[Happy Valentine's, my creeps!~

Yes, the third book is finally here! I was really eager to get this out, but I stayed patient until I had enough chapters to hold you all off. So, finally say hello to another protag-baby, and some familiar faces! You all are in for a wild ride, I tell you.~

Hope you all enjoy this and welcome to Terrible Fates!]

Chapter 1

The green-clothed hero ran across the field of wild grass, brandishing his sword for all of his enemies to fear; wielding his shield for all to gaze upon the mark of his land.

In his eyes was the determination to fight for the goodness he represented, for the souls who were wronged, and for the future that was at stake.

His movements were unwavering. His attacks were immaculate. Evil was had at his steely gaze. Everything about him radiated courage. He was a hero.

At least, that's what I imagined in my mind every time I watched this little hero run across the TV screen, killing colorful monsters that were in his path. I imagined him to be strong, and gracious, and humble, and lionhearted. A hero.

Every time things got bad, and sadness and fear overtook my body to the point where I couldn't bear to breathe, I thought about him.

And I told myself I could become a hero, too.

...

It was 6 am. Mom was asleep in her room and I was trying to be as quiet as possible in the kitchen. The waffle iron was still heating up the batter I just made, but that's not what I was most worried about. Hunter should've been back by now. How long does it take to pick up a cake from the bakery around the corner? It's not like he jogged over there either. I kept checking the time only to keep seeing the same minute after what felt like every three minutes. C'mon, Hunter...

Suddenly, I recognized the sound of keys jingling behind the apartment door and my impatience disappeared. Hunter tiptoed into the apartment, being careful not to bang the cake box into anything. He closed the door behind him and headed straight for me.

"Did Mom wake up?" he asked as he set the cake box down onto the kitchen counter.

"No, but she might soon," I told him, "we've gotta hurry."

"Well, have no fear because the cake is here," he chimed happily and I rolled my eyes at him. We opened the box to check out the cake. Mom loves classic vanilla cake with pecans in it. She loves coconut flakes, too. The cake had all of that, except instead of cooked apple slices (one of her favorite snacks) being on top of the cake, it had pineapple slices instead.

Immediately, I smacked Hunter upside the head and grumbled, "Pineapples, Hunter?"

"It's not my fault they're there! They probably confused apples with pineapples."

"It's just one syllable shy of being a different word," I complained, "it's not hard to distinguish them!"

"Well, don't get mad at me," he groaned.

"You didn't bother to check the cake before you took it from the bakery, you dingus? You're lucky Mom isn't allergic. But we still can't give her pineapple slices," I said.

"Why?"

I gave him a look and said, "It was Dad's favorite, remember?"

Hunter shifted his gaze down to the counter, his ears turning red with embarrassment. "Shit, you're right... We can still fix it. Let's just take off the pineapples and, I dunno, cut up apple slices."

"We don't have time to cook them."

"Don't cook them then," he said.

"Fine, fine," I murmured. The waffle maker suddenly made a quick ding, letting me know it was done. I maneuvered around Hunter to take the newly made waffles out of the machine and put it on a plate. I should've used a cooking mitten though, because the thing was way too hot. Duh, Reese, of course it would be.

Footsteps echoed from the hallway and Hunter and I immediately turned around. Mom was barely coming out of the hallway, still in her PJs. I glanced back to see that Hunter had closed the cake box just in time. Still, we couldn't let her know what we were doing.

"Good morning, boys," she said with that small smile of hers.

"Morning, Mom," Hunter and I said in unison, flashing matching grins.

She started walking into the kitchen but I went up to her and turned her around. "Reese, what are you--?"

"Why don't you lay in bed a little more?" I insisted politely.

"Reese, I'm already up--."

"You deserve more beauty sleep!"

I dragged her back to her room, which smelled of air freshener plug in, and vapor-rub (she's been a little congested lately). Gently, I sat her onto her bed and she gave me a curious stare.

"What are you up to?" she asked me, cocking one of her brown eyebrows.

"Nothing, Mom," I said. "Don't worry about it."

"I've come to get more worried when you say that exact phrase," she remarked.

"Just relax, okay? C'mon." I reached behind her and fluffed one of her pillows, propping it up against her bedpost. She leaned back into it and stared at me again.

"Reese...," she started.

"Yes, mother?"

"You're definitely up to something," she said, regarding my "mother". I always say that when I'm being sarcastic or secretive with her.

"I love you, Mom," I told her.

