Hiii! I'm sorry for another story xD. I hope you guys like this one.

Warning: This story contains mentions of rape, incest and other sensitive issues. Read with caution.

Okay, a few notes:

- I do expect a lot of backlash with this story.

- It is ONLY a story. In no way do I approve of rape or incest, so please don't jump down my throat.

- No, I do not think the characters mentioned in this fic are actually capable of such horrendous acts.

Again, it is merely a story.

Monster (n): an imaginary creature that is typically large, ugly, and frightening.

an inhumanely cruel or wicked person.

That's what he was. For as long as she could remember, he had been a monster. He had been all she'd ever known - she'd lost her sister and mother in a car accident when some guy who was drunk barreled into them with his SVU - she had only been six. He kept her isolated from the rest of their family, and Spencer had never known anyone else.

"You don't need to know who they are. They are nothing to us and we only have each other."

"You know better than to ask about family. You are to do as I say when I say it. Respect is key. Without respect and trust, we descend into anarchy. When we do, we become animals."

Except he was already an animal - there was no other possible explanation. For he was a monster. All the sick, vile and twisted things he'd done, what other way was there to describe him?

Spencer Hastings only had one person in her life, and he wasn't even human.

Name: Annabelle Lopez

Age: Fifteen

Race: Hispanic

Hair color: Black

Eye color: Hazel

Likes: Seafood, pizza, boys, music

Dislikes: Father.

Biggest desire: To go home.

Duration of captivity: One month.

Spencer had been eleven when Peter brought home his first girl. In the dead of night, in the middle of November, he had carried her into his house with ease - she'd been drugged with a sedative.

Peter Hastings, New York's finest anesthesiologist.

Spencer remembered looking up from her spot on the couch, where she'd been sucked into a biography on Amelia Earhart.

"Who is she?"

"That is none of your concern, Spencer."

He'd carried her down into the basement. And didn't come back up for an hour. When he came back upstairs, his expression was stone cold. From that moment on, Spencer knew.

Peter was no longer her father, but the most diabolical creature she'd only seen in her darkest nightmares.

'I think father rapes Annabelle. She's always crying when he has me deliver her food.'

- she'd written in her journal a week after Annabelle had been staying with them. Even at eleven, Spencer knew what her father was doing was wrong. So she decided to write down what her father did - who knew that it would go on for five years. She also kept a polaroid camera handy and took pictures of the girls. Underneath each girl's information, was their photograph. She didn't ever want to forget what happened to the girls. She wanted to remember them - who else would?

Her journal was her most prized possession, and she was never without it. Fast forward five years, age sixteen, and Peter was still bringing home his girls, his little "trophies" as he liked to call them.

Spencer hated him. And she didn't think she would ever love anyone - until she met the one person who would change her life.

"I brought in a new one last night, while you were sleeping."

Spencer barely looked up from her plate. "Congratulations," she murmured dryly.

Peter raised his eyebrows. "Do not speak to me in that tone, Spencer. Now, get up and go bring the girl some water and bread."

Spencer shoved her chair back. "You'd think a man who earns over a six-figure salary every year would provide his guests with more than bread and water, but hey it's not my call."

She hated him.

Peter got up and folded his paper in half. He dropped it on the table and strolled over to Spencer. When he clamped his hands heavily on her shoulders, Spencer tensed, if only for a second before wrenching away from him. "Don't lay your filthy hands on me," she snarled.

Peter's lips pressed into a tight line. "Spencer, you are not being very respectful. Now do as I say. I will see you when I get home tonight."

Peter snatched his jacket off the back of his chair, shrugged into it and picked up his keys off the kitchen counter. There was a cross on one of his keychains, which Spencer found disgustingly ironic. "You know the rules, Spencer." He pressed a key into her hand. "Don't disappoint me. You've been a good girl, you know your morals."

"Yes, but unfortunately, you don't have any morals. Maybe you can pick some up on the way home tonight instead of some drugging some defenseless girl."

Peter walked away in silence. A few minutes later, the security system was turned on and he was gone. Spencer was left alone.

Well, she'd better go down and see what the deal was with their new houseguest. Spencer filled a glass with water, grabbed a few pieces of bread, dropped them on a plate and headed down to the basement.

She despised doing this. She was tired of seeing girls chained up in her basement. It made her feel sick, knowing there was nothing that could be done about it. Most people had a security system to people out of the house, but Peter had designed his to keep people in the house. One time, Spencer had tried to leave when she was thirteen, and had nearly killed the nerves in her hand when she'd touched the electrocuted doorknob of the front door. She hadn't known her father rigged the doorknobs to send a very powerful electric shock to those who touched them before the system was disarmed. And she hadn't known the windows were completely nailed shut, or that the glass windows had been replaced with shatterproof glass. Much like Peter's girls, she was a prisoner, in her own home. Spencer was only allowed out of the house for social gatherings that involved Peter's colleagues or friends - on those days she wished she was dead.

Over the years, Peter had wised up. When Spencer was twelve, he had her helped him build an underground room that leveled off from the basement. When you walked down into the basement, there was a door behind a bookshelf with a heavy metal lock on it - of course only Peter had a key. Behind the door was a small, soundproof room no bigger than your average bedroom. It was covered with dust, littered with bugs and windowless. Off to the side of the room there was a dingy little bathroom. Peter's girls were expected to shower and stay fresh from him - Spencer had seen first had what the consequences were if he ever disobeyed. When he grew bored of his girls, Peter got rid of them. He never killed - he only did something so horrific to them that it would ensure their silence.

