I'm perusing around the art department while waiting for either Amber to get out of her class or Lashes to ditch her date. I pass by a classroom only to stop when I notice a young Hispanic girl painting.

It's beautiful.

She's doing an oil painting, which takes time and an incredible amount of patience. She's not finished and I can tell by how there are parts where her charcoal sketch shows. The image is stunning even though it's unfinished.

It's a portrait of a cancer patient who's lost all of her hair. Whoever she's painting is very beautiful. With how this young girl is painting her she makes this unknown woman's frailty a strength and part of her loveliness. Elegant and strong is what I get from it, especially how the woman has her palm cupping her chin with her slender fingers delicately touching her cheek.

It's one of hope.

Nothing like mine.

A tinge of jealousy nips at me.

"You're the complete opposite of me."

I make the girl jump and she turns around putting her brushes down. "I'm sorry."

"You're painting it's so hopeful despite the circumstance. I have more of a darker vision and underlying themes in mine. It's refreshing to see."

She smiles. "Thanks. It's my cousin."

"Did she make it?" I ask with no filter.

She pushes some of her coal black hair behind her ear. "Yeah, she's in remission."

"That's great."

Her eyes are tired but not hauntingly exhausted like mine. Hers are clearly worn from working hard. "You should make her lips a soft apple red to accentuate her elegant frailty."

She looks at it then back at me with wide eyes. "That's great advice, thanks. My name's Gabriella." Walking over she offers me her hand to shake but pulls it away once she sees all the paint. "Sorry—"

I stretch out and shake it. "Georgiana Wilkinson. You're talking to a messy finger painter, no worries. You look a lot better than I do when I paint. I have it all over my clothes."

She erupts into a big smile. "Do you go here?I've never seen you before."

"No," I say pointing my finger behind me as if Amber is going to conjure up from out of nowhere. "My twin does and I'm just visiting. I thought I'd check out the art department here and compare it to the art university I went to back in Rhode Island. Needless to say, it's a lot different."

Her eyes widen. "You didn't go to—"

"Yeah." I interrupt with a bitter smile. "I didn't finish though. There were some... circumstances that came up so..." I let my sentence die away.

"But you got in. You went there for finger painting," she asks in awe.

I just nod.

The girl bites her plump lip and I can tell she's contemplating what to say next. Fidgeting with her paintbrush, she says, "I've been wanting to apply there, but I don't think I'm good enough to get accepted so I've been going here."

I hum, walking around, examine her work. "Art is about risk. No offense but you'll probably only learn so much here. I think you should take a leap." Pausing I try to decide if my next comment will help or not. "I... could put in a good word for you. We didn't part on good terms but they respect my work and know I have a good eye for others. If you put my name down you'll at least get an interview, I think."

"Seriously? Do you mean that?"

"Yeah, just don't expect much in their opinion of me," I say abashedly. "But my name may get your foot in the door."

"Yes, please, thank you."

She runs to her bag finding paper and a pen. I write my info down for her. "Call them and use my name. Hopefully, they hear you out and don't hang up but tell them I saw your work and think you have incredible potential. Also, fill out an application. It never hurts to try."

We part with her thanking me profusely. I walk out of the art building and check my phone to see if Amber or Lashes had texted or called and there's nothing. My stomach rumbles and I sigh. "Time to go get some dinner."

Leaving the campus, I text Amber and Lashes to let them know I was going into the city to get some food. The night life here is electrifying and college students roam along with adults. Honestly, in Rhode Island we all stayed at the university and never really went out.

As I walk down a row of businesses and clothing stores all with nice brick exteriors, I start to wonder what I want to do with my life. I'd love to be the one to invest in talent like Gabriella's. An empty building catches my eye where it's dark with no one around it. I walk across the street and peer in. It's spacious with white walls. It'd be a perfect place for an art studio and a great way to display art from some of the college students and locals here. My eyes widen and I realize how all my years of loving art, yet never displaying my own, could be used.

