Julianna's POV



Today's the day.

I wish it wasn't, but there is no putting it off. I was sitting propped up on my bed, soaking in whatever last moments of peace I could. I absentmindedly ran my fingers through Justin's hair, not being able to focus on the show they had put on.

Justin was laying on my bed with his head on my lap, knee deep in little space. Whatever problem big Justin had with me, little Justin didn't seem to care.

Hunter has also been pretty clingy today. He's laying propped up next to me, holding onto my hand. Neither one of them seems to be able to let go.

But I wasn't complaining.

"When do you think you'll be able to come back?" Hunter whispered. He was trying to not let Justin hear.

"Not for a while." I whisper honestly, turning my head to look at him. He gives me a sad smile.

"Maybe you could go home for a week or two and then come back? Stay here until the summer ends? Or you could come back on breaks. This doesn't have to be the last time you see us." He reached over and wiped at a tear I hadn't noticed had fallen down my cheek.

I think he was meaning to console me, but it sounded like he was also trying to convince himself.

I didn't answer, just let out a huff like breath as I tried to keep the rest of the tears from coming. Hunter said nothing else, just reached over and pulled me so that I was laying against his chest.

"It's okay," He whispered. "Allow yourself to feel what you're feeling."

That was it for me. The door broke. I covered my face with my hands, burrowing into his chest, which subsequently threw Justin onto Hunter's legs as well. Sobs wracked my body, and Hunter wrapped his arms around me. A second later, I felt Justin do the same.

I'm not sure why this is so hard for me. Or even what the worst part is. Having to leave the people I had gotten so close to over the past month, or knowing what's waiting for me when I get home.

"Julie is sad?" he asked and I could feel Hunter nod his head.

"It's okay Julie. We all feel sad sometimes." Justin said, patting my head gently.

"I'm not a dog." I choked out, wiping my tear and snot covered face.

I bet I look lovely right now.

"Julie, happy now?" Justin asked, and I nodded, still laying on Hunter's chest.

"Yeah, Julie is happy now." I whispered. Justin celebrated, then settled back down as he had been before, with his head on my stomach. I started running my fingers through his hair again.

"How's school going?" I asked, trying to fill the silence.

"It's going. Counting down the days until I graduate and can start training."

"So you are going to join the mafia?" It was odd, thinking that Hunter was at that age that he was about ready to make that commitment. Sometimes it felt like he was no older than I was. Then again, we were only 2 years apart in age.

"Yeah. I want to either be a sniper or a hacker. Nothing too 'out in the field' like some of the others."

"Well you've definitely got the smarts for it." I comment with a sleepy chuckle. I'm completely relaxed, something I hadn't been since Justin reminded me that I would be going home soon.

Then I feel Hunter's hands in my hair, running his fingers through nice and gently, nothing more nothing less. I tense slightly, and he pauses, but he continues when I relax again.

It's fine. You're fine, no reason to panic. Just think about something else. His fingers being in your hair isn't a big deal. Oh god, now I can't stop thinking about his fingers in my hair.

But it's fine. Everything's fine. There's no reason to be unnerved by someone stroking your hair. I'm literally doing the same thing to Justin. He's fine.

I'm fine. That is, until he hits a knot in my hair. Call it my fault for not having brushed my hair since the day before yesterday, but it happened. His hand yanked, and I freaked.

"Tell me. How fucking hard is it, to pay attention in class? To sit still, do your work, and not fucking fail!" I flinched when his hand hit the table. He slammed down the multiplication quiz we took last week.

It's not my fault I did bad on it. Multiplication sucked, and Mrs. Martia, my 3rd grade math teacher, just didn't explain it in a way that my brain could understand.

I'd tried asking for help, I really did. But everyone just ignored me and told me to "work harder."

How can I work at something I don't even understand to begin with?

He's yelling at me, but it's drowned out. Muffled, if you will. Like my head's under water. That's been happening lately. Whenever he gets mad this numb feeling just takes over.

I glance over and see my older brother of two years sitting at the other end of the table. Gino looks scared. I know he wants to intervene, that he wants to save me from what's happening, but we both know what happened last time.

I was a little jealous of Gino. He understood school. It's easy for him. Apparently he's so smart, he gets to be in classes with older people.

"Are you even listening to me?" I jump, wincing as the sharp words are shouted right in my ear. He grabs my hair and yanks it backward, forcing my head back so I would look at him.

