fan fic... m.r romance, humour, tragety... from the inside

max pov...

beep...beep...beep...bee-

I woke up in bed, but was too tired to open my eyes. My hand blindly found my alarm clock and threw it at the floor in frustration. Time for school, or in my view, my own hell hole! It hit the ground and shut off with a satisfying thunk. I swear, that thing could turn a peaceful tree hugger into the next Hitler. Suddenly, flashpacks from the previous night emerged in my mind.

(flash back...)

I stomped inside our new house from the pouring rain. Water sloshed around in my converse and let me tell you, I. was. mad. I had my signature death glare on as my eyes settled on my father passed out on the couch. Jeb. Probably drunk, I supposed. Man, how I utterly hated him. We had just recently moved in to our new house in a small town in North Carolina. Today? My luck was just crap. Why? Well, thats just me. My foot snagged on the corner of the couch as I "tried" to walk by. I tripped and caused a cheap flower vase to fall, thus waking up Sleeping Ugly. Yay! (note heavy sarcasm...) Jebs eyes shot open and he instantly stood up from the sudden crash. I crouched down and held my breath as I hoped that he would just ignore it.

"What did you do ya laskfjalmniv..." he said. I couldn't tell what he said last cause of his slurred words. But I can tell that it was probably some very colorful words from past experiances.

He stepped over to me where I crouched on the ground. How wonderful, "a perfect way to defend yourself," I thought. His face was red going on to slight purple, to a color I havn't even seen. He kicked me hard in the side, making my breath come out in a woosh! Whomever made steel toe boots, will feel my wrath! Jeb then picked up a baseball bat. "Where did he get that?" I wondered. It came down fast at my legs. With quick reflexes, I rolled out of way just soon enough before I could have a broken leg. Ha! Take that, Jeb! Though I wasn't so lucky the second time. A peircing pain came from my left leg when Jeb lunged again with the bat. I had to clench my teeth extremly hard to stop from uttering a sound.

I, Maximum Ride, does not scream; much less cry. Never has, never will. I tried to calmly breathe out of my nose as he repeatedly struck my back and sides with the bat. Not soon enough, he grumbled and sat on the couch. The tv turned on to show a football game.

"Get out of my sight, you little brat!" he yelled.

I lifted my aching body from the floor and dragged myself up the stairs as fast as I could. Not from fear, but from rage. If I did anything else, another beating would come along. Then another, then another. I laid down on my so-called bed and soon passed out into blackness...

(End of flashback.)

So here's the deal. The name's Max, Maximum Ride. Call me anything else and your life will turn into a personal hell. Got it? I sat up in bed slowly, my sore limbs ached from last nights beating. I'm surprised my stomach didn't have internal bleeding. But no problem, I have had much worse before. I have brown chocolate eyes and dirty blond hair. I went over to my dusty mirror to check the damage done. Bruised leg and stomach, broken rib, split lip... meh, not as bad as some others.

The skin on my slim yet tall figure was slightly paled and my hair a tangled mess. I took a brush and went through it until the knots were gone. Once it was smooth enough, I changed into a pair of skinny jeans, ratty Converse, and a long sleeved Evanescence t-shirt to cover up past bruises and cuts. I tied my hair back into a pony tail and put on some eyeliner. Now I'm not one of those weak girly-girls who load up on so much makeup they're mistaken for a clown. I hate those girls who dress in short skirts and low cut shirts, only to have guys swoon over them...toys and sexist pigs, I despise them all.

My room was full of boxes. My "dad" and I just moved in yesterday to Wilmington, North Carolina. I used to live in Colorado, but Jeb got a job transfer. I still don't understand how on earth he can keep a job as a wacky scienctist with all the hangovers he has had lately.

I snatched my purple and black checkered back pack off the floor and headed downstairs. Jeb was sitting at the table reading a newspaper and sipping from yet another beer. He didn't even look up at me as I grabbed a banana from the counter and left without acknowledging him. I prefer the term "Jeb" instead of "Dad." It seems better, don't you think, with my life? The last time he was a rela dad, was after I was seven years old. Just before my 8th birthday was when, IT happened. Sicked by the memory, I simply walked out the door and started my quick pace to the 11th grade life of high school. Oh Joy…