I'd display other people's art.

I want to own a gallery.

My hand touches the cool window of the empty building. I always struggled with wanting my art to always remain private, yet never knowing what to do with all this knowledge and skill.

Now I know.

A sharp pull rips my head back and causes the roots of my hair to scream. A large arms circles around my waist, pinning my hands down, rendering them useless. My back is pressed into a muscular body as my feet are nearly lifted off the ground and I'm taken further into the alley. A hand clamps my mouth, keeping me from shouting. The smell of expensive cologne makes my head pound in a dangerous rhythm along with my heart.

"Shhh, Shhh, Shhh, Shhh, Shhh." Dallas's voice is haughty and revolting against my ear. I kick out my legs and do everything in my power to escape him but am no match for a man in his late twenties.

His hand slides to my waist spinning me to face him. I can feel a dry heave coming on as he rubs his thumb slowly around the top of my hip. My throat is raw, burning from my unleashed screams against his palm. He seizes my body with his strong arm crashing me against him too intimately for my liking and trapping my arms at my sides. He pushes me roughly deeper into the alley and further away from the crowds of people. My only hope of being saved vanishes.

He shoves me hard against the wall and knocks the right air out of me. My lungs ate unable to fully expand from the pressure, causing my head to spin Small, shallow breaths move past my lips as my body being to burn for oxygen. When my vision starts adapting to the dark alley I can make out another figure behind Dallas. Dallas's face is right in front of mine and despite the danger I'm in, I can't help what comes out of my mouth.

"Not much of a pretty boy anymore, huh?"

His face is swollen, bruised, and deformed for the beating he took from Adonis. Purple, yellow, and green mix together, in an unflattering color combination. There are shiny glued parts on his cheek from it being busted open.

Dallas spins me around smashing my face against the wall. The gritty brick exterior I was admiring before is now torturing me. "You're quite the little vixen, making Red Light's bike look like something the Easter bunny vomited up." He leans in using his body to squish mine against him and the wall causing the brick to scratch up my chest. "And don't even get me started on you getting my face bashed in by that dick."

Footsteps come toward us until Mohawk guy with all his piercings is staring at my squished face. He has no eyebrows and a wretched face tattoo of the word Anarchy where his right brow should be. "This is only a little personal, doll. Mostly, you're going to be our messenger."

He slides his finger down my cheek. "It's a shame. You're a pretty thing, but..." The sound of a switchblade snapping out of its cage makes me start fighting Dallas's hold on me, scraping, and rubbing my face against the brick. "There's nothing better I can think of than giving you a similar scar on your left side. Like yin and yang."

My heavy breathing doesn't even compare to the anger surging in me. Mustering up all of my strength, I push against the wall enough to smash the back of my head against Dallas's nose. The agile movement causes me to stumble and go face-first to the ground.

I stick my hand out to catch my fall and feel a sharp pain when it collides with the pavement. I cry out from the impact and try to scuffle away, but someone steps on my back pinning me to the ground. It's dark and there's no way people can see us. The loud traffic would drown out my cries and I know no one will hear me, but despite that, I still try.

I dry heave from angry screaming so hard and the guys chuckle at my reaction. I turn my head and glare at them. At this moment fear should be slithering around me like an army of snakes but there's none, only a burning rage.

The large booted foot lifted from my back, allowing space for a deep breath. Dallas straddles my back and he grabs my arm turning me around roughly. He snatches my face covering my mouth and digging his fingers into my jaw as he begins shaking my head back and forth.

"I'm going to enjoy this. You can thank Adonis for it too. He messes with mine. We mess with his." He sings the last part out and jeers at me. "We've been searching for a weak spot and here you come waltzing in. The perfect prize."

He repositions his hand under my jaw. I whip my head out of his grasp then bite down on the pressure point between his thumb and index finger. I taste blood and hear him roar. He lifts his body to rip his hand out of my hold giving me the perfect opportunity to thrust all my leg power into his groin.