"How stupid are you, huh?" He shakes his hand, bringing tears to my eyes as the pain in my scalp increases.

I swear, he's going to pull out every hair follicle I have.

He gets mad, pulling me by my hair behind him as we journey out of the kitchen and towards the upstairs.

"If you weren't so damn focused on your hair, and your looks, and getting boys to like you, maybe you would have more than three brain cells." He rants as I struggle to keep up with my body being contorted at such a weird angle.

"Pretty sure I'll be down to two if you don't let go of my hair soon." I curse under my breath.

"What did you just say?" He demands, throwing me down onto the stairs. I grunt, tumbling down 4 or 5 of them before I can stop myself.

"Nothing." I grit out, rubbing my tender scalp. He doesn't believe me, kicking me in my jaw, causing me to bite down on my tongue. My head slams down onto the hardwood of the stairs. They used to be carpeted, but it's easier to clean blood off of laminate.

He sends a kick to the middle of my stomach, knocking the breath out of me. He then kicks my hip, sending me tumbling down a few more steps.

When he reaches me the final time, I'm curled in a ball, hanging off one of the steps. He simply walks around me until he's behind me, and then proceeds to kick my back.

I guess he got tired of me moving away from him, because with him kicking me into one of the steps, I have nowhere to go. I scream as he kicks everywhere from my spine, to my ribs, to my tailbone.

"I'm sorry!" I cry, nausea rolling over me and I'm sure I'm about to hurl. But he stops, panting slightly.

"If you want to be difficult, you little bitch, we can be difficult." He whispers menacingly to me before grabbing my arm and dragging me the opposite direction we were originally headed. I say he dragged me because the entire time, I couldn't find my footing.

Even not being able to see where we were going, I knew where he was taking me. We really didn't really have to go far, there was a little door right underneath the stairs that led down there.

"Please no. Please, I won't do it again. I'll study more, I promise. Please don't." I sob out, curling in a ball, and using my hands to protect my hair so he can't pull me.

It takes less than a second more for him to get open the door. Since it leads down into the casement you would think he'd have it better armed to prevent people from going down there, but no. It did only open from the outside though. Once you were in there was no getting out unless you knew the code, and had a fingerprint.

My current state does nothing to stop him. He simply reaches under me and grabs my ankle, pulling me along with no effort.

You're fucking kidding me.

Since you have to go down a leg of stairs to get down to the actual dungeon they've set up, I know exactly where this is going.

I can't breathe as my ribs, hip bones, and even my chin, bounce and scrape painfully on the sharp edge of every stair before being thrown down onto the next.

I really hate stairs.

When we finally get to the bottom of all 17 stairs. Yes, I know how many stairs there are, this isn't my first slide, and it probably won't be my last. He drops my ankle, causing my poor toes to crunch into the ground.

He leaned down, wrapping his arm around my waist and hoisting me up so he was carrying me. My head, legs, and arms all hung down and swayed inches from the ground. My feet would have been brushing the ground, but I didn't have shoes on.

He doesn't carry me far, just a few feet and a little off the left. Odd, as he was going for the display area. At least, that's what I called it. There was a big open area to the left with all kinds of bullwhips, paddles, cattle prods, knives. You name it.

He drops me to the floor again, almost breaking my wrist, and starts messing with the chains connected to the ceiling.

Another reason I refer to it as the 'display' is because you're quite literally on display. It's within eyesight of the door, so anyone coming in or out see's whomever is being tortured there. Sort of a pre-intimidation tactic, I guess. There are also cells adjacent to the space, on the right side of the hall.

I didn't bother looking over to see who would be there. Most of the people that end up down here are the guards who try to help me. I feel awful that they get in trouble for me. He places them in the cells adjacent to this area because he likes rubbing it in their faces and reminding them that whatever they did to help was pointless.

"Stand up." He hisses at me as he yanks me to my feet. I stand there numbly as he yanks my shirt over my head, popping one of the buttons on the stark white shirt. He pulled off my school skirt, though it hadn't been of much use anyway as it had flipped on the way down the stairs to get here. Only readjusting itself when I had been so rudely forced to use my legs again. He gets rid of my underwear, leaving me as stark as the day I was born. I would expect nothing less, being in this area.

He turns me around to face the stairs, then pulls my wrist up over my head and begins cuffing me to the ceiling. It's not long before both my wrists and ankles are being stifled by rough, thick restraints.

