Please Don't Leave Me Behind Again (Completed)

Chapter One

Wow, the reaction I got from everyone was...shocking. Thank you so much for all your comments, votes, and support. I smiled when I read your comments and saw your excitement. Now I'm only a little nervous posting the next chapter because I don't want to let you down. I hope you like it. Again, please comment and let me knew what you think. I love feedback from readers.

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Six years later:

**| Sang's POV |**

I ignored the burning in my throat as I carried another box into the kitchen and placed it on top of the table. I also ignored the aches of my bruised body when I had to lift the box up.

"Make sure it's all unpacked by tonight," my stepmother, Diane, huffed as she walked towards me, already in her robe. Her brown hair was plastered to her face, the messy bun doing nothing to hold the strands back. Her brown eyes were dull and I knew she was high on pain medicine. Again.

Her pain medicine became a quick addiction when she first started seeing the doctors and over the years it worsened. Now there wasn't a day when she wasn't high.

I tried to put some distance between us, recognizing the cruel gleam in her eyes as she came closer. Just as she walked past me, her arm lashed out and I flinched at the movement. My jumpiness wasn't in vain. As expected, she made contact. Her arm slammed into my side, her sharp elbow hitting just below my ribs, right where a bruise was. I clenched my teeth and hissed out a breath of pain. My eyes closed and I ignored her triumphant snicker. I barely heard her bedroom door close as I tried to relearn how to breathe again.

Breathe in.

One.

Two.

Three.

Breathe out.

Repeat.

Again.

I continued the breathing exercise until the pain subsided and I was able to force the ache to the back of my mind. When I finished working through it, I straightened up to get back to work, going outside to grab another box.

Two movers were going back and forth from the moving truck to inside the house, helping with the big furniture and heavier boxes. One of them looked only slightly older than me with brown hair, dark eyes, and a lean body. He was nice but he made me nervous. I didn't know how to respond to his smiles. The other one was older. I think they were a father and son duo.

As I walked passed the younger mover, I pretended to not see the smile he gave me as he tried to catch my attention. I stared at the ground feigning interest in the stone walkway as I felt his eyes on me. I bit at my lip and didn't relax until he disappeared into the house with his load.

I knew he wanted to talk to me but I didn't want to talk to him. And if I wanted to, I couldn't anyways. My stepmother made sure I couldn't use my voice today by making me drink a tall glass of lemon juice and vinegar last night. She went on her usual diatribe about men and how they only wanted one thing and she wouldn't allow me to give it to them. She refused to let me be like my mother. I already ruined one family; she didn't want me to ruin someone else's too.

She went on and on while I threw up the drink and my stomach contents all over the floor, my throat on fire. When she was done talking and I was exhausted and unable to even whisper, she sneered at me with disgust and told me to clean the mess up and go to bed. She didn't want to deal with me for the rest of the night.

And now, today, I was the one in charge of making sure everything was unpacked and put where it should be, and I couldn't say anything without going into a coughing fit. The movers probably thought I was mute since I haven't uttered a single word to them. They did ask about my dad but I just shook my head. He wasn't here to help. Just me.