He packed them in his car and drove off. When he returned, he sometimes had a new girl with him. Sometimes he didn't.

By the time Spencer shoved aside the bookcase and unlocked the door, she was almost shaking. She didn't want to do this. She really didn't. Taking a deep breath, Spencer turned the knob and pushed open the door.

It took a few minutes for her eyes to adjust to the dull light illuminating from the bulbs above her head. When they did, she saw a girl with blond hair sitting in a rotting old chair. Spencer wouldn't have sat on the mattress besides the chair, either. The girl had her knees pulled up to her chest, and her head was bent down. There was a long, thick chain dangling from one end of the bed, and the other end, the anklet, was wrapped tightly around the blond's left ankle.

"U-uh, hi," Spencer croaked.

The girl's head snapped up and she whipped her hood off, her eyes wide with alarm.

Enchanting. That was the first word that popped into Spencer's head the second she saw the mystery girl's eyes. They were blue like the deepest ocean. Her eyes were blue like the clearest sky. Spencer felt like she could see past the girl's eyes, and into her soul. She hadn't realized she'd dropped the glass and plate until they shattered at her feet, the sound echoing in her eardrums. She jumped over the pile, shrieking. Spencer watched as the girl toppled from her chair and shrank back against the wall. Her eyes darted down from the mess and back up to Spencer's face.

Spencer shook her head. No, I'm not like him. "No! I mean, I- I'm not going to hurt you. I was just...I was just bringing you some food, and I, you, my hands..they're slippery. Sweaty palms, you know?" Since when did I become so incoherent? "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to frighten you. I'm Spencer. What's your name?"

The girl wrapped her arms around herself, like she was afraid Spencer would suddenly lash out at her. She slid down the wall and hugged her knees. Even from a distance, Spencer could see the tears well in the girl's eyes. And Spencer was pretty sure she heard her own heart break. "Hey, it's..." She paused. What was she supposed to say, that it was okay? That things would be okay? That would just be cruel.

"-Can you tell me your name? Please?" Spencer tried again. "Well, you know my name is Spencer. I'm sixteen. How old are you? The same?"

But the girl wouldn't say a word. She barely even moved from her spot on the floor. Spencer sighed and carefully moved back towards the door. "I'll be right back." Spencer left the room and returned a few moments later with a brook, a dustpan, a new glass of water and more bread. She carefully set the food down and cleaned up the broken glass. When she was done, she set the broom and dustpan aside and sat down, a few feet away from the blonde-haired girl.

"Want to play a game?"

Spencer watched cautiously as the girl picked up part of her chain and held it out. Her blue eyes were round and pleading. Her skin was flawless, and God, she was beautiful. Spencer knew what she wanted without the girl having to say so. "I-I can't let you go. I'm sorry. Father, he...Father wouldn't like it. Besides, I don't have the key to it, and-"

The noise the chain made when it hit the floor sounded like a thousand bombs exploding at once to Spencer. It was so definite. So final. A move of defeat from Nameless Girl. "Okay, let's play a game. I'm going to go through the alphabet. When I get to each letter that spells out your name, stop me. Understand?"

Nameless simply blinked at Spencer.

Spencer swallowed. "Okay, uh...A, B, C, D, E, F, G, -"

Nameless buried her face in her knees again.

Spencer inched closer to her. She just...she had to be near this girl. "H? Does your name start with an H?"

But she got no response from her. It went on for hours. Spencer tried everything to get the girl to talk to her. She sung her songs. She told her fairy tales. She got out old magazines and read the articles to her. It occurred to Spencer halfway through reading an article on how flare jeans were so coming back into style, that the girl might not even speak English. Or maybe she was deaf. But when Spencer's dad came home and the automated voice informed them of the system's disarming, the girl's eyes grew as wide as saucers and she visibly started to shake. Well, that answered those questions - she understood English and she wasn't deaf. But then of course, Spencer realized that she knew the answers to those questions before, because the girl had silently asked for her freedom.

Spencer shot to her feet and gathered her belongings in her hands. "I have to go. I'm sorry. Father, he is...I-I just have to go. Please, eat something." The glass of water and plate of bread had gone untouched. "I'll be back tomorrow, okay? Tomorrow, I promise." She scurried out of the room, but not before locking up the door (which was pointless, the poor girl was chained up, but her dad was always very careful) and bolted upstairs. No sooner had she stepped foot in the kitchen did Peter snatch the key out of her hands and head downstairs.

She loathed him.

That night, Spencer couldn't sleep. Peter hadn't returned from the basement until it was nearly time for dinner. When he passed Spencer and threw a blood-soaked rag into the sink, Spencer felt like vomiting. Her chest felt compressed. She felt dizzy, and God, did she want to go back downstairs to check on her. But she couldn't. So Spencer had ate in silence and then trudged upstairs.

Her room felt too big. Spencer slid out of bed and stumbled tiredly over to her desk. She sat down, flipped on her desk lamp and opened her notebook to a random page.