She chuckled and shook her head. "I love you too, sweetie." Even though she must have woken up only a few minutes ago, her eyes looked bright. They were honey brown, like Hunter's, but not like mine. Mine were a stormy, muddy grey. Like Dad's. Sometimes I hate looking at my eyes, but Mom always tells me that they're perfect the way they are. Still, sometimes I hate them. Mom's and Hunter's eyes though, I could stare at them all day.

There was a knock at the door. Mom said "come in" and Hunter opened up. He let the door swing all the way open as he held a tray with orange juice, a big, freshly made waffle with strawberries and bananas, and a card.

"I heard there was a birthday mum here," my big brother sang as he walked in. Mom had a big smile on her face when she saw him. Hunter set the tray over Mom's legs and the both of us told her, "Happy Birthday!"

Within milliseconds, she was tearing up. "Aw, you two," she started, "you didn't have to.."

"Of course we did," Hunter replied, "You're our mom and we love you. You didn't raise a pair of deadbeats, either."

"Go on and read the card," I beckoned her, eager to see her reaction to what Hunter and I had written yesterday. She grabbed the card, which had a cartoony owl on it, wishing her a happy birthday (Mom loves owls). She opened it and read what we wrote first. I didn't want to lean over and read it with her, but I remembered it as best as I could.

"Here's to another amazing year of happiness. For you. For us. For our future. We love you, Mom, and no matter what happens, we'll always be there for you like you are for us.

-With love from your 'preciosos niños', Hunter and Reese"

If she wasn't tearing up bad before, she was now. Tears of joy started falling from her beautiful eyes and she looked at us with such love. She put the card down and said, "Thank you both so, so much! I'm so blessed to have you two..!" She reached out for us and we all shared a big hug. In a whisper, her voice quavered, "I don't know what I'd ever do without you boys. I love you."

"We love you too, Mom," Hunter and I said in unison.

When we stopped hugging, she looked down at her breakfast and said, "Ah, this looks delicious."

"I made it," I boasted and Hunter bumped my shoulder playfully.

"Well, I bought your favorite cake," he said.

"You both are so awesome," Mom said.

"We know," I remarked, crossing my arms over my chest. Hunter draped an arm on my shoulder and leaned on me. Mom laughed at us, looking much younger than she was in an instant.

"Go ahead and eat, Mom," Hunter said. He turned to me and ordered, "Get changed already so I can drop you off at school."

"Do I have to go? It's Mom's birthday."

"You need to go, Reese," Mom said past a bite of waffle.

"Alright," I muttered sadly and left her room.

I rushed back to my room to put on some clothes for school. Without putting much thought, I threw on some black jeans, a random black T-shirt, and my go-to green hoodie. I swiped my phone from my bed and grabbed my backpack on the way out of my bedroom. Once at the front door, I grabbed my sneakers from the side and slipped them on. Hunter came out of his room tossing his car keys in his hand.

"Ready, Reese's pieces?" he asked as he opened the front door.

"Don't call me that."

"Sure thing, Reese's puffs," he said, not listening to me at all. I rolled my eyes playfully and walked out of the apartment behind him.

A few minutes later, we were hopping into the gray '08 Toyota Corolla. Hunter took the driver's seat while I sat in the passenger's. One turn of the engine and we were backing out of our apartment's designated parking space.

As we drove to my school, I stared out of the window, leaning my elbow on the car door. I watched buildings, cars, and street signs go by, and kept in mind the surroundings we'd drive past next thanks to memorizing the way to school.

I turned to Hunter and asked, "Hey, when are you gonna let me drive?"

My big brother smirked and retorted, "As soon as you stop asking me to let you drive."

I gave him a look and he snickered to himself.

"Seriously, when?" I questioned.

"Mmmm," he hummed, "maybe when you get your own car."

"Ah, c'mon, that's like a millennia away with our money," I grumbled.

Realizing he fucked up his words, he sighed and replied, "Yeah, I know." Then he turned a corner and added, "Fine, when I come to pick you up, I'll let you drive us back home."

"Really?" I chimed, perking up in my seat.

"Hell yeah," Hunter affirmed, "but, we're taking as many back roads as possible."

"Dude, the back roads around here are bumpy as all hell," I muttered, "It's like you want me to become a piss-poor driver."

"Maybe I do, maybe I don't," he teased, "We will let fate decide!"

"Oh, shut up and drop me off already," I said.

A minute later, Hunter drove past the school gates and slowed to a stop by the curb. Unbuckling my seatbelt, I grabbed my backpack and opened the car door.

"Have a good day, little brother," Hunter called.

"You, too, big brother," I replied back, and waved. Once I got out of the car and closed the door, Hunter started driving away. I turned to head into my school, putting in my earbuds as I walked. Music began pouring from the speakers into my head, drowning out my surroundings. Without this, I don't think I'd be sane while I'm here.

