Quote I made up that I wanna put somewhere but I'm afraid I'm gonna forget in five minutes:

Whitecoat: Nothing special about this one...

Max: What, the wings don't do it for you?

I forced my feet to slide through the carpet, into Dr. Martinez's clean tiled bathroom. My hair lay in greasy shags around my face, hanging in my heavy eyes like little curtains, the only thing protecting me from the unforgiving morning light. I was sure--and this is coming from a girl who spend her formadive years in a cage--that children waking up at six thirty in the morning was cruelly inhuman.

The tiles assaulted my nerve endings like ice cold water, sending chills up my legs, my back. I shivered. I'm flushing whoever invented the public school system down a porter-potty. See if I don't.

Dr. M.,---and Jeb---thought that, get it, we need a formal education.


I looked in the mirror, the reflection blurry through my hazy eyes. No growths, no second heads, no noticable deformities. Good day, I think.

I scooped my hair from my face, blinking back the sleep. I scratched my neck, stretching my arm over my head, my muscles stiff.

Something caught my eye, making my stomach instinctivley knot. I twisted my head, searching for it.

There. A black speck. I wiped it with my hand.

It didn't come off.

I rubbed it again, hard, until my skin was raw. It remained where it was, not fading nor smudging nor anything I wanted it to do.

Pitch black against my skin. I twisted my head until I could almost see the wall behind me.

It was seperated into thin, even lines, thick, then thin, then thick again.

Like a bar code.

I was clawing at it now, a sudden white flash of panic obstructing all sense and logic. I think I screamed.

No. No. No.

This wasn't happening. This. Was. Not. Happening.

I was fourteen. Fourteen. I didn't even have a life. First ten years in a cage. Next two years on the run. Six months in middle school.

I didn't know what I was doing when I screamed, again, in a semi-coherent language I could partially understand, "Fang! Fang! Jeb! Mom! Fang!"

I was sobbing, tears thick in my chest, still clawing at the back of my neck like a cat on a scratch board. My knees wobbled, knees painfully chattering against each other. Blood trickled down my neck.

"Max? Max?" Fang banged at the door. It was locked. I was still crying, letting the shit crash down on me like a wave. I fell to my knees, I think. Clawing. Scratching. Tearing.

I heard the crack of the door as someone forced it open. Someone was screaming. At me. Someone was curling their hands around my wrist, holding them together like make-shift handcuffs. I struggled, screaming something like, "Get it off, God fucking damnit, get it off!"

I heard my mom saying something, heard the kids crying. Fang was saying something, too. Jeb was somewhere, I think, his voice a murmer among the chaos. There was a desperate screaching, that of a dying animal. I think it was coming from me.

"Get what off?" Fang was cupping my face in his hands, holding my head in place, like he was afraid it would fall off, "Get what off?"

"Jesus..." Thankyou, Jeb, for the words of wisdom.

I think Fang saw it now, because his fingers tightened around my chin, pushing it to the side. He froze.

"No...way..." was what he said.

"What? What?" my mom was saying.

My chest hurt. My head hurt. I was crying. I was saying something.

"Get it off. Jeb, get it off." Fang hissed. His hand was warm against the stinging skin.


"Bullshit!" he roared.

"I can't...reverse it. It's part of your genetic code. Your the longest lasting hybrids...it's a miracle---"

"I don't fucking care!" Fang screamed, "take it off!"

"What are you talking about?" Mom said, frantically.