Name: Vanessa Patterson

Age: Seventeen

Race: Caucasian

Hair color: Red

Eye color: Green

Likes: Chicken, movies, photography, guys.

Dislikes: Father. Shrimp. Father. Oysters. Father. People who cheat. Father.

Biggest desire: Freedom.

Duration of captivity: Three months.

Underneath Vanessa's information, was a photo of a beautiful redheaded girl with big, expressive green eyes and a splatter of freckles across her nose. Vanessa hadn't talked much, like the others. When she was gone, it was like a relief to Spencer. Vanessa was finally free. But that had meant another girl would replace her.

The ink started to blur and Spencer quickly flipped ahead a few pages in her journal.

Name: Brandy Cullers

Age: Fourteen

Race: African-American

Hair color: Black

Eye Color: Brown

Likes: Video games, her cat, cartoons.

Dislikes: Rap music. Father.

Biggest desire: To be free.

Brandy's photo showed a young girl with eyes as big as can be. Yet if Spencer squinted, she could see it - the haunted look in her eyes. It was the same look that was in every other photo in this goddamned record of horrors.

Name: Riley Wong

Age: Eighteen

Race: Chinese

Hair color: Black

Eyes: Brown

Likes: apples, reading, drawing

Dislikes: "I've never hated anyone more than I hate that man you call your father. Dislike isn't a strong enough word."

Biggest desire: To live long enough to tell her parents she loved them.

Duration of captivity: Six months.

Riley had been stubborn. Almost as much as this new girl. When she was freed, Spencer remembered she had cried for hours out of joy - just like she had with all of the girls.

Spencer sniffed and closed her eyes. There were just so many.

Barbara Wells

Tara James

Peyton Huntington

Scarlett Davids.

Alyson Rodgers

It made Spencer physically sick. These girls were out there. Had they been reunited with their loved ones? Were they able to sleep without waking up in terror every night, much unlike herself? Spencer didn't know. She wasn't sure she wanted to know.

Spencer flipped to the a clean page. Picking up her pen, she touched the tip of it to her tongue, squared her shoulders back and brought it to the book in front of her.

Name: Blue-Eyed Angel

Age: Estimated guess - around sixteen years.

Race: Caucasian

Hair color: Blond, like the sun. Blond like a golden halo. Her hair is blond like the sun. The sun gives me hope. An omen?

Eye color: Blue. A beautiful, gorgeous blue.

Likes: Unknown.

Dislikes: Me? Father, for sure.

Biggest desire:

Duration of captivity:

Spencer set her pen down and stared at what she'd written. She'd stared so long her eyes started to burn. When she woke up, it was morning and there was a puddle of drool on her paper. After a quick shower, Spencer grabbed her notebook and pen and raced downstairs. Peter was already gone and had left the key for Spencer on the table. She immediately ran to the basement.

Inside the room, her blue-eyed angle was measly eating a few chunks of bread. Spencer's heart soared.

"I'm back."

Blue Eyes looked up and offered Spencer a tiny-yet-noticeable wave.

Spencer's stomach fluttered.

"Can we try this again?" Spencer sat down, a little closer to the blond this time. She opened up to the page with the girl's half-finished information on it and uncapped her pen.

The girl continued to pick at her bread.

Spencer exhaled deeply. Here we go again.

"Do you like to read?"

Silence.

"Do you like to draw?"

A few seconds passed, and the girl across from her remained completely mute. Spencer was starting to get frustrated. What if she never talked?

Spencer cleared her throat and tried again. "Uh, do you like guys?"

A snort from across room.

That surprised Spencer. She'd barely gotten this girl to eat, nonetheless make a sound. "I'm guessing that's a no? Girls, then?"

When the girl across from her lifted her head up, the hood of her sweatshirt fell down. And there were those eyes again - those goddamn blue eyes that Spencer couldn't get enough of.

She bore the smallest hint of a smile.

"Girls, then?"

Spencer jotted it down in her notebook.

"Well, you and I have that in common. Imagine that, huh?"

It wasn't much - but it was a start. It wasn't until later that night, when Spencer was about to leave did she notice the blood caked into the thighs of the girl's sweats.

She despised him.

A whole month had gone by, and Spencer felt more disconnected from her angel than ever before. She still hadn't gotten her to speak, not a single word. Not even so much as a thank you when Spencer brought her her daily meal of bread and water. Then again, Spencer was pretty sure that if the situation were reversed, she wouldn't want to talk herself.

Sometimes when Spencer brought the girl her food, she sat down there with her for hours, waiting for her to talk. Other times she read to her or drew her pictures. On the days her angel was coated with blood on her legs or on her face, Spencer wet a rag and cleaned her up as gently as she could. And each time Spencer saw the tears in her eyes, a fragment of her heart broke off.

A few times, when the girl was too tired (or most of the time - in too much pain) to eat, Spencer fed her. She'd break off a piece of buttered bread and feed it to the girl, followed by slow sips of water. It was how they worked, in silence yet in harmony. Spencer would feed her, and her new (friend?) allowed it, without the fear that she would be harmed.

Often times, Spencer hid in the basement, burrowed between a shelf and old boxes. While her father was in the room with her angel, Spencer plotted the ways in which she could end his life - each method seemingly more horrific than the last. And every last one of them was too good for him.

