Well, I was in a writing mood and since the prologue was practically already written, here's my chapter!

Enjoy guys!

Chapter One - Ashley

There should be a law that parents shouldn’t be allowed to get remarried. Or at the very least the kids involved have the ultimate decision. It’s not that we don’t want our parents to be happy, because I’d like for nothing more than for my dad and I to be vacationing somewhere, smiling and having the time of our lives. And it’s not that we even mind our parents dating; I personally loved it when my dad was dating the supermodel (I forgot her name) because I got the latest advice on fashion and went to some of the coolest parties. It’s not falling in love or needing to be close to someone what wigs us out. It’s the fact that ninety percent of the time parents choose to marry someone who is crazy, evil, or just plain weird.

My dad hit the stepparent jackpot when he married Trish. She was definitely pretty on the outside with her long blonde hair, tan skin and bright blue eyes. But the rest of her was disgusting. She was nice enough at first, but as soon as the ink was dried on the marriage license, I saw who Trish really was.

I’m not gonna bore you with all the fine details, but I will say that if it weren’t for her I wouldn’t be stuck here. She got what she wanted and whether my dad knows it or not, he’s fallen for her trap. And while she’s off spending his money and having the time of her life, I’m stuck in this place where everyone’s treated like they’re gonna snap any minute.

Honestly, if it weren’t for Steph and Crystal, I would have snapped ages ago. They’ve kept me sane for as long as I’ve known them, and they’re the best friends I’ve ever had, even though we’re all so different. Before coming to Life House I wasn’t used to being around people in different social circles than I was. My dad paid for me to go to all the best schools which naturally meant being around people with social grace and etiquette. Here I’d be lucky if someone said “excuse me” after belching.

I was a whiny little snit when I first came here, and I’ll never forget when Steph confronted me about my attitude. She’s never been shy and definitely doesn’t keep her opinions to herself. I’d refused to sit with anyone and speak, not wanting to socialize with weirdos and people that clearly weren’t people I’d want to be friends with. After about a week of it I think everyone was sick of me. So when Steph threw her lunch tray down next to mine I was a little worried. The therapists and aides all said she had anger issues, and I really didn’t want to get beat up by the rainbow haired freak. Luckily I didn’t get beat up, but the things she said to me were pretty harsh. I kind of hated how she randomly came up to me and called me a snob, but I knew she was right. After I apologized it was like she morphed into an entirely different person.

I think I did too, because life after that changed for me in the center. I dropped my little princess routine and accepted the fact that my dad wasn’t there to buy me out of the situation. I’ve just now been able to realize that he was responsible for putting me into the situation, even if it was Trish’s idea. I made friends with most of the other residents and we all got along, but Steph and I became close friends and stayed that way since.

When Crystal came I was one of the first people to talk to her. She was quiet and soft-spoken, but friendly. Talking to her was really soothing, and some of the things she said were so funny I was sure they could hear me laughing all the way down the hall. I’m not sure how it happened, but the three of us somehow decided to stick together. When life gets hard here, I know I have them at my side. It’s such a new thing to have real friends instead of those wanting to be around me because of my family’s money. Here money is irrelevant, so we’re all on the same page. I’ve never had real friends before coming here, so if one good thing can be said about Life House it’s that.

I know when I leave this place I won’t be able to count on the success my dad has. He’s young and good looking and so was my mom. I’m a little overweight with curly brown hair and freckles. I guess I can see why Trish wanted me out of the picture. I don’t fit in with how they look at all. I don’t want to be a trust fund kid, but I’m not particularly talented at anything, so I don’t know what I’ll do when my dad finally comes to get me.

All I know is that I’m not the girl I was when I got here. And it’s because of the residents that I’m different, not the therapists or any of that. If it weren’t for the other people here I’d still be Ashley the little princess.

