Regret. Remorse. Shame. These three words sound different, but they all mean the same thing. They all combine to form this simple emotion that always feels so complicated.

Guilt.

For some reason that I can't explain, this feeling is eating me up inside. It's taken a hold of me and it refuses to let go no matter how hard I try to get loose from its grip.

I examine my knuckles as I walk through the halls to my locker. They are bruised and split from a prolonged boxing match between me, and my unmoving target late last night. Anger powered every blow and it was charged by the rage that I felt about what happened earlier that day.

No matter how I felt last night, the way I felt this morning outweighed it.

I see Maddie waiting for me at my locker when I get there and I sigh. It's not that I don't want to talk to her in particular. The idea of talking to anyone is something I don't want to deal with at the moment.

Maddie waves at me happily for a second, and then the smile fades. Her expression tells me exactly what she noticed.

"Your face. What...?" She reaches up and lightly brushes her fingers over the skin under my eye. When I flinch a little she quickly takes her hand away. "What happened?"

"Proof that druggies and jocks don't mix." I flash her a half-hearted smile.

"Asshole," she mumbles under her breath.

"Don't worry," I tell her. "We got him back."

From the way her eyes harden I can tell she doesn't like what I implied. She only nods in reply, her gaze falling from my face down to the floor. A sad look takes over her face and I felt bad for forgetting that she came over here for a reason in the first place.

"Hey, is everything alright?" I place my left hand on her shoulder and tilted her head up to look me in the eyes with my right. "You came here to tell me something, right? What's wrong?"

Madison inhales deeply before blinking a few tears away. "Paul and I had fight last night." Noticing my eyes closing to slits, she adds, "It's nothing bad," she promises, "I'm the one who started the whole thing. I am such an idiot, Aussie."

"Hey hey..." I move my right hand up to her face to help my left hand keep her focus on me. "You're not an idiot, okay Mads? You're the one of the smartest and most amazing people I know. Now tell me what happened."

"I know it's early in the relationship and all, but ever since I started dating Paul I've just felt incredible, like I could take on anything. Last night I expressed how much I cared about him, and I tried to sleep with him, but he just freaked out on me. I didn't mean to, but I got really upset and said some hurtful things. I just don't know what's wrong with me." She looks down as I take my hands away from her face, her gaze not leaving the floor.

"Whatever you said doesn't matter, okay?"

"How do you know? You weren't even there."

"Because I know you," I assure her, "and nothing that comes out of that mouth of yours could ever be that bad."

Her face turns up from the floor and the small smile on her face is so infectious I find myself smiling back to her. My attention strays to the background when I see Paul at the end of the hallway.

A jerk of my head in that direction makes Maddie look behind her.

"Go make things right," I say, giving her arm a reassuring squeeze.

"Thanks Aussie." She leans in for a hug really quick and then goes to catch up with her boyfriend.

I turn to my locker and fiddle with the lock until it opens. Sabrina is already at my side and kisses my cheek as I pull out a couple books for my morning classes. The locker next to me opens after she puts in her combination.

The previous owner of the locker was a young freshman who was trying out for the team. It didn't take much convincing for him to switch with her when I mentioned to him that Sabrina's was only a couple down from the girl he was crushing on.

"What was that about?" She slams her locker while referring to my conversation with Maddie.

A sigh leaves me before I turn to her and throw my bag over my shoulder. "I was just helping her with some boyfriend problems."

"Doesn't she have any girl friends to help her with those problems?" she grumbled.

My eyes squint as I glare at her, pulling her to my side by her waist. Leaning so that my lips graze her ears, I say, "This little attitude of yours, I want you to drop it." The low tone in my voice made her shiver a little. I lighten it a bit for her benefit. "Madison is a friend."

"But you," I continue my little speech, pressing her up against the lockers. The look in her eyes causes a strange feeling to curl in my stomach. "You are my girlfriend. How could there ever be a comparison?"

The cold look she had been giving me softens and she smiles. "I think we're keeping this poor boy from getting to his locker."

I look behind me, some sophomore I don't know by name is standing there awkwardly. I pull both of us away from the locker and let the kid pass us. When Sabrina starts walking towards class without another word, I grab her arm and spin her so my lips collide with hers. A small moan comes up from her throat and I smile against her.

"I have to get to class," she mumbles against my slightly parted lips.

"Or we could take a trip to the locker rooms," I suggest, even though I already know what her answer would be. What it always is.