I waved a casual hello to the security guard waiting by the front doors as I opened them. Walking past the lobby and into the main court, I breathed in, and gave myself a silent pep talk.

Don't be a smart-ass. Don't get cocky. Just breathe. And especially don't punch anyone in the face.

Unless they punch first.

...

My English class always puts me to sleep. The teacher drones on and on, and I'm getting really tired of hearing about thesis. It's just one damn sentence in an essay, it shouldn't be hard to learn. Four years of this crap, I'm surprised I haven't shot myself. The teacher doesn't do much to keep me awake, though, so I never really get in trouble.

Sometimes I have quick dreams while I'm dozing off. They'll be normal, like Hunter and I on a car ride or me surviving the zombie apocalypse (that isn't really normal, but it's really cool). Sometimes they won't be so normal and lean more towards being nightmares instead of dreams.

This time, it was the latter.

I kept seeing myself running down the stairs away from a shadowy figure. But the stairs were never ending and the figure was growing larger. The heart-pounding scene seemed to drag out forever, until finally the figure shoved me forward and I crashed against the steps, tumbling down. I felt the edge of a step catch my mouth, recreating the scar that's on my upper lip. When I finally hit the cold, basement floor, the shadowy figure caught me and dragged me back up the stairs by my shirt collar to shove me down all over again. And it happened over and over, again, and again, and again, and again--.

I gasped when someone tapped my shoulder and pulled me out of the nightmare.

"Hey, class is over," a boy told me, "the bell already rang."

"O-Okay, thanks...," I murmured, and grabbed my backpack from the floor.

Putting in my earbuds again, I walked out of the classroom to head for lunch. The halls were crowded with students walking like snails to get out into the main court. Once I was in more open space, I swerved past people to get to the cafeteria. It was chilly in there more than outside, as usual. Many students were already sitting with trays in front of them, and I glanced at a few to get an idea of what today's menu is. Thankfully, it was something I could stand to eat.

I got in line, waiting while listening to my music. Gazing around the huge cafeteria, my mind kept going back to that nightmare I just had. Subconsciously, I touched the scar on my upper lip and grimaced at the memory of that night when I got it.

Some guy decided to cut in the line in front of me. Since it was only one person, I brushed it off and simply rolled my eyes. But then more people started cutting in line, joining the first one, and the students behind me groaned at this. Seeing the group cackle with each other and cut in line without a care annoyed me, but what set me off was the fact that they kept bumping into me. Whether it was shoulders or backpacks or feet, my annoyance grew. It pissed me off so much, that I yanked out my earbuds and growled, "Hey, quit bumping into me, and try waiting at the back of the fuckin' line for once."

All of the group looked at me and I held a hard glare.

Before I knew it, I was getting dragged away by a security guard off of some asshole who I punched in the face. He was groaning on the floor while holding his nose and I rolled my eyes. "Suck it up," I grumbled aloud, and the security guard told me to be quiet. It's not my fault the guy is such a little bitch. He'll be fine.

A few minutes later, I was sitting in front of the counselor's desk with my hands on my lap and my head lowered. As bad as it is to be in here, I kept thinking about the funny, tired face the lady made the second she saw me. Again.

The first thing my designated counselor said to me was, "You ran your mouth off again, didn't you?"

After a pause of silence, I shifted in my seat and muttered, "Yeah."

"What happened?"

"I told a group of students to quit cutting in the lunch line and one of them came up in my space. I don't know his name, probably a junior or sophomore, because I don't see him in my classes."

"Why only a junior or sophomore?"

"Freshmen don't screw around with anyone outside of their grade," I said, matter-of-factly. "Anyway, he started it."

She sighed and shook her head.

"At least he's not as injured as the other one," I retorted.

"That's not something to be proud of, Mr. Jones--."

"Montemayor-Jones," I corrected.

"Reese," she rephrased, giving me that scrutinizing look.

"I've been working on it..."

"Reese, you're a senior now," she stated, "After four years, you should have shaped up."

"It's not exactly easy when people don't give you much incentive to do so."

She narrowed her gaze. "College and a stable career should be enough incentive to clean up your act. In the real world, one punch at a man could get you sent to jail. In the real world--."

"In the real world, it isn't so easy," I interjected, "I know, I know, you've told me this a thousand times. I'm not stupid."

"Your sarcasm is one reason your attitude is so poor."

"Getting rid of my sarcasm is like getting rid of your kidneys," I remarked. "It's a part of me."