He goes over and hits a blue button with an up arrow on the wall. Slowly, I hear the whir of the stiff, overused machines as they raise my hands higher above my head. Inch, by painful inch.

Eventually we get to the point where I'm grimacing at the weight my shoulders are bearing. Even my biggest toe is barely brushing the ground with my foot fully pointed, not helping anything.

I breathe through the discomfort, watching him carefully from the corner of my eye to try and gauge what he's going to do next. Which torture will I have the pleasure of enduring today? My favorite guessing game.

He goes behind me, to the wall of torture devises, so that I can't see. I hear him pick something up, and then I hear the sound of a marker opening. A few more seconds and I hear the familiar squeaks of a dry erase marker against a whiteboard. There is one in the middle of all the different 'toys'. Never really understood why though.

He recaps the marker, sets it down, and then tears something off of something else. As he walks back over to me, I see that it's a thick piece of duct tape.

Aww, merda. (shit)

He slaps the tape, much harder than necessary, over my mouth. Rubbing it into place with a smile, he tells me. "To keep you quiet, for once. We both know how you are."

He takes something out of his pocket, and as he uncaps the sharpie, my heart sinks. He takes my cheeks in his free hand, squeezing hard as he scribbles something onto my forehead.

"You won't be needing this anymore, either." He comments as he pulls something else out of his pocket. I don't get to see what it is, because he's walking behind me at that point. But my heart drops as he takes a random amount of my hair into his hand. That's when I hear a sickening snip.

Coming back to where I can see him, my eyes widen as I see such a long chunk of my hair resting in his palm that I'm pretty sure he all but scalped me.

"Have fun." He whispers to me, before turning on his heel and walking out of the basement.

I hang there for maybe a few minutes before I see the first guard decide to risk it, and come over to me. He's pretty young, probably 17 or 18. Must be why he got hassled into being the guinea pig. He walks over to the board, grabs something, and then comes back. He, too, has a sharpie.

The young guard uncaps it, drawing on my left cheek, using his other hand to keep my face still.

As he does to put the sharpie back, his hand brushes down my back, getting uncomfortably close to my bottom.

He leaves, and another guard takes that as his opening to come and see me. By this point, I have a pretty good idea of what he's going to do, so it's no surprise to me when he goes behind me and comes back with a sharpie. He stares at me for a second, before writing something over the duct tape covering my mouth.

This guard is one that I know well. He and one of his other buddies hangs around with Devon a lot. That being said, it doesn't surprise me when he's a little braver than the first kid. This guard, on his way back, smacks the ever loving heck out of my ass cheek, making my jerk to the side at the unexpected hit.

This in turn, causes more weight to my shoulder blade. I try telling myself that the small pop I felt was normal, but I have a bad feeling it wasn't.

Tears roll down my eyes as guard after guard comes over to me, drawing on my body, and molesting or smacking some part of me. After a bit, I'm guessing my face runs out of room, because they start to move down my throat, then my almost non-existent chest. They really seemed to enjoy being able to write there.

The current guard that just got done writing on me is one of the last from the previously large group that had huddled around me. He takes his time writing below my chest, on my upper abdomen.

When he's done, he takes a glance around, making sure that nobody else is around. Then he makes his way over to the wall and pressed the yellow button right next to the blue button that allows the restraints to be lowered to the floor.

He doesn't lower them far, just enough so that I can rest the balls of my feet against the floor. I send him a thankful look, and he gives me a nod in return. Then he's on his way.

It's a torturous exchange. While being able to lean my weight on my toes is a blessing for my shoulders, my calves start to cramp very quickly, making me do this awkward dance as I continue to exchange weight from my toes to my shoulders.

I'm left writhing there for what has to be another couple of hours. Or minutes, I'm not sure. I get dramatic when I'm tired, or in pain. And I'm both of those things right now. Besides, it's not like I've ever been the best time estimator.

Only two or three other guards contribute to what the others have done, most of the ones I see on their way home either already did, or just wanted to go home.

He comes back not long after that. He takes a pleased look at my state, before hitting the button that would slowly lower me back down to the ground. My legs buckle immediately, and I'm left to rest on my knees while he undoes all the restraints.

He makes quick work on my ankles, holding his arm around me to keep me from falling as he undoes my wrists.

I'm still crying, but I barely notice. Like how I didn't notice how cold it was until I felt the heat from his body, then I was suddenly freezing.

He was nicer this time around, actually picking me up and carrying me out of here the proper way. He takes us straight upstairs to my room, but instead of leaving me on my bed like I thought he would, he takes me to my bathroom.