She whines a little when I lightly bite her bottom lip. Just like I figured, she replies, "No." The warmth of her body leaves mine as she separates herself from me. "I really have to go to class."

As I watch her walk away I can't help but let out a huff of frustration. I run my hand through my hair and make my way to class.

When I'm about to walk through the door of the classroom someone pulls me into a headlock while dragging me into the room. I'm not certain of who it is until I notice the pair of bright red Adidas they are wearing. Rodney always wore them the day of a big game. He said the pair was his good luck charm. Even though he wasn't one for superstition, he wore them each time nonetheless.

"Someone isn't on high alert for the game tonight," I hear Rodney say. He chuckles and tightens the hold on my neck.

I wrestle with him a bit to get out of his grasp, hitting my side on the desk in the process. Rodney is stronger than me, but I am able to catch him off guard. Taking his arm in my hand, I twist around so that I have it twisted at a weird angle behind his back. His waist is pressed up against the desk in front of him as I push his elbow upward.

"Okay, okay," he concedes, rubbing his arm after I finally let him go.

Cole's laugh could be heard from beside me and Rodney shoved him playfully back. His smile slowly disappears into a smirk as he nudges me and nods for me to look at the front of the classroom.

Once I look behind me, I almost wish I didn't. Whittney walks in, his shoulders slumped forwards. The defeat could be seen all over his face, as well as all the dark blue blotches that covered it. For a moment I feel more confused than anything. The guys only hit him in the stomach, so why was he covered in bruises?

It's almost painful looking into his eyes when there is so much hatred in them. Hatred towards me. I want to tell him I'm sorry, but it isn't the best idea with all my other friends around.

"Did you guys do that?" I asked Rodney and Cole after Whittney took a seat on the other side of the room. He throws his hood up over his head as he sat down, probably to block everyone out.

"Shit, dude. No way." Cole shook his head desperately. "We kicked him around a bit, but we wouldn't get that out of control."

"Yeah, the last thing we want to do is get caught," Rodney added. "Especially for beating trailer trash."

Whittney didn't use to live in such poverty. During middle school he lived in a big house with both his parents and his older brother Jeremy, who mostly went by Jay. It wasn't until eighth grade that his father, Mark Rhodes, lost ownership of his car shop. Before too long his family went bankrupt, forcing them into the trailer park they now called home.

Rhodes' Gear was renamed Griffin Repair. My father saw the opportunity to make even the slightest bit more cash, and invested.

At first I thought Whittney would be furious that it was my father who bought out his father's shop, but instead he told me that Andrew gave Mark a job as manager as well as a mechanic. He had said that my father saved the business and kept their family from living in conditions worse than the trailer park they lived in now.

Other than Mark, no family member has a job. Unless Jay's drug dealing could count as an actual job.

The thought of Jay made my gaze avert from the teacher -who I hadn't been paying much attention to- to Whittney. Those bruises he is trying so hard to cover up weren't given to him by some jocks who were just backing up a friend.

They came from a brother who didn't get what he asked for.

I hear shouting from upstairs as I walk into the kitchen. Father's voice is mixed in with my mother's as they scream at each other. None of this was new to me. Just another day in the Griffin household.

"Don't you dare walk away from me!" Andrew yells as I hear shuffling on the stairs.

Sandra races into the kitchen, not wasting any time before wrapping her arms around my neck. I place my right hand on the small of her back to bring her closer to me. "You're home." She lets out a sigh of relief.

When she pulls away I bring my hands up to cup her face. I brush my thumb lightly over the discoloration on her cheek. A harsh breath of air escapes through my nose and heat rushes to my head like a wave. I run my hand through my hair and bite down on my tongue to keep myself from cursing.

It doesn't take long for Andrew to enter the room. Sandra quickly gets behind me, using my body as a shield against her husband.

A humorless laugh escapes him when he sees his wife hide behind me in fear. This fear wasn't misplaced either. Just the look in my father's eyes was enough to make me feel uneasy. He isn't thinking clearly right now; blinded by rage. I know this side of him all too well since it's a quality we both share.

Nothing fuels a Griffin more than power or rage.

"Get out of the way, son." His order sends a shiver down my spine, but I didn't move.

I cross my arms over my chest. The nonverbal declination causes Andrew to lash out and I try not to flinch. His hand finds a tight grip on my upper arm, squeezing as he pulls me to him. Pain boils under my father's hold as his fingers constrict around me.