A few days before Christmas, Spencer slipped down to the basement after her father had left for work. Her angel was shaking, tears flowing down her flushed red cheeks. Peter had gone to 'visit' her early that morning.

When Spencer knelt down besides her, the girl recoiled and receded into her shell.

"Hey, come out of there, angel. We need to get you cleaned up."

But the girl didn't move. Spencer pressed her fingers to her temples and stood up. "I'll be right back, okay? I'm just going to go get the kit."

Spencer had one foot into the main basement when it stopped her - the most melodic, soothing, alluring voice she'd ever heard:

"H-Hanna."

Spencer whipped around so fast she startled her. "W-what?"

Hanna wiped furiously at her eyes. "H-Hanna," she whispered. Even though her voice was weak and strained from months of not speaking, Spencer heard every word. "M-my name is Hanna. Hanna Marin."

Spencer was flabbergasted. Did she just...talk to her?

Spencer slowly approached her and crouched down. "W-Well, Hanna, I-it's nice to finally hear your voice. Hanna is a very beautiful name."

Hanna turned away and dug around in the space between the front of her mattress and a wall. She pulled out Spencer's journal (Spencer had lost it a few days ago and had been in a panic ever since) and tossed the book into her lap. "You left this here."

Oops. Spencer ran her fingers along the spine of her book. Jesus, if her father had found it..

"Y-you read it?"

A smile barely traced Hanna's lips. "What else did you expect me to do?" She was suddenly inside herself again, curled up into a tight ball. She peeked at Spencer over her knees. "Did he really...? All of those girls?"

Bile bubbled in Spencer's stomach. "Yes," she said softly. "All of them."

"Why do you keep a book?"

"I-I want to have...proof."

Hanna nodded. When she brushed her dirty hair out of her eyes, Spencer saw a gash in the side of her head with bits of dried blood around it. She had to force herself to look away.

"You didn't finish mine," Hanna pointed out.

Spencer glanced down at her book. She smiled slightly and flipped to Hanna's page. "Would you like to help me with it?"

Hanna hesitated for a second and then shrugged.

Spencer felt around in her pockets for her pen.

"You keep it in the back left pocket."

Sure enough, it was there. Spencer removed her pen and uncapped it, giving Hanna a questioning look. "How did you.-"

"I was silent but observant, Spencer."

Spencer cracked a smile and cleared her throat. "Okay, uh, how old are you?"

"You guessed correctly - sixteen. And I like fashion."

"Fashion?"

"Dresses. Shoes. Jeans. Tops." Hanna played with the frayed strings of her sweats. "I like pizza and romantic comedies. I like the snow. I think it's beautiful, when everything is quiet and calm."

Spencer was trying to write as fast as Hanna was speaking.

"Dislikes?"

Hanna tugged on the locks her hair. "That bastard."

"Surprise, surprise."

Spencer scraped her tongue across her teeth. "Okay, what is your biggest desire? Not that I have to ask. It's to get out of here, to be free. Right?"

The silence that followed was long. Hanna outstretched her arm and Spencer wordlessly handed the book and pen over.

Hanna scribbled something down, her nose scrunching up. Spencer thought it was cute.

When Spencer took back the journal, Hanna held onto her fingers longer than necessary, and Spencer forgot to breathe.

When Hanna finally let go and sat back, Spencer's eyes dropped down to her journal.

Biggest desire: For someone to love me for me.

One week later

"Shit. He really got you good, didn't he?"

Spencer dabbed a small baggie of ice over the bruise on Hanna's cheek, and she winced. It was black and extremely tender. Poor Hanna could barely chew without being in pain.

"I think I deserved it."

Spencer crouched down next to Hanna and delicately brushed a lock of her now-filthy blond hair out of her eyes. Even though Hanna's face was dirty and they were heavy dark circles under her eyes, Spencer still thought her blue eyes were as exuberant as ever. Her fingers brushed along the lobe of Hanna's right ear, and she didn't miss the way the smaller girl shivered. Spencer bit back a smile. "Stop. No one deserves this."

"I threw a glass at him and told him to rot in hell."

"And you were right to do so."

Spencer was moving her arm across to Hanna's other cheek when the blond's hand shot out, her fingers circling around her thin wrist.

Spencer froze.

Hanna's grip tightened. "Can I ask you something?"

"Okay."

Hanna let go of Spencer's wrist and crawled away from her. It wasn't a surprise to Spencer - Hanna often let her in and then closed up again. Spencer never knew when Hanna was going to open up - she was like a Jack-in-the-Box and Spencer knew that if she just kept turning the little crane, eventually the Jack had to appear.

"T-the things your father does to me, the things he's done to the others-"

Hanna's voice was shaking. She sounded so frail. Spencer swallowed.

"-has he ever done them to you?"

Spencer exhaled. Hanna had been the first one to ask her about this. When she tried to move closer to her, Hanna shrieked and aimed a kick at her. "N-No," she whispered. "You can stay over there."

Spencer blinked back tears. Hanna was worsening and Spencer didn't think she'd last for much longer. "Hanna, let me tell you a story."

Alcohol had always been sort of a comfort to Spencer. She only drank when she was alone, after her father had gone to bed. It numbed her senses and made her feel calm. Sometimes she could pretend that she lived a normal life, with a dad who loved her and one who wasn't a pedophile.