And while I still may like the color pink with an unholy passion and would wear a tiara in a heartbeat, I can kick your butt and not look back. And believe me, when I see Trish, that’s exactly what I’m gonna do.

that was amazing Ash.
not gonna lie...
was surprised to see this posted.
but I found it so I'm up to speed...
for the most part.
who's writing next?

a bump while i write and a reminder for everyone to go get jb's cd :]

Chapter Two- Stephani

It was once said, in a very sappy Christmas movie, there is no such thing as a bad kid. However if you ask most parents, and even family members of ‘bad kids’ there is such a thing, they are the kids who scream & yell and piss parents off. I was that kid in my family. It wasn’t hard to be that kid in my family . I was fourth oldest of ten kids, not the oldest, not the youngest not even in the middle. My brothers and sisters were normal if there could be such a thing in the Brady Bunch family and they looked like they fit together. I didn’t and I was glad about it. I grew up with two older brothers, one who would ignore me because I was just his little sister and another who would sit on me and punch me in the face, and an older sister, she was nine minutes older but she was older we don’t look a thing alike, but I don’t look like anyone in the family. I also had three little brothers, one who doesn’t talk to me, one who threatens to kill me, and one who loves me, and three little sisters, my former best friend, the one I hate, and the one who is too innocent. I was the rebel of the family, I dyed my hair a lot, I had two tattoos by the time I was sixteen, I have nine holes in my ears.

I was a bad kid, at least according to the man who my mother married. I didn’t believe what he did, I argued, I cursed, I wore clothes he thought were bad. But I wasn’t bad. I was honest to myself and the world. But that wasn’t what they wanted. They wanted the next kid to fit into their perfect little family. The man who married my mother was a Pastor and he wanted his kids to reflect that life. I didn’t. I didn’t see the point of trying to be perfect when it was never the truth. I grew up with so many Pastor’s kids and youth leader kids and adult leader kids as my friends. But they were all just huge liars. They promised not to drink, not to have sex, not to curse. They all drank, and still do. Two are pregnant and I’m sure more are to come. And every single one of them cursed and have since forever. I think it’s stupid the way they lie to not only the world but themselves. I’m truthful and for that I am not allowed with my family. And I’m actually glad. I was forced out of the house when I was fourteen, sent to ‘life house’ and I couldn’t be happier. Aside from the fact that I never see my little brother and my little sister who both love me, I believe they are the only ones, I’ve never been happier.

I have a few ‘anger’ problems and when I have a problem with you. I’m vocal about it, not only am I vocal I’m physical. I’ve punched more boys and girls in their face than I can count. And I’m not sorry about it. Why should I be? People aren’t sorry when they call me a freak or a slut or a dyke or some stupid term that means less than the price of gas. Another saying, that for some reason people say is, Sticks and Stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me. Well that’s true. Words will not hurt me because I’ve blocked myself from the world and their dumb words with music, my one true release in this world. And yes sticks and stones could break my bones if people knew how to use them.

I wasn't the girl growing up who wore dresses and sweaters and totally appropiate outfits, instead I chose to wear bright colored shirts, jeans and totally inappropiate outfits. I love tank tops and shorts but that are way to short or way to bright. My hair is well a rainbow at times, currently six colors none of which are my natural black. I never wear shoes, they are so out of style and I always have an insane tan. I got my lips pierced a few weeks ago, and five more tattoos in the past four years. I'm a rebel without a cause. Corny right? But that's how people see me. I just wish I wasn't judged for my looks cause I'm not a bad kid. I'm just individual.

I think the person, well the people, who I can truly be Stephani around are Ashley and Crystal. Ashley was the princess we came from different worlds she was rich and normal while I was poor and a freak for the lack of a better word. She refused to talk to anyone at ‘life house’ at the beginning but that wasn’t the right thing for her to do. I was a brat just as well as she was and I was willing to bet I could break her. And I did but not in the way I thought I would, I broke her in a different way. But she broke me right back, she got past the forty layers I had put up. And then Crystal, poor little Crystal we just well Ash really just got her out of that shell, Crystal didn’t come alone unlike the rest of us, she came with her brother who made easy friends while Crystal was too quiet to. But that’s just how she fits in with Ashley and I. Ashley is the loud one who is nice. I’m the loud one who will beat the crap out of you in five seconds and Crystal, Crystal is the one who keeps us from killing each other.

All the therapists around here say the exact same thing, ‘When you are released you need to be able to face the one who hurt you the worst. You need to be able to see them and understand why you were sent here. Because it is a fault of your own not theirs.’ But I won’t face that man not with understanding. I will face him the same way he faced me. With clouded vision that lets me see only the bad and never the good. He has taken four years of my life. And I’m pretty sure if I ever do see him again I’ll take four of his, if not more. Rehabilitation is not my priority, damage is. But then again I’m just a bad kid.