Hello there! I am a new fanfiction writer, and I am just going to apologize to you all right from the start. This is my first fanfic I am posting and it is probably going to be one of the shabbier fanfics you read in your lifetime... I read a lot of fanfics and I don't typically write them, so I am probably going to be pretty bad at this. Plus I am a noob with how to upload chapters, so I am kind of curious if I am doing this right...? Anywho~ I hope that that if you actually read this, then it won't burn your eyes with how horrid it is... I would love to get some feedback on how I could improve, because I am going to admit that I am not an amazing writer. My one friend who I will probably mention in the future as The Amazing Bush, (don't ask... it is a weird code name I know) well she is an amazing writer and I don't think she posts fanfics, but she should. I am not very good at it, but I will try to improve as I go. So basically, I would love some feedback on this fanfic. If you think there is any way I could improve, then please go ahead and tell me! I will probably update once a week or so, but if people actually like this fanfic then I will try not to make this a dead fanfic. (You know those ones that don't update for months.) Without further ado, here is my Adventure time Fanfic, Run Away.

(Disclaimer: I do not own Adventure Time or it's characters. All rights go to the proper owner of the show.)

Run Away

~Introduction: Fiona's Point of view~

The cold bitter air was cutting my skin like shards of glass. I didn't know where I was going but I knew I had to get out of there. Anywhere. It was still dark out and the sun hadn't even had the chance to rise. I tightened the straps on my old faded back pack to keep it from falling off my shoulders while I ran. I had on my old beat up converse, my newly ripped jeans and my Dad's old work jacket over top my blue long sleeve shirt. When I left, I barely had enough time to throw some clothes, hair brush, deodorant plus other hygiene things, and a picture of my dad, in my backpack before I heard him pounding on my door. Sam.

He was my so-called foster parent. After my dad died when I was fourteen I went to a few homes and orphanages, but I was finally sent to Sam when I was fifteen. At first he seemed normal, but in reality he was far from it. He had anger issues, really bad, and I was just who he turned to when he needed to let off steam. But Sam was careful with how he did things. He punched me in the stomach so my clothes would hide the bruises, and he pushed me down stairs then made me tell social services that I 'fell' down the stairs because I was clumsy. And they believed him for two years. If I tried to speak up, he'd just make my life an even bigger hell hole. I remember him burning my arms with an iron for telling the counselors at school that I didn't feel safe at home. He always found ways to get away with things. He told me that I should be grateful for having someone take me in. But for the past few weeks he has been weirder.

I caught him looking through my underwear drawer after I came back from the store a few months ago. Then he started to stare at me all the time; he even watched me sleep. I tried to lock myself in my room after school each day, telling myself I only have a few months left until I graduate, but he only took my door down. leaving me with no privacy besides a curtain in replacement of the door. But this morning was the last straw. I had to get out of there.

I woke up really early in the morning to his one hand over my mouth and the other gripping both my wrists. His eyes were glazed and he was obviously drunk, not that it surprised me, he always was.

"Sssshhh. Be a good little girl." he slurs in my ear, "Remember that I own you." He says with a wide crooked grin spread across his face. I tried to push him away but he only gripped my wrists harder.

"You better not fight me. Or else you will be punished." he snarls. He gets on top of me and pins me to my bed. I muffled a scream, and he slaps me across the face. I felt my cheek start to swell from the blow, but kept trying to get him off. I kicked and flailed, but he fought back twisting my wrists and digging his nails into my skin. I start to cry and he wipes the tear away with the hand that once covered my mouth.

"Don't cry. I am just getting started." he says with a crooked smile pressing his mouth to mine, hard. I turn my head and flailed even more, screaming at the top of my lungs before he swiftly punched me up the gut and covered my mouth with his hand once again.

"You little piece of garbage. After living here for almost three years and have caused nothing but trouble for me. I think it's time you pay your dues." He growls in my ear and trails his mouth down to my neck and starts to kiss it roughly.

I felt so defiled by him, I tried to tell the counselors at school, but no one listened. I tried to get help, but it seemed no one could see the reality and truth, except me. As soon as Sam adjusted his position I did what I had to, knee him in the groin and bite his hand.

He shouted and let his guard down for as long enough for me to slip out of his grasp and out of the bed. I ran and grabbed my backpack and shoved things I thought I would need in there, like clothes, a hair brush, deodorant, and a picture of my dad. Then I bolted to the bathroom and locked the door. Sam quickly followed, pounding on the bathroom door and trying to break in.

"GET OUT OF THERE FIONA!" he hollered increasing the force he was applying on the rickety door. Quickly, I shoved a toothbrush in my bag and some, feminine products in there as well just in case Mother nature decided to be a bitch.

I hurriedly opened the window in the apartment's bathroom that lead to the fire escape, but before I left, I saw Sam's wallet on the counter of the bathroom and opened it up, taking the two hundred dollars in cash that it contained before jumping out of the fire escape window. Just in time before Sam burst in there may I add. I bolted down the fire escape and it's ladder, but the latter didn't go to the ground all the way, due to the fact it was a rickety ass apartment complex to begin with, so I had to jump the 10 feet to the ground. I am not any kind of acrobat or parkour freak, so I ended up not being like a cat and hit the ground on my left side, thus ripping my jeans.

Now it was snowing outside on a early January morning in New York City with the temperature being in the single digits. I had fresh cuts and scrapes, bruised ribs, a gaping hole in my jean's lower thigh with a big gash in my skin where the fabric once was, and no where to go.