"Stand up." He demands, setting me on my feet in front of my sink. But he does hang onto me until he's sure I won't faceplant. That's when he turns me, and focuses my attention on the mirror.

H o l y s h i t

I make a choked noise in the back of my throat as I stare into my reflection. One side of my head still had hair going to the middle of my back, while the other had hair coming to maybe an inch below my chin.

And my face...

Sprawled in large letters, impossible to miss, is what I'm sure was written by the man standing behind me. He wrote: IDIOT, in capital letters, right across my forehead.

Around it were smaller words written by the guards. Words like, disobedient, ugly, trash, unlovable, unruly, emotional, disgusting, pig, liar, were all mixed in there. And over the piece of duct tape he had yet to take off, sprawled the words Shut Up.

Moving onto my chest I saw SLUT scribbled nice and big, again in capital letters. Around it, in smaller writing were things like whore, cocksucker, No Good, loud, Begging for it, quicky, tight.

But it was what was underneath all of this that caught my attention. Someone had written one phrase, right below my breasts on my upper abdomen, in italian. I'm assuming it was so he wouldn't be able to read it.

It read: Sono perfetto così come sono.

Otherwise known as, I am perfect just the way I am.

"Sorry about that Juliana." Hunter's voice snapped me out of whatever daze I was in, and I swatted away his hand. Wiping the tears out of my eyes, I tightened my hold on Justin. Right now, he was the only thing keeping me grounded.

"Tell me about school. How did you get to be so smart?" I joke once I feel that I can trust my vocal chords.

"I'm not really sure. I guess I've always just caught onto things pretty quickly. I will say though, don't rush it. Find something you love to do, whether or not that means you're involved in the mafia. And don't waste your time in school either. Make friends, be a kid. You've still got a few years until you graduate. Enjoy it." There's a heaviness in his voice, and I'm tempted to ask if he regrets his choices. But I don't. And he doesn't feel the need to elaborate.

We stay like that for the next two hours, until the clock strikes noon. That's when a knock on the door alerts all of us of the inevitable.

Aunt Stephanie peaks her head in the room, smiling when she sees me.

"Are you ready?" She asks me.

"Let me get changed real quick." I have to fight Justin to let go of me, only when I promised that I would be right back did he finally let go.

Staring in the mirror of the bathroom, I changed into a jumper and shorts. Coming into the bathroom was really just a stalling tactic. It gave me a moment to mentally prepare myself for what was to come.

"You can do this." I whisper. "You're going to be fine. It's just 4 years. That's all." I was still composing myself when I got the text.

Ginnie (Gino) – Be prepared when you get home. He's bad.

Thx, ig – (Me) I leave @ 1--

Ginnie - K, c u soon.

Thanks Gino, for scaring the ever loving shit out of me. As if I wasn't reluctant enough to go home.

Eventually, I can't stall any longer, and I have to leave my bathroom. I grabbed my bathroom bag on the way out, my suitcase was already in the car.

Coming out of the bathroom I freeze when I see Uncle Stefano sitting patiently on my bed, or what used to be my bed.

Without being prompted I walk over, and flop down face first onto the bed.

"Are you sure I have to go back?" I asked, my voice muffled by the sheets. Uncle Stefano rubs my back until I turn my head to look at him.

"Yes, I'm sure. The agreement was 30 days, and then you went home."

"Yeah, but that was when we didn't think I was going to like it here." I explained. Why can't he understand that things are different now. I know them, I like them, I tr- No. Absolutely not, I'm not going there.

"Juliana," Uncle Stefano laughed, "You have to go home, child. I mean, think about how much your brothers must be missing you. How much Jamie is probably missing you." Suddenly an idea came to me. Jamie, of course. The whole reason I'm here to begin with.

"Well I mean, I did come here because I was acting out. What if you just said that my behavior wasn't any better?" I asked, looking at Uncle Stefano with what must look like unbashful hope in my eyes.

"You mean you want me to lie to your brothers? Juliana, that wouldn't even work, I've been updating Jensen since the day you got here. Plus he really misses you. Why are you so opposed to going home anyway?" I saw the concern in Uncle Stefano's eyes and knew I had taken it too far.

"No reason, I'm just sad to be saying goodbye, is all. I'm dramatic when I'm sad." I mutter, sliding off the bed and heading to the door.