"Reese, one of these days you will have to grow up," my counselor said. "I'm disappointed to see that you haven't reached that day yet. You have a lot more to offer to this world than you let yourself think."

I chuckled wryly and muttered, "Why should I offer the world anything when it's done nothing for me? It doesn't deserve anything from me."

The counselor sighed and that was the end of our discussion, because she knew that, no matter what, she can never get through to me. Like all of my school counselors, and therapists before her, they give up eventually.

...

At the end of school, Hunter's car was already waiting for me at the front. The moment I laid eyes on it, I groaned and walked more sluggishly. Hunter isn't usually so early to pick me up, which meant I was in trouble. I opened the passenger door but before I could say hello, my brother was quick to scold me.

"What the hell were you thinking?" he grumbled as I sat in the fabric seat. I closed the door and tossed my backpack down at my feet, not answering his obviously rhetorical question.

"Reese," he started as he began driving off of the school grounds, "of all days, you decided to get into a fight on Mom's birthday?"

"The other guy shoved me first...," I muttered, gazing out the window.

"Doesn't matter," Hunter stated firmly. "You shouldn't be fighting at all. You're lucky the school hasn't expelled you yet...! What if the front office had called Mom first, huh? What then? You didn't stop to consider her feelings or that it's her birthday?"

"I'm sorry," I said.

"Sorry doesn't cut it anymore, Reese," my brother hissed. "Listen, I know I've always taken your side on a lot of things; always backed you up, but not this time. You're going to be a grown-ass man, and this behavior needs to stop."

"You sound like the counselor," I remarked, scoffing.

"Well, maybe I should start acting that way," he threatened lightly.

"Go ahead," I grumbled, pulling the lever of my seat so I could lean it back. As I stared up at the car ceiling, I felt the Corolla slow to a stop, a red light glinting down at me through the windshield. Hunter glanced down at me and sighed heavily.

"Reese," he began in a softer tone of voice, "you know I hate getting mad at people, you especially. I'm only being this way because I know you're better than this. Remember what I told you on your thirteenth birthday, when we went out for ice cream...?"

With my arms folded over my chest, I stared out the window above me and recited, "Just because dad was shitty, that doesn't define me. I don't have to live a crap life, and I don't have to be a bad person. I have--."

"Potential," he and I finished in unison.

"You really do, Reese. You may not see it now, but that's what Mom and I are here for. Trust me when I say I believe you'll achieve great things."

Despite his encouraging words, I never responded, and he never pushed another conversation. In a few minutes, we finally got home to our apartment and exited the Corolla. (Guess taking it for a spin was out of the question now.)

"Mom will be home in a little bit, then we can watch movies," Hunter stated as we entered the building. I followed behind him into the elevator to get to our apartment on the fourth floor.

After waiting around inside the compartment, we reached our spot and got off. We walked down the softly lit hallway and got to our door at the very end. As soon as Hunter unlocked the door and opened it, I slipped in and headed for my room.

"I'm gonna change into some other clothes," I hollered just before I closed my door. Carelessly, I tossed my backpack off to the side, kicked off my shoes, and plopped onto my bed. Laying on my back, I stared up at the glow-in-the-dark star stickers on the ceiling that lost their glow a long time ago. I should take them down eventually, but staring at them brought some semblance of peace to me.

I always remember the day Mom and Hunter helped me put them up; the day we had first moved into this apartment complex. It's hard to believe that was ten years ago. It's hard to believe that a little boy used to stare up at these working stars, holding so many hopeful dreams. It's hard to believe these stars were a reminder to me that I could live a better life; that we escaped that hellhole of a house, that we'd finally be free.

Actually...I still believe that part.

...

There's not a lot about me that's appealing to others. After four years of high school, I'm still that delinquent kid that no one really wants to bother with. I don't have many friends to stick with, my grades are semi-tolerable, and I cuss quite often. I'm a sarcastic piece of shit by heart, and that tends to get me in trouble. A lot.

Some things that are interesting about me is that I'm the '#1 Awesome Nerd', according to my brother when he was, like, fourteen (he made me a fake certificate on my tenth birthday that said that). Hunter and I are about as close as "peas in a pod", as Mom used to say. He's the best best friend I could ever have, really, and it's a blessing that he sleeps right across the hall from me. Currently, he's twenty-one and going to community college. In addition, he also works at a Starbucks as a barista (the ladies love him) and a bartender at a local bar on some nights. That dork is pretty much the reason I'm still alive today.

Another thing that's interesting about me, though it isn't exactly good, is that I was kind of an "accident". Mom thought I was a miracle, since something was up with her uterus for a while, so yay? Despite that I wasn't planned, she was nonetheless excited to have another kid. My dad--not so much at first, but he's an asshole so who cares.