"This doesn't concern you," Andrew hisses, shoving me against the counter. Ignoring my pained expression, he turns his attention back to my mother. She tries to make a run for the back door, but she isn't fast enough. The six inch heels she has on makes sure of the fact.

Andrew's hand snatches at what it can, which happens to be Sandra's long blond hair. He pulls back and she lets out a yelp of pain. The grip he has moves from her hair to her arms. He wastes no time before slamming her against the fridge. Faster than I can perceive what's happening, a loud CRACKechoes through the kitchen. Once my mind is able to register what just happened -seeing my mother on the floor, holding her bright red cheek- I lose it.

Overlooking the consequences, I tackle Andrew and shove him into the island. He lets out a groan when his lower back hits the granite countertop. Before he can gain his bearings, I hurry to Sandra's side.

Quickly, I help her get to her feet and study her eyes for any sign of concussion. When Andrew hit, he hit hard. I sigh in relief when I realize that she's fine, but coming from the angry growl behind me, I won't be. Again, I make sure that Sandra is behind me before he charges at me.

My shoulders tense as Andrew grabs me by the neck and slams my head against the counter. I slump to the ground immediately. The clash to my head leaves it throbbing as I lie on the marble floor- unmoving. Another blow plows its way into my stomach and I automatically scrunch into a ball.

Just when I thought I couldn't take any more jolts to my gut, Andrew stops. My arms cradle where I was just kicked multiple times and I groan, noticing how sensitive my skin is at the moment.

I lay there for I don't even know how long until a gentle hand is caressing my cheek. The sudden touch shocks my nerves and I whimper.

Sandra clutches me gently as she helps me to my feet -slowly and gradually. Once I'm off the ground she takes my hand in hers and wraps my arm around her shoulders. I can't stand by myself, but for the first time in a long time my mother is helping me.

After leading me to the kitchen table she sets me down on one of the chairs. She leaves and I'm afraid that she won't return, but she comes back moments later with a first aid kit and a cloth. Then she leaves again to fill a small bowl with water and sits across from me, setting all the materials she gathered on the table. Her shaky hands dip the cloth into the water and presses it lightly against the skin above my right eyebrow.

I suck in a breath from the intense pressure I feel from such a slight touch. Immediately Sandra pulls away as if she burned me. My eyes fall to the wet cloth and I reach up to touch the throbbing part of my forehead. When I bring my hand back down blood coats my fingers. I didn't even realize I started to bleed.

"Don't," Sandra snaps. She brings the cloth over my painted fingers, removing the warm liquid like it never existed.

Bringing the cloth back to my forehead, she taps lightly until the blood stops flowing from the wound that was caused by my own father.

"Thank you for, uh-" she says awkwardly as she applies some neosporin to my cut. "Thanks for. . . what you did."

I don't know what to say when she looks at me, so I just smile lightly.

A realization makes me shift my head nervously from left to right. Like she's reading my mind, Sandra says, "He's gone." She takes out a band-aid from the first aid kit and places it over the cut she had been treating for the past five minutes. "He's upstairs. You don't have to deal with him for the rest of the night."

"You do," I whisper.

Sadness dawns in her eyes as she nods. "It's okay. I'm used to it."

"You don't have to deal with him tonight either." She gives me a confused look, so I elaborate, "I know you don't want love him, and I understand why. Let me help. You can sleep with me in my bed tonight."

"Are you sure?"

To be honest, I don't know if I'm sure or not. Sandra and I used to be close, but ever since Andrew changed so did our mother-son relationship.

Once we got down to my room I handed her a shirt of mine to wear in place of pajamas. We both knew that if she went upstairs to grab her normal nightwear, she wouldn't come back. She gratefully accepted it.

We both got ready and into bed without another word. I could feel sleep start to take over me, but the slight shifting of the mattress next to me got my attention. My mothers arms wrapped around me, drawing herself in for a hug.

She leans her head near mine and places a kiss on my temple. "Night baby."

It's been years since she's called me that.

A small smile sneaks on my lips.

"Night mom."

************

Thank you so much for reading and keeping up with this story! It means a lot that I have at least a couple of people who really like this story. Again, I'm sorry it took so long to update. Writer's Block is an evil thing...

Please remember to comment what you think or vote if you think the chapter is deserving of it!