Broken and Still Alive

**Angel's POV** Chapter 1: Flight Angel's POV I lay on the cold, damp concrete floor, curled into a fetal position, my hands clamped over my head. Each thud, each sharp pain blooming across my skin, was a testament to my mother's rage. I had to protect my head, to keep the darkness at bay, to prevent another seizure. Those seizures… they only fueled her fury. No matter how hard she punched, how brutally she kicked my ribs, I couldn't make a sound, couldn't succumb to unconsciousness. Silence was survival. Even a whimper would cost me food, would cost me precious drops of water. I was already a skeleton draped in skin, every bone a stark reminder of my starvation. I was a walking, breathing corpse. But I had a plan. I had to endure this beating, this final assault, until she was exhausted, until the alcohol claimed her and dragged her upstairs to oblivion. Then, I would escape. Three days ago, she'd attacked me with a broken two-by-four, splintering the wood against my back. In her drunken haze, she’d missed a piece, a jagged shard just big enough for my purpose. For three days, I'd painstakingly, secretly, used it to loosen the screws on the bars that imprisoned me in this basement window. Tonight, I would crawl out, run to the horse barn, steal the black stallion – Midnight, I’d sometimes heard her call him – and let him carry me as far away from this hellhole as possible. Another blow landed, and the edges of my vision began to fray, turning a murky grey. I fought back, clawing at the encroaching darkness. I had to stay conscious. I had to escape tonight. I didn't know where I was going. I didn't know anyone in this small town, Dixon, Montana. I’d been trapped in this basement my entire life, never allowed outside. The only reason I knew the town's name was because I’d overheard her on the phone, spewing out our address to some unfortunate soul. I didn’t even know my ABCs, couldn’t read a word, and barely knew how to count. That was the first thing I was going to do when I got out of here – go to school. Learn. Live. I could feel her tiring. The blows were becoming weaker, less frequent. Soon, she would stumble upstairs, spew her venom, maybe land one last, pathetic kick before collapsing in front of the blaring television. She’d call me worthless, a mistake, a curse. I would know when she'd finally passed out because she'd stop cursing at the TV with slurred words. "This is what you get for ruining my life in the first place! I never wanted you! But he made me, that no-good piece of s**t! Then he decides to go and die on me! What did you think? That I would just let you have everything?" she spat, punctuating her words with one final, brutal kick to my ribs. A sharp, searing pain tore through me. I think she had broken something this time as I could barely breathe. She turned and staggered towards the stairs, muttering under her breath. The heavy door at the top slammed shut, and a tense silence filled the basement. An hour crawled by, marked only by the distant roar of the television and the muffled, intermittent curses. I waited, every muscle screaming in protest, every breath a painful reminder of my broken ribs. I needed to be sure she was truly unconscious. A few more minutes passed, stretched out like an eternity. Finally, the cursing stopped. Silence descended, heavy and absolute. I didn't have anything to pack. That was one small mercy in this desolate existence. She would never allow me any clothing, except for this thin, ragged cotton gown. It was practically see-through and offered little protection against the Montana chill, but it was all I had. Slowly, agonizingly, I crawled towards the window. The cold concrete stung my skin, and the pain in my ribs made each movement a symphony of agony. Using the edge of the window frame for leverage, I pulled myself up, my emaciated limbs trembling with the effort. I reached for the final screws, my fingers clumsy and weak. With a final, desperate twist, they came loose. The bars were heavy, rusted with neglect, but I managed to slowly, carefully, ease them outwards, creating a gap just large enough for me to squeeze through. One by one, I pulled myself outside and onto the cold earth. I landed with a muted thud, a wave of pain washing over me. Taking one last, fearful glance back at the house, ensuring my tormentor was still asleep, I stumbled towards the barn, ignoring the chorus of pain echoing through my body. The wind whipped through my long, raven hair, carrying with it the scent of pine and damp earth. I made it to the barn, my lungs burning, my vision blurring. The stallion, Midnight, was in his stall, his black coat gleaming even in the dim moonlight. I slid the bolt on the stall door open, and he shifted nervously, his eyes wide and white. He was frightened, but he calmed as I whispered to him, my voice hoarse and weak. "I can’t jump on you, boy! I am going to need your help. We have to get out of here," I whispered, my breath misting in the cold air. He seemed to understand. Miraculously, as if sensing my weakness, he kneeled down, lowering himself to the ground. I reached out, clutching his mane, and rolled onto his back. He stood up slowly, carefully, as if aware of my injuries. Then, with a powerful burst of energy, he surged forward, bursting out of the barn door and into the open night. We ran straight for the woods, the wind screaming in my ears, the branches whipping at my face. The stallion’s powerful muscles propelled us forward, carrying me further and further away from the house, from the basement, from her. We plunged deep into the woods, the trees closing around us like protective arms. After what felt like an eternity, the stallion slowed, finally stopping at the edge of a small, moonlit lake. He lowered his head to drink, his breathing ragged. And then, I heard it. The most beautiful wolf howl I had ever heard in my life. It was a pure, haunting sound, like a song sung by angels. But the stallion didn't share my appreciation. He reared up, his hooves pawing at the air, and I lost my grip, tumbling backwards to the ground. I landed hard, the pain exploding in my ribs, stealing my breath. Before I could even cry out, the stallion, panicked by the howl, whirled around and bolted, disappearing into the darkness. As I looked up, trying to catch my breath, my eyes landed on the source of the sound. Standing at the edge of the trees, bathed in the ethereal moonlight, was the most beautiful wolf I had ever seen. Its fur was pure white, almost luminous, and its eyes were an impossible shade of aqua, flecked with shimmering gold. "Great," I muttered to myself, my voice trembling. "I managed to escape the house of horror, only to be killed by the most beautiful wolf in the world." I scrambled backwards, pressing myself against the rough bark of a nearby tree. The wolf, its gaze unwavering, began to approach. My heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic drumbeat against the impending doom. My breath hitched in my throat, becoming shallow and ragged. Suddenly, everything started to go black. The world began to spin, the pain faded into a dull ache, and the fear receded like a tide. I closed my eyes, surrendering to the darkness, no longer wanting to feel the pain of death. I gave in, and darkness engulfed me.