I love playing soccer (or as Mom says, fútbol), taking my penny board for a quick spin around the neighborhood, sleeping, eating, and playing video games with Hunter. Those things are our life's blood. After years of collecting games and consoles, and perfecting our hobby, we're practically gaming pros.

I'm half-White (thanks dad), half-Latino. Hunter is too, obviously. Both of us kind of look like Mom. Although we're relatively tan, both of us have dark, blonde hair, but Hunter got Mom's eyes, and is just a shade darker than me (or I'm a shade lighter). If anything, I'm the one that barely looks like Mom. That's another interesting thing, I guess.

But, what would top everything else immediately, as soon as it's mentioned, is: I came from an abusive home.

My dad is literal garbage. You could toss a bag of trash at him and you'd be none the wiser that he's a human being. He's the asshole that gave me my lip scar; and the asshole who's been that frightening shadow in my mind, and the asshole who mistreated Mom, and the asshole who drank too much, and the asshole who loves his fuckin' pineapples. I hate him with a passion, and I can't help but think about the way he always glared at me with those stormy gray eyes--which I share with him--every time I look at my own.

It's hard to tell when the nightmare started. I was too young to remember much when Dad began to be a jerk. From what I recall from Hunter's stories, it was only small things that made him annoyed. A dish wouldn't be washed; toys wouldn't be put away; we spilled water on the bathroom floor when we finished showering; we got too dirty when we played outside. Dad lost his patience sometimes, and the more he let those pent up emotions dictate his actions, the more he grew into a horrible man. Unfortunately, nothing was done to change it. We had all figured that if we did less to aggravate him, he'd stop. But it never just stops.

It only got worse, until the abuse was more than Dad calling Mom ugly things and yelling at Hunter and I. Countless school nights were wasted staying up late, unable to go to sleep, listening to Mom crying from the other side of the house because Dad never stopped hurting her. Countless weekends were spent in fear, huddling away with Hunter in his room, playing video games because that was what helped us cope. Dad was relentless, and his hunger for sadism eventually stretched towards his kids.

The whole reason Hunter is practically my savior is because he took most of my beatings for me. He was stronger and braver than me, and he did everything he could to make sure I never had a scratch. After the worst of Dad's torture, he'd still return to me bearing a big, goofy smile on his face, offering to play a round on the PS2. Even after so many years, the guilt that he sacrificed himself like that for my sake still comes back to haunt me.

It didn't help that we barely had any other family. Mom had left her family behind when they shunned her for falling in love with a White man. And Dad's side was just never in contact. We were alone with a monster, until the day came when Mom finally had enough. She told us to grab a change of clothes before taking us away from that dreaded house we used to live in. We booked it to the police station so that we'd be long gone when dad came back from work, and the nightmare had ended that day.

Demonio, my brother always called him when we were younger (he learned more Spanish from Mom than I did). A demon; a monster--that's what our dad was. And monsters should be left buried into the deepest, darkest pits of hell.

I hold no sympathy for him and no one can convince me to feel differently--I wish he were dead. To have inflicted that physical and mental pain on a kind mother and her children can never make him human again. He should be dead, though I suppose prison is a decent substitute.

Even though that horror ended many, many years ago, I find myself relapsing. Nightmares pop up out of nowhere--like in my English class--and they stick for a while until it runs its course. My relapsing is one of the main reasons why therapists never worked for me, because my mind becomes consumed on the memories of that time. It's getting better, though. It's strange that I relapse, and it shows, and Hunter has let the past go; moved on. He's much stronger than I could ever be, mentally and physically, and every time I try to be like him to get rid of my relapse, it never works out. When it happens, I'm a little stuck until it passes. That's one thing my father has done that I hate the most: make him completely unforgettable.

That time will always be a part of our past, but everyone always talks about not letting shit like that "define you". I don't let it. Sure, it fucks us all up. Mom sometimes starts crying because she remembers something horrible, Hunter gets sad for a while if he thinks about it, and I have my temperament issues (I'm the worst of us all). We'll always be a little messed up, but what matters now as that we're okay.

After all of that nightmare had ended, that's how we thought. We were free, and safe, and alive, and that's what had mattered the most. So, that's why, as soon as we moved into the apartment, I had the stars put up that I never got to enjoy at the old house, since dad forbade them. They never shined bright enough to seem like real stars, but being able to stare at them was a dream come true. Finally, after years of pain, I could enjoy my glow-in-the-dark stars.

That is their reminder to me.