A/N: this will have a touchy subject for some people, strong language, gore and just sad stuff. Don't like? Don't read! Thank you!
“Darkness cannot drive out darkness: only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate: only love can do that.”
― Martin Luther King Jr., A Testament of Hope: The Essential Writings and Speeches
You ran. Not caring where, how fast you were going or what you bumped into.
You just ran.
"And stay up there you little bitch!" your drunken father shouted while slamming your bedroom door. You hated him. He hut you and your mother whenever he was drunk. And when he wasn't, he would ignore you both. Your mother always tried to protect you, but he was too strong.
You could hear your mother. She was crying and telling him to leave you alone. You heard her crying in pain as he hit her too. You threw your little fist against the hardwood door and shouted at him. You listened to loud thumps travel up your stairs and to your room. He kicked open the door, sending you flying backwards. Your father hit you with a broom over and over again, calling you filth.
Soon enough, you lay unconscious in a small pool of blood and numb from pain. You father closed your door and locked it. He went back down to your mother. Only to hear her yelp in pain. He rushed over to her. Drenched in blood and beaten to death.
But he didn't kill her.
"So," a dark voice made him look up into bloody eyes. "you're the one causing all the racket." he said with a sinister smirk.
Before your father had any time to react, a baseball bat was bashed across his head.
He was dead.
You woke up about an hour later. Wincing from pain as you did so. The whole house was silent. This silence scared you more than the shouting.
You jiggled the lock with a bobby pin as you did so often and swiftly excited the room. As you made your way down the steep stairs, you noticed a lot of red.
You rushed down the steps and stood in shock as to what you saw. Your father, his head bashed open. Your mother suffered a similar fate. You could tell her death was a lesser sentence. Compared to your father, it looked like she had a scratch.
But that didn't change the fact that they were both dead.
"M-mommy?" you said coming closer to her corpse. "Mommy!" you cried shaking her body. Hoping she was only sleeping. But it was too late for her.
You were scared, frantic, and mortified. You stood and quickly ran. You bolted down the street as fast as your little legs could carry you. Being in only a thin white and blood stained night gown, you shivered violently.
You didn't care.
You just kept running.
*End Of Flash Back*
You made your way into a dark alley. Tears making your vision fuzzy, you trudged on. Your little legs finally gave out and you tumbled to the ground. Not even bothering to get up again.
'I don't care anymore.' you thought grimly. You were ready to die, here and now.
"Yo kid! What the hell ya doing out here?" you shifted your gaze to the obnoxious voice before you. He was a tall man with deep auburn hair with a cowlick and blood red eyes hidden behind dark shades. He wore a dark bomber jacket and carried a baseball bat decorated in nails. He looked down at you with a confused look, cleverly masked by a smirk.
"Nothing." you responded blankly, causing his smirk to grow. You felt a pair of hands go under your arms and yourself being lifted from the ground.
You could see his bright red eyes slightly shift as he looked you over.
"Well, ain't you a trooper!" he laughed. You stared at him, un amused. "What are you doing out at such a dangerous time of night, hm?" he gave a toothy grin.
You still stared at him as you tried to process everything that happened to you tonight. But you could only think of two words to sum it up.
"Who?" he asked incredulously.
"Mom and dad." he looked at you that could be classified as pity, but he was too scary to pull it off.
"What about you kid? You look pretty fucked." you glared at the ground with your (e/c) orbs.
"Dad never liked me very much." you said coldly. He laughed. He actually laughed.
"You don't seem too bad kid. And if that's coming from me, take it seriously." you lazily stared at him.
"The names Al. What about you kid?"
"________." you answered plainly.
"Alright ________, how about I take you home with me."
"Do I have a choice?" you asked sarcastically. He looked surprised at your sassy-ness. Especially for a four year old. He chuckled and said.
"Nope." he pulled you closer to him so he was carrying you so your head could rest on his shoulder. You drew into the warmth he offered, nuzzling your head into his neck. He slung his bat over his shoulder and proceeded to walk to his home with you in tow.