was looking at me now.

"What do you want to do?"

God, the way he said that made the question so much more dangerous. Here we were, in his bedroom, alone, in the middle of the night. All he did was hold me and right now, I wanted so much more than just that. I needed more.

I put my hands on his cheeks and moved my face closer to his. "What are you doing?" His voice was a little shaky, nervous maybe, and his eyes kept going from my eyes to my lips.

"Not talking." I crushed his lips with mine, my fingers brushing through his hair. He was surprised and he tentatively put his hands on my waist. I grabbed his shoulders and brought him closer to me and he finally lost his doubt. He pushed me down onto the bed and I wrapped my legs around one of his. I moved my hips against his and we both moaned. Motivated, my hands went to the hem of my shirt and started lifting it.

Brandon abruptly broke away. He stopped my hands, lifted himself off me, and backed away from the bed. He looked conflicted.

I just stared at him, breathing heavily, my eyes bearing just how hurt I was. Of course, he doesn't want you.

"Callie, I can't do this to you. Not when you're like this. It would be taking advantage of you."

I scoffed. The first time I willingly kiss a guy (that I care about) and he thinks he's taking advantage of me.

"What?" He said.

"Never mind. I shouldn't have talked to you." I got up and quickly walked across to the door. I waited for Brandon to pull me back to him, put his hands back on my waist, but he let me walk out the door.

He's giving up on you.

I didn't go back to my room. I ran down the stairs, opened the door and slammed it, not caring if it woke the whole house. If Brandon wasn't going to help, there was no chance the rest of them would care.

I only made it to the end of the block when I collapsed. I lay on the road, waiting for something to come, like a car to run me over, anything, because the pain of the rejection and the memories of the last foster home I was at was assaulting my senses. I was starting to smell the booze and feel the cigarette smoke burn my lungs. I thought I was screaming but no sound was coming out. I just thrashed there on the ground, scraping skin, letting the stings of the cuts be the only thing reminding me that I am here and not in that bedroom over a year ago. But like every time it came, the Darkness takes over and I try keep my eyes open, try to remember where I really am, looking for a hero to save me from my own monster before I black out. I thought I saw him. But must have been wrong.

No one can save you.

No one will rescue you.

Second Author's Note: So that's the first chapter. I have the next two done and ready to upload and I probably will upload the next one when I get the fourth chapter done (so like another two days or so). Tell me what you think and any advice you might want to give me. I'm still pretty new to this and I would really appreciate it if you told me if this sucks or if you love it. Thank you.

Next Chapter: Callie has to deal with hiding what happened last night.