"She doesn't remember me." 

Elijah finally speaks after the whole car ride in silence.

We just left the diner, trying to get intel on one of the cooks in it. Apparently, he's been double-dipping in smalls gangs as well as ours.

While we were there the beautiful girl I saw at the club last night was working. Her gorgeous golden eyes on full display this time, no mask to conceal them. The way she looked in the tight servers' uniform made me need to take a cold shower when I returned home.

A very cold shower

"She thinks you're dead, E," I empathize.

"Who the fuck do you think is beating on her?" His voice booms from inside the car, "I'll kill the bastard."

I have no idea what sick son of a bitch would hit on such a gorgeous creature. I'm sure some low life scum she calls a boyfriend.

Ugh, boyfriend

My throat constricts at the thought. I had only seen the girl's eyes and yet that is what I dreamt of last night. Her in my arms, having her red-stained lips on mine. I don't know what it was about her that I just had to know. Elijah seemed stunned by her, he had our tech team look into her.

Just then had I realized, that I've known the girl my entire life- well I've known of her.

Now, I know we'll be keeping a closer eye on her

"I'm going to find him," I state firmly, "When I do, I will kill him,"

Pulling up to the gang house, I turn off the car and face Elijah.

"We're going to get her."

***

"What the hell do you mean, it's her mother." I seethe, staring my informant from the police department. I wanted to slap the shit out of him for telling me something so stupid. 

What kind of mother beats her child? 

This new information only angered me more. The young girl obviously had multiple jobs. From the record her mother has, it looks like she's the only one providing. Then she gets beat on top of that? 

"T-t-the street cameras only see her driving to work a-and then home," He stutters, "It's also known her mother, Margaret Vargas, is a big-time addict. The neighbors have multiple noise complaints on file-" He trails off looking through papers before picking one up. "For breaking objects and excessive screams."

I slap him, for his stupidity. Why didn't they look into this sooner? Did they need a sign to point them to obvious the abuse?

The abuse is from her mother.

I couldn't get over it

"Our mother is beating her?" Elijah asks himself from the back of the room. I turn to see him staring at the computer screen. On it was Rose walking to the rusted junk car wiping her tears. She was dressed in the same diner uniform from earlier.

"I'm going to get her," He moves towards the door, teeth gritted.

"Not alone," I grab him by his arm, "We have to be smart about this."

I see it in his eyes, the anger brewing within him. I see the guilt that he tries so desperately to hide. He thinks it's his fault. I know it's not. I know he had no choice in what happened that night.

Eleven years ago

"La atraparemos, hermano, a su debido tiempo." I place my hand on his shoulder, reassuring my distressed best friend.

(We'll get her, brother, in due time)

"Debemos."

(We must)

***

I slam the door shut of the house. Angry, tired, and ready to start some shit.

"Lorena!" Her gravely voice seethes.

I hate that name, all because of her, The way she says it makes it sound like one of the foulest curse words out there. I use to take such pride in my first name. The way it was different, no one I'd ever met had that name. My father used to say it was because I was one of a kind:

'His one and only angel'

He'd say, tucking me into bed every night.

'You and your brother are the light of my life'

"Lorena! Don't you hear me fucking calling you?" My mother's screeching voice erases my father's sweet nothings, "I need that fucking money," She grabs onto my arm, uneven nails digging into my skin.

"I told you I don't have it," I say trying to remove her nails, "I used the last of it to pay the water bill,"

She moves her hands to my hair, tugging at it.

"You just can't do anything right, huh? I give you a slice of responsibly and you go blow it?" She drags me into the living room.

"You know that I get the drugs before you pay the bills!" She throws me on the floor, "Do I have to do everything for you? You have been a pain in my ass since before you were even born. I should've had that abortion that I wanted,"

"Then you killed the love of my life,"

Kick

"As if it couldn't get any worse, you killed my darling boy,"

Kick

"I should have gotten my tubes tied after having him, but your father wanted his 'precious little girl'." Her voice mocks my father's words. 

She leans in closer.

"His 'lovely little angel'." She continues, "The 'light of his life'."

These were the words that I'd replay in my head to get a sense fo comfort. I'd wish every night for the last eleven years for me to, just once, hear it from his lips again.

Slap

"Now look at where he is." She's hysterical by now, "Dead."

She grabs my hair again, yanking it harder.

"And all for his princess," She cries, "He left me, all alone." Her voice gets weaker,

If she wasn't such a bitch I'd feel bad

"How do you think he would feel that his princess isn't as pure as he thought. Now you can't even do your part and bring money home. I should pimp you out, I mean, you please men for free already,"

And that's where the bitchyness comes in

"I wish it was you," She gets close to my face, looking me dead in the eyes, "I wish it was you who would've died in that crash."

Trust me, me too

She throws my head back, stomping into the kitchen.

Her words don't even hurt anymore, some of them are true and I accept that. I should've died in that crash, I am worthless, I will never amount to anything.

But there is one that is not true, unfortunately, is that I'm a whore. I am actually a virgin and will probably die one. I may never get the chance to treat a child the way I should've been treated. That is what makes me sad. 

I hear her stomps come back into the living room. In her hand, a metal object reflects off the dim living room lights - a knife.

I crawl back to the best of my abilities, her face lights up at the sign of my distress.

"You didn't get to die in that crash. So I'm going to fix fate and make happen what didn't get to happen." She stalks towards me, sharp knife on full display.

I'm okay with dying, but I'll be damned if it's at her hands

I look around, for anything that could stun her enough for me to get to my feet. I see a beer bottle lying next to the coffee table. I might be able to break it and slash her with the edge.

So many times I've thought of her death and how I would go about it. Never in any of those visions did I see myself fighting for my life and panicking on a weapon.

I grab the bottle, hitting it as hard as I can on the leg of the table.

It doesn't break

Her smirk gets wider as she sees my failed attempt at protecting myself.

"You're so useless, you can't even save yourself." She laughs, jolting forward she bores my thigh with the knife. Sauntering back to watch me in pain.

I grip the bottle in my hand tighter, trying to do anything to make the pain subside.

"This will hurt me more then it hurts you," She falsely pouts, "Just kidding."

She again jolts forward, but this time she keeps the knife there turning it in the wound. It was, in fact, not that painful. It felt like a hot punch, the amount of blood leaving the wound every time she turns the knife is what got me the most.

Knowing pain all too well, I know that it's the adrenaline. When it wears off, my leg will hurt like a bitch.

If I'm alive to feel it

"I'm going to enjoy this." She states a shit-eating grin spread on her face.

I reach my arm around, smashing the empty bottle on the side of her face. Her body falls on top of me immediately. Knife still stuck through my thigh.

Pushing her off of me, I try to stand. The stretching of my muscles around the knife is excruciating. I would have fainted in different circumstances, but right now I need the first aid kit.

Which, unfortunately, was in the bathroom.

Doing a little mix of both crawling and limping, I make my way to the downstairs bathroom pulling the small white box out from the cabinet.

Getting the needle and string ready, I pull out the knife. Eyes rolling to the back of my head from the incomprehensible pain.

"Mierda."

(Shit)

I try to my best abilities, to stitch up my leg. I've only had to do it once before and it was on my cheek.

With a lot less blood

Looking around at the bathroom, the once white tiles were camouflaged in red. My hands stained with a mixture of blood and salty tears. 

I peek from behind the door into the living room. My mother's body lay face down on the carpet. I didn't know if she was dead or alive.