She was the daughter of a pedophile.

Spencer was in a dining room. There were people all around her; girls in elegant gowns, guys in fancy tuxedos. It was another stupid 'dinner' party one of her father's friends had thrown.

Except instead of feasting on lobster with melted butter, the men traded tips. On how to keep your girls quiet. On the most effective way to get them to succumb, which fear tactic was the most reliable.

The women pretended not to notice that their husbands, their boyfriends, their fathers, were all members of a pedophiliac cult.

Tonight, as Spencer sat in a corner of the room, in a chair that was too hard, the alcohol in her stomach made her feel nauseated. The classical music was too loud. Her dress felt too tight.

"Hi."

Spencer glanced up.

There was a girl standing in front of her. She was clad in a short, white dress with way too many ruffles on the side. Her dark hair was pulled up into a bun. Diamond-studded earrings sparkled from the lights in the chandelier above them.

"Hi," Spencer replied softly.

The girl sat down next to Spencer and offered her a hand to shake. "Aria Montgomery, daughter of Byron Montgomery. My father is the host of this party."

Spencer smiled. "Nice to meet you, Aria. I-"

"Oh, I know who you are. Spencer Hastings. Only daughter of Peter Hastings and sole heir to the Hastings' fortune."

Spencer sipped from her drink. "You've done your research."

"I like to be well-educated on things that spark my interest."

Spencer watched as the adults around them conversed and mingled around each other. As people passed them, she caught bits and pieces of their conversation.

"-She was definitely the one I'd been searching for.."

"-I think he's the greatest man I could ever ask for."

"-People will understand us in due time, you'll see, sir."

All of them made her sick.

When Spencer turned back to Aria, Aria was smiling. There was a hint of mischief in her eyes.

"So I spark your interest?"

"That you do."

"Fascinating."

Aria's glove-covered hand was suddenly on her bare knee. It made Spencer's skin prickle and her stomach rolled in tight knots. "I've been instructed to provide some...entertainment to guests around my age."

Spencer licked her lips. Her lips felt chapped, even though Spencer knew they weren't. "And must you always do what daddy demands?"

"Father only has my best interest at heart."

Aria rose to her feet and extended her hand. "Let me show you my bedroom. You must see my collection of imported snow globes from Paris and Europe."

Spencer usually wasn't one to be so impulsive. She was more level-headed than that. She was careful and planned things out. Maybe that's why she'd been so stressed. Maybe letting loose for once would help her forget about her life.

Spencer snuck a peek at Aria again. She was stunning, there was no denying that. She downed the rest of her drink and tossed the glass into a nearby plant. When she stood up, she laced her fingers through Aria's.

"I'd love to see your snow globes."

"Ow!"

"Sorry!"

Spencer pulled the bag of ice away from Hanna's cheek with a grimace. "I have to keep the ice on it. Your cheek will swell if I don't."

Hanna rolled her eyes. "Thank you for explaining basic first-aid to me, Spencer."

Spencer smirked and handed the bag of ice to Hanna. Their fingers touched, and Spencer felt a shiver of pleasure. But it was Hanna who laced their fingers together.

And it was Hanna who leaned forward and kissed Spencer's cheek.

"Thank you."

"F-for what?"

When Hanna pulled back, there were tears in her eyes. She grabbed Spencer's hand and pressed it to her chest.

Hanna's shirt was soiled with blood and dirt. It was hard and held an odor - Spencer wished she could give her angle new clothes, but her father wouldn't allow it. (for Hanna was being punished).

"Do you feel my heart?"

"Y-yes."

"When that bastard...when I woke up here, at first, I...I didn't know what to think, but I was numb. It...it was like I wasn't alive anymore. Especially the first time he...I thought my heart had stopped beating."

There was pain her voice and Spencer wrapped her arms around Hanna's neck.

"A-And what did I do?"

"You started it up again."

Spencer threaded her fingers through Hanna's knotty hair. It still felt like the finest silk to Spencer, despite the number of times her fingers kept getting snared in Hanna's knots. "I wish I could do more. I wish I could set you free. I wish I could tell you that you're going to be okay. I wish, Hanna, that this hadn't happened to you. No one deserves this, but why you? Why did this have to -"

Hanna's lips felt like someone had jammed a stick of dynamite in Spencer's mouth and lit off the fuse. She heard it all - bells, fireworks, wind chimes, whatever. She felt her chest tighten with excitement. Spencer's pulse coursed through her veins. Her skin was on fire. It took a few seconds for Spencer's brain to kick back on, but when it did, she grabbed the back of Hanna's head and deepened their kiss.

Spencer found herself on top of Hanna. Hanna's fingers were lost in her dark tresses, her thighs locked around her waist. When they finally pulled away, they were panting.

"W-what was that?" Spencer croaked.

Hanna ran her fingers down Spencer's cheek and over her collarbone. There was a smile on her face - a genuine smile that Spencer hardly ever saw. "That was long overdue."

Spencer smiled and buried her face in Hanna's neck. The skin of Hanna's neck felt a little grimy, but Spencer didn't care.

"Spence?"

Spence. Hanna had been the first one to ever call her that. She liked that. Spence.

"Hm?"