"Time to go home." I say, mostly to myself even though I'm sure Uncle Stefano heard, as I walked out of my old room, for what I'm sure will be the last time.

I may sound dramatic, but I know it will be. I'm not going to survive another four years. And if he doesn't end it for me, I will.



"Juliana." A voice I recognised easily called to me as I made my way out to the garage. I'd said all my goodbyes. Even taking the time to go and say goodbye to the wolves. There really was no more putting it off.

"What, Zeke?" I ask, turning around annoyed.

He tossed something at me, leaving me scrambling to catch it. I glared at him, as he had forced me to drop my bag.

"What is this?" I snapped.

"Figure it out yourself." I grumbled as I tried to figure out how to open the stupid, small, square, velvet box.

"Zeke..." I said, when I finally got the puzzle of a box open.

Inside there was a thin chained necklace with a dainty rose pendant. The actual rose was an ombre of deep purples with black around the edges. It had two leaves on either side, both of them going from black on the outside, to a dusty gray on the inside.

"This is so pretty." I admit, taking it out of the box and holding it up to get a better look. Not gonna lie, I was skeptical of the thing. Why would he even be giving me such a gift?

"I'm glad you like it, because I want you to promise that you'll always wear it." I looked up when he said this, more than suspicious now.

"Why? What did you do to it? What's inside of it?" I demanded and Zeke held up his hands with an amused look.

"Nothing. It's a panic button. It's a conspicuous way to contact us if you ever find yourself in trouble and can't get to a phone. Or just don't want to cause a scene. Or need us, and we're not answering our phones." He explains.

"You just have to pull down the left pedal like so." He reached over and demonstrated pulling down the left pedal. It barely moved, but it was such a sharp and precise, click-like, movement that there was no question it was supposed to do that.

"And every one of us gets notifications on our phones," He pulled out his phone to show me that the lockscreen had been bypassed and the entire phone was open to an app I didn't recognize.

My name was bolded in the middle of the screen, and underneath that was a map. It showed a very detailed location, and position. Above my name, it had blanks that read:

Heart rate: ___

Blood Oxygen: ___

Blood Pressure: ___

Body temperature:

There was also a little red button marked "Audio" in the corner.

"We'll also get them on any other connected device, and we will be notified through these also. So there is no missing it." He explained, motioning to his watch. When he pointed it towards me, I could see that the watch also held a smaller version of the information his phone had just flashed.

"Pretty neat, huh?" He asked and I nodded my head, shocked.

"All of that will happen if I push down one little pedal?" I confirm, and he nods his head.

"Yep. We all have one, just in the form of watches. We thought you might appreciate yours being a little smaller. Of course if that isn't that case, we can get you a watch, or something else if you'd like it. Whatever, would you like to push it?" He rambles, holding it out to me.

I shake my head wildly, even going so far as to take a step backwards, causing an amused look to cross his face.

"There's no need to be scared of it. It's just there to protect you. Now, for it to read your stats, we have to put it around your wrist, but if you ever need it around your neck, then that's okay too. The wrist is just preferred." He explains as he takes my wrist and starts to clasp it onto my left arm.

"This way it'll be easy to remember. Left wrist, left pedal. Now, when you get home I'm going to need you to download the app that goes with this. When you exercise, or do sports, or anything that is meant to get your heart rate up, you'll need to enter that on the app, but I'll call you later and we'll walk through it together, alright?" I nodded, repeating the information back to myself so that I won't forget it.

"You realize we'll literally be in different countries, right? What are you guys going to do from Italy when I'm in New York?" I ask, looking at him like he's a dummy, and he gives me the same look back.

"Aww, poor Juliana. So innocent." He comments, patting my cheek with a laugh.

I glower at him.

"But what if I ever accidentally push it?" I ask. Not that I really think I'll ever need it, but I don't want the day to come that I use it, and they don't take me seriously because of previous false alarms. That pedal looked like a very easy thing to unknowingly push.

"When that does happen, because it honestly probably will, we'll still call you, check the app, see what's going on. And Juliana," He said, grabbing my shoulders and making sure I was focused sole-y on him.

"I don't care if that button gets falsely pressed 100 times, we will still answer. I would rather spend 20 minutes out of every day making sure you're safe, than have anything happen to you. Know that we will always believe you, and we will always be there to protect you. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

I look at him, and for a moment I get the feeling that we're no longer talking about needing protection from some random Junky off the street.

"Yes." My voice cracked slightly. "I understand."