I knock the breath right out of him as his body crumples on itself. He goes down beside me and rolls away, wheezing. Red Light lunges at me, but I scramble away making a run for it. I hear Dallas wail and I realize I ran the opposite way. I turn and make a dash for the street that's so far away now.

Make it. You can make it.

A body slams hard into me and every single muscle in my body gives and shrieks. My diaphragm spasms as all the air is emptied out of me. The pain is so intense I'm trying to catch my breath once my body hits the ground, smacking my head on asphalt.

A ringing starts low in my ears until all I can hear is that. Ignoring the pain in my head, I struggle to my hands and knees as the other person scrambles up and pushes me back onto the ground. A dirt-caked boot steps on my right wrist that's already throbbing from my earlier fall.

In an instant time stops.

Oh God, no.

I want to beg, but I don't. I refuse.

"We're going to leave a calling card on your lovely face, but now...? What's the best form of punishment? From what I hear you paint... a lot." I hear the superiority in Red Light's question, the threat, like the devil himself, is slithering his tongue.

My head starts buzzing like there's a swarm of bees inside it. My fingers start clawing at the ground like crazy and it looks as if my hand is no longer my own. It's foreign with a life all of its own like it's the Thing from the Addams Family.

Red Light twists his foot mockingly and my skin stretches at every turn he makes. My eyes squeeze shut, knowing what's coming.

And it did.

The snap.

The fracture, but not the one in my head.

No.

It's like the sound of a big stick being snapped in half. The pain is instantaneous, sharp, blinding and then numbness. I bite down on my lip drawing blood.

I'm not going to scream.

I won't give him the satisfaction.

When he removes his boot, I see my wrist deformed and twisted in such a peculiar way my mind starts to go in denial. He bends down yanking me up by my hair as I huff and puff sounding like a baby making a silly noise.

"Why aren't you screaming? What's wrong with you?" he asks and I can see the glimmer of confusion in his dull brown eyes.

I grit my teeth.

The sound of clinking metal gains both of our attention as Dallas stands over me unbuckling his belt. "You're going to pay for that."

A sick thump drops all the way into the pit of my stomach as Red Light springs up. He fists Dallas's shirt throwing his face right in his. "You do that then we can't protect you." Red Light growls out. "He'll kill you without hesitation. Do you understand?"

I should run, I'm trying to will myself to run, but the pain is consuming and my body is at its limit.

Come on, you stupid body... Move!

Dallas fixes himself then rips the knife from Red Light's pocket. "Fine, but I get to leave the calling card."

I can't fight.

All my energy has been drained as Red Light grabs my face turning it to the left for Dallas's view. He touches my cheek with the tip of the blade.

"Don't blind her and don't go too deep. It needs to be superficial, you got that?"

Dallas glares at him. "Yeah, I got it."

There's no ticking seconds or moment of suspense. He slices my cheek open and it's a bizarre feeling. It's like my skin was as soft as room temperature butter. I don't feel anything at first, but then the burning starts as well as the throbbing. Warm liquid pours from the open wound and some of my blood gets into my eye. The whole left side of my face is on fire as I give no sound, not even a whimper.

"What is with this chick? She should be screaming or something." Red Light's voice croaks.

Dallas turns me around but I can't see because of the blood in my eyes. He lifts me up a little off the ground and the image of Adonis doing it to him flashes in my mind.

My ribs are throbbing along with my head. I probably have a concussion. My vision starts fading but my phone ringing stops me from completely losing consciousness.

Dallas yanks my phone out of my pocket. "It's her sister."

"Ignore it," Red Light demands. "Time to drop her off."

The next thing I know my vision goes black.

*

"So, Georgiana, I hear you're deaf in your left ear. Have you been able to hear anything since the accident."

Deaf?

I sit at a tiny table that seems like it's the size for a child.

I can hear just fine.

But my head shakes slowly back and forth.

What? Why am I saying no?