"Did you really sleep with Aria that night?" Hanna traced circles on Spencer's forearms with her fingertips. "And you avoided my question. Please..I need to know if you've been through what I've been through."

Spencer pressed her lips to Hanna's neck. "Well..."

She could still taste Aria's lipgloss. There were traces of it on her neck and around her mouth. Spencer was working furiously to pull her dress down over her head and smooth out any wrinkles.

There was the thick scent of sex in the air. Of perfume and lotions. Of candles and incense. The bed shifted and Aria's arms were around her neck again. Her lips were on her ear.

"We need to do this again some time, huh?"

Spencer felt sick. She felt...just sick. Not because of what she had done, but because she knew. In the back of her mind, Spencer knew that she had been just a notch.

Aria's arms disappeared from around her neck and she was suddenly in front of, her lips against hers. Spencer kissed back momentarily and then pulled away.

"We should get back downstairs."

When they got downstairs, they were immediately accosted by their fathers. Peter dragged Spencer away.

"Where were you?"

"I-"

"She was with me," Aria piped up. "I was simply following instructions."

Byon (Spencer assumed it was him) clamped a hand down on Aria's shoulder. "That's my girl. You're always following orders. I'm proud of you, Aria."

Spencer saw it. There was a fleeing look of panic in Aria's eyes when Byron had touched her. She'd visibly tensed under his touch, and there was a noticeable change in her demeanor.

"Very well, Spencer." Peter's voice broke Spencer from her thoughts. "We will be leaving soon. I have business to attend to."

Of course he did.

As soon as their fathers left, Spencer rounded on Aria.

"He does it to you, doesn't it? Your father..."

"My father is a wonderful man," Aria spat. "He isn't a monster."

Spencer sighed. "Aria, it's wrong. All of this is wrong."

Aria's swept down to the floor. "It's all I know," she whispered. Then she rolled back her shoulders and cleared her throat. "I'll see you later, Spencer."

Later, when Spencer was shrugging into her coat, she spotted Aria chatting to a girl with long black hair. Aria rested a hand on the girl's knee, leaned in and whispered something to her. The girl's lips spread up into a sneaky grin and she nodded. Then they stood up and Spencer had to turn away.

Like father like daughter.

Hanna was quiet. "So, Aria..."

"-I've been around her countless times after that, but we never did anything else. Sometimes...sometimes Byron is worse than fat- the bastard."

"But you still haven't answered my question."

Spencer propped herself up on her elbows. "No, Hanna. I've never been in your...position."

Hanna breathed a sigh of relief. "So your story, I'm not sure I understand it."

Spencer stroked Hanna's cheek. "Aria's father takes advantage of her every night, and she loves him. She worships the ground he walks on. She denies he ever does anything wrong. My father hasn't laid a hand on me since I was six."

"Right, but-"

"And I wish I had the guts to kill him."

"What happened to your mother?"

Spencer stiffened. "..Ah, s-she was killed. She and my sister were killed when I was six, by a drunk driver."

Hanna kissed Spencer's temple. "I'm sorry. I lost my father. He got in a drunk driving accident, too. But I was just a kid, so I don't really remember him."

Spencer sighed. "I know what that's like. I vaguely remember the hospital."

Spencer was cold. The air in the hospital felt like she'd stepped into an ice box. She was dressed in a pair of footie pajamas with books plastered all over them. Her messy brown hair hung around her small face.

"Daddy, where are they? You said we had to come see them at the hospital."

Something had happened. Her mommy and her sister were hurt. All Spencer knew was that it was late - she was tired, cold and hungry.

There were a bunch of nurses and doctors running around. Some of them had weird necklaces around their necks with a giant round thing at the end. Others were bustling around with clipboards. Peter was too busy screaming at a nurse to hear Spencer.

Just then, a woman not much older than her dad burst into the waiting room. She was dragging a small girl with blonde hair behind her.

The little girl had on a light pink gown and a pink overstuffed coat.

The woman immediately went up to the nurse her dad was yelling at and started screaming at her.

"-TOM MARIN. HIS NAME IS TOM MARIN."

"-accident, drunk. Said a man hit her. My wife and my daughter!"

"-Oh, God, he didn't...did he...it wasn't him. You have to tell me it wasn't him."

Spencer eyed the girl who had sat a few chairs down from her. She looked tired too.

"Hi," she chirped.

The blonde-haired girl looked up, and Spencer almost gasped.

"Oh, your eyes are really pretty! They're blue, like the ocean."

The other girl's lips turned up into a small smile. "That's what my Mommy says." She pointed to the woman now shouting at Spencer's dad. "That's her. Mommy says that Daddy is sleeping and that he went to Heaven with the angles. That's why we're here so late." Her eyes started to fill with tears. "I want him to come back!"

Spencer's nose scrunched up. "Oh, no! That's so sad. My Daddy told me that my Mom and sister died, too. But he didn't say they went to Heaven. Do you think?"

"I think so. That's what all people do, right? They go to Heaven. I'm Hanna."

"I'm Spencer."

"Spencer?"

"Yeah."

"Isn't that a boy's name?"

"No! It isn't!"

Hanna then crawled across the chairs until she was right next to Spencer. "I didn't mean to make you mad."

"Well, you did."

"I'm sorry. Here, you can have this." Hanna pulled out a long silver chain from her coat pocket and thrust it into Spencer's hands.

