"Why are you holding me captive," I asked. "You've done enough damage. Do you know how much trouble my father has put me through? I just want to live life to the fullest. Why are you working for them!" I asked, letting out a sob. "I don't have to tell you anything. Shut the hell up!" Nathan yelled at me. He kicked me in my side and I cried out in pain. He's such an arse. I can't wait to get out of here. Where is my group of Superman when I need them the most? (Sequel To Abused, Kidnapped, Raped... You most likely won't understand what's happening unless you read the first book)

What happens when a girl name Autumn Avery Willow has no friends. Is abused by her father, because she looks like her mom who died in a car accident when she was 14. Then her father kicks her out the house. She just so happens to run into a band she has never heard about before. One Direction. Right, when she thinks it can't get any worse it does... Or will one of the band mates fix her? Will she pull herself together? Will someone be there to pick her back up when she falls? Read to find out... A/N: Warning, this book was written I think in 2012- 2014 so it's extremely carroty. It's so carroty, I cringe. The book is not offensive in any way but may be triggerin gfor some people. Sorry. Be Alert)

Millions, no trillions, of questions raced through my wandering mind. Why is this happening to me? Why now? How will the boys react? Will I make it? ... Am I going to get my wish of being with my mother again?... Many people always said "be careful what you wish for", and now I see why. I spent the last ten years of my life wishing I was dead, wishing my life would be over, but three words, "You have cancer", changed everything: I don't want to die: I want to live. The ironic thing is that it took a death sentence to make me see the value of life. And now that I actually want to live, I'm probably going to die, but I guess that's just life, right?

Three things happened simultaneously: the beer bottle dropped from his hand and shattered on the floor, my father let out a deep, throaty chuckle, and his hand had struck me across the face. I put my hand on the spot he had just hit and felt the heat and sting of the impact. I looked down at the broken beer bottle, still holding my hand on my cheek, and I felt a heavy boot kick into my waist. I fought back tears and stayed silent. After a few moments, I heard the footsteps retreating and the sound of a door slamming shut. When I was sure he was gone, I looked away from the broken bottle, and tears welled up in my eyes. I never showed my weaknesses to my father, happiness was the last thing I wanted to give him. After a few minutes, I pulled myself off the floor and slowly approached my dresser, cautiously opening the top drawer and moving some socks out of the way. I pulled out a long blade, and with trembling hands, slid it across my wrist, adding to the collection of scars. I began to quietly sing a familiar tune that seemed to comfort me in times like this: “Heart beats harder, time escapes me, trembling hands touch skin, it makes it harder, and the tears stream down my face. If we could only have this life for one more day, if we could only turn back time…” My voice trailed off and I drifted to sleep.