My curls hang stiffly with no bounce to them at all. When I glance up at the therapist all there is, is a human blob. She gets up and takes out a piece of paper with some paint from a cabinet and walks back over.

"How about we paint together today. No more questions, we'll just have fun okay?!"

I nod.

No. I don't want to paint right now!

I can't my wrist was literally snapped in half.

The blob of a woman pushes the blank sheet of paper to me with some water and paint. I stare at it for a second then dip my finger in the blue paint and start painting at a miraculous speed. My fingers dip into different colors combining them to make different hues of blues and soon I'm done.

"That was fun," I say without consent. My skin prickles at how small and whimsical my voice sounds.

The therapist then grabs the finger-painting. "Georgie, this is amazing. Have you always been able to do this?"

My head shakes back and forth again. "My head hurts. My vision went black and something happened in my head so I painted it."

"Stay here for a second okay?" She goes to the door and I stay sitting.

Hearing whispers I get up, but my limbs feel weird, smaller. I stand at the door, pressing my right ear against it.

"She finally talked since the accident, but there's something else I need to talk with you about." There's silence for a minute then the therapist starts speaking again, but everything is muffled. A shooting pain in my head makes my hands grip my curls and for me to whimper.

Her pain twisted face morphs into a blank expression as her limbs loosen and her posture stretches until she's standing straight up. Walking to the mirror until my little round face and big creamy blues stare at me, something cold shivers down my spine, but my reflection doesn't move or shrug. It's like the child is hollow. Tilting her head with that numb expression, her mouth moves. "Why won't you remember me?"

My eyes pop open.

"Holy shit!" Dallas's voice shouts in fear.

"What?" Red Light barks out.

I take in my surroundings and realize I'm in the backseat of a car that Red Light is driving, while Dallas looks at me completely freaked out.

"She just opened her eyes like she's possessed or something."

Intense pain explodes in every inch of my body, especially my head, wrist, and ribs. The blood on my face is drying and making my skin itch. I take deep breaths trying to push back the pain. My eyes dart around then all of a sudden still on the foggy glass window.

"Dude, she's freaking me out. Get there faster. She may be having a stroke or something. If she ends up dead..."

"Calm down!" Red Light barks out. "She can't die from a broken wrist and a small cut on her face. Stop panicking. We're almost there."

I see it.

The dark shadow forming in my brain and the small spot in the back of my head starts to crack.

No.

My arm quakes and my mind splits in half as the image takes shape. A pulse to my hand makes a small whimper escape my mouth as it passes to my wrist.

I have no control over my body as my left hand reaches up to my face and my body snaps up. For once I see what I'm painting and for the first time fear coils in me at what I'm doing.

I'm using my own blood to paint on the foggy window.

"What the hell? Red Light we've got to dump her, dump her now. She's possessed I swear to God. She's using her blood to paint on your window."

"What the... she's probably trying to write help or something."

Seeing my episode for myself and how manically my fingers move and contort makes me think Dallas is right. Somehow with my blood and fog I'm painting a woman's body. Her arms are wrapped around her mouth and her back is arched like a hunchback. My fingers start working on her hair. The car makes a sudden stop and I hit the seat in front of me gasping at the pain.

"Go now, dump her now!" Red Light yells in frantic anger.

Arms wrap around me and I'm yanked away from the window. I scream bloody murder, clawing and scratching at Dallas. "I have to finish! I have to finish!"

This must be what happens when people try to pry me away from my episodes. I remember my classmates' expressions and now understand.

"You don't scream once when we cut you or break your wrist, but now you do?" Dallas grunts.

He chucks me on the ground making me stop as my body howls in pain. He disappears into the car as it hauls off and away from me. I can't get up and my good hand is covered in blood.

Looking up I see they dropped me in front of a hospital ER. Now that I'm alone I finally let out a wail and start sobbing uncontrollably and clutching onto my wrist holding it close to my chest.

People come running out and someone runs back in yelling, "Help there's a girl she needs help!"