Spencer held it up to inspect it. At the end of the chain, there was a little angel with giant wings and a halo on her head. "What's this for?"

"It's for you. Mommy says as long as I have it, I'll always be safe."

"So why are you giving it to me?"

"Now you'll always be safe."

The realization hit both girls at once and Hanna flung herself at Spencer.

"Oh, God. Oh my God. Spencer, I-I'm so sorry. I didn't...I am so sorry. I should have-oh my God."

The two girls held each other as they cried. Spencer whispered soothing words to Hanna and Hanna rubbed Spencer's back. They stayed like that for what seemed like hours. When they finally broke their hug, Spencer wiped away Hanna's tears.

"I-I kept it, you know. All these years."

"Kept what?"

"T-the necklace. You were right, Hanna. It kept me safe. You kept me safe. And it's time I returned the favor."

One day, in January, Spencer appeared at Hanna's bedside with a tripod and a video camera.

Hanna sat up and rubbed her eyes. Today, she was dressed in a new pair of sweats (courtesy of Spencer) and her hair smelled like melons. Spencer had convinced Peter to lift Hanna's punishment and allow her to wear new clothes and to shower. Fortunately, he had listened to her. Unfortunately, he had stayed with poor Hanna the whole time.

Spencer got the idea as she was eating a bowl of cereal. There was something more she could do for Hanna.

So as soon as Peter had left that day, Spencer gathered up her tripod, her video camera and headed downstairs.

"We're going to try something new today, Han."

Hanna peeked at the video camera and tripod. And just like that - she lost it.

She leapt to her feet, tripping over her chain and crashing to the floor. Spencer was quick to help her up, but Hanna was faster to dismiss her with a snarl.

"I k-k-new it." Hanna had her back against the wall and held the chair in front of her. It acted as a barrier between the two girls. The air was stale in the room.

"Y-You knew what?" Spencer asked. What was going on?

"I knew you were too good to be true. I knew you would hurt me one day, just like he does every fucking night."

Spencer's mouth dropped open. "What?" she gasped.

Hanna jerked her heads toward the video camera. "You're going t-to...and film me."

Spencer was dumbfounded. "No!" she cried. "Oh, God, Hanna, no. I would never..I couldn't imagine..no. Hanna, baby, I am going to film you, but it isn't...not for that."

Hanna eyed Spencer suspiciously, but then slowly sat down on the bed and motioned for Spencer to sit next to her.

Spencer turned on the video camera, aimed down at the bed and sat down.

The red light blinked, indicating it was now recording.

"My name is Spencer Hastings. I'm sixteen and I live in New York with my father, Peter Hastings. For years, I have sat back and watched as my father defiled, abused and hurt young girls. He stole their innocence. My father is a horrible man, and it's time things come to an end."

Spencer pulled out her notebook and began to read each and every journal entry she'd written. She had to stop a dozen times to wipe her tears away. When she reached Hanna's page, she stopped and set her book down.

"And this, this is Hanna."

Spencer used a remote to pan the camera over to a now-shaking Hanna. She shifted closer to her.

"This is my angel. My angel with the blue eyes and the blond hair. With the soft lips and the melodic voice."

Hanna tensed and moved away. "S-Stop. I don't want...to be on camera. I'm not worthy enough, to be seen by others, whenever you show this. I'm..I'm nothing."

"Hanna, you're my everything."

"No. I'm garbage and I'm..hideous."

Spencer gazed into the lens of the camera. "Is she kidding?"

The camera panned over to the two of them and Spencer cupped Hanna's face in her hands.

"Who is this beautiful?"

Hanna circled her fingers around Spencer's thin wrists and kissed her. "I love you."

Spencer froze and immediately turned the camera off. Did Hanna..?

"-What?"

"Spencer Hastings, I love you."

Spencer rested her forehead against Hanna's and held her close. "Hanna Marin, I love you."

Later, as Spencer was hurrying to re-button her shirt and stuff her feet into her socks, she didn't notice as Hanna removed two small items from the pocket of her jeans.

Her lips were soft. That's all Spencer could think of

Her lips were so damn soft.

Against her neck, Hanna's lips felt as smooth as silk. Hanna's fingers that were toying under the edge of her top felt like butterfly wings. In the back of Spencer's mind, she knew that if they got caught there would be hell for them both to pay. Spencer had to use her father's keys to unlock the door and to let Hanna out of her chains - the copies had father had made for her had seemingly disappeared.

They were upstairs, sprawled out on Spencer's bed, a mess of tangled limbs. Of freshly washed blond hair clashing with dark brunette. Hanna had been using Spencer's shower - hers had mysteriously broken.

"H-Hanna.."

Hanna's fingers dipped into the front of Spencer's jeans and the taller girl swore her heart stopped. There was change in her - Spencer knew this. It was like Hanna needed, wanted her, just as much as Spencer did.

"W-We can't.."

Hanna stopped her motions momentarily to crawl up Spencer's body. "We can't leave, either. The asshole set the traps, like always does."

A lump formed in Spencer's throat. "F-Father will-"

A quick, firm kiss by Hanna shut her up.

"Don't talk. For once, I'm going to take care of you."

There was only one time in Spencer's life when she'd felt truly scared - it had been when she'd been left with Byron and Aria for the night, while her father was at a convention. The temperature in the house was too cold, and Byron had advanced on her, telling her that he could keep her warm.

That night, Aria had saved her. And Spencer hadn't even thanked her.

But this - this was a whole different level of fear, because Hanna was gone.

Spencer had showered and waited until her dad had left before going downstairs. She'd planned to break the door down, because her father had been keeping his keys, and Spencer hadn't seen Hanna for two weeks. Not since they'd made love on her bed.

Except..Hanna was gone. The room was empty.

Panic struck her. No. He..hadn't. Peter...he hadn't gotten rid of her. No, not her angel. Not her Hanna.

So Spencer had been surprised when she'd raced upstairs and into her room to find the missing blond staring at a painting she'd done a few years ago.

Oh my God. Spencer rushed forward and crushed Hanna in a hug. Tears were streaming down te brunette's cheeks. "Don't you ever do that to me again, Hanna! Don't you ever, don't you ever scare me like that. I thought you were-"

Spencer only just realized that Hanna was free. "How in the hell-"

Hanna dug a hand into her pocket of her sweatpants and dangled Spencer's keys at her. "I stole them. I knew you wouldn't mind."

Spencer's lips curved into a small grin. "What am I going to do with you?"

Hanna's eyed traveled over to Spencer's bed. "I've got a few ideas..."

Spencer didn't ask for her keys back.

Spencer didn't know what she'd first thought when she'd woken up.

But she knew that something was wrong. Something was very, very wrong.

There was something heavy in the air. Spencer crawled out of bed and walked out into the hall.

It was quiet. Peter usually listened to the radio as he slept (they didn't own TVs), but there was nothing coming from his room. Spencer poked her head in his room. The bed was a mess.

And it was empty.

No. Her angel. Her angel. No.

Spencer raced down the stairs. She was so upset she almost didn't see Hanna standing in the kitchen.

"Hanna?" Spencer snapped on the lights and immediately wished she hadn't.

Her father lay motionless on the floor. His limbs were sprawled out and bent at awkward angles.

His face had been bashed in to the point that he was barely recognizable. Blood colored the tiled floor.

Hanna stood a few feet away, with Spencer's metallic bat in her hands. It was soaked with her dad's blood, and Hanna was just standing there.

"H-H-Hanna..."

Hanna finally looked up at Spencer. There were scratches down her face. A chunk of her hair was missing. Her eyes were bloodshot. "He..."

"Hanna." Spencer's voice was strangled. "W-what did you do?"

Hanna's grip tightened on the bat. "He..said...he caught me sneaking out. I just...I just wanted some food, Spencer. That's all. I wanted food. And he...he blamed you. He...he said that you were disconnecting from him, and that..he..he said it was time you learned your lesson."

Spencer swallowed.

"He was going to, Spencer. He was going to hurt you. I saw the bat and I grabbed it. And then I just..." Hanna burst into tears, the bat clattering to the door. And then she was in Spencer's arms, and Spencer was soothing her. She was whispering comforting words to her.

It all happened in a blur. A neighbor had called the police because of the commotion in the Hastings' house. There was questions and pictures were taken. Statements were taken.

A notebook was read and a video tape was watched.

Phone calls were made. A trip to the hospital followed.

There, it was a whirlwind of chaos. Hanna was in x-ray machines and cat scans. Blood was drawn. Rape kits were done.

Mother was reunited with daughter.

Everything happened so fast Spencer couldn't keep track of everything. But it was all over - she and Hanna, were free.

Two months later

"One hundred twenty-one days."

"Seventeen hundred, seventy-five thousand, three-hundred sixteen minutes."

"Sixteen weeks."

Spencer panned widened the view of the camera so she and Hanna were both in the frame. The camera in front of them had been on for an hour. Hanna's walls were light pink, like Spencer had imagined. There were a dozen or so cards and flowers that littered her desktop and dressers. Every so often, Hanna's mother would poke her head in to check on her daughter. Hanna would reassure her that she was fine - and she was, along as she had her savior.

"That was how long I had been in captivity for. My soul, my hope, my faith and my trust had all been broken. And I wasn't sure..."

Spencer wiped away the tears that had slowly seeped out of Hanna's eyes.

"I wasn't sure I was strong enough to overcome it. But then I met Spencer. And Spencer...Spencer made me strong again. Spencer gave me hope."

Spencer enveloped Hanna in a hug. "You gave me hope, Hanna. I saw a light in you that had since died in me. You were the one who made me feel whole."

Hanna reached around Spencer and shut off the camera with the remote. She crawled into Spencer's lap and laid down, draping her blanket over them.

"And you were the reason I survived. Spencer Hastings, you are my savior."

Spencer kissed Hanna's lips before she could start crying again. "I love you, Hanna. You will always be my angel."

"I love you, too, Spencer."

There was a tough road ahead of them. It didn't need to be said. It didn't need to be acknowledged. And they weren't worried. They had each other.

And isn't that all they ever needed?

Sooo, what did you guys think? Please, please review.

What to expect next: The next chapter of Love is a Four-Letter Word But So is Hate or A Little Thing Called Love.

- I have yet to decide. One of them will be updated, don't worry!

After that: The full installment of Unhinged

Thanks, you guys!