Sorry for the delay. The Olympics and... Yeah,anyway... Damn, Finland didn´t even get ONE gold medal! Dumma svenskar som vann ishockey finalen! Okey, okey, calming down and changing back to english...

Hope you like this chapter. And you guessed right, I don´t remember (know) anything about Van and his family history. Feel free to correct me, but remember, some things are needed to make the story work.


I was eight the first time I caught my mom in bed with my math teacher. I was ten when my dad went to jail for the first time.

Then my mom started drinking and the guests in her bed got more frequent. The broken bones came as clock had monthly appointments with the doctor and her exuses got worse and worse. She fell, she walked into a door, the dog attacked her. Back then I often wondered wherethe doctor got his diploma, today I can bet that he was the cause of at least some of her bruises.

My dad came out of jail just to go back in. Greed is a powerful thing. It´s always stronger then the love for your wife and child.

Love... Yeah. I doubt that my father knew (or know) the thru meaning of that word. Butthat´s a story for another day.

I hated the life I lived. Dad was in jail or on his way there and mom was either drunk or sleeping around. Or both. Either that, or she was laying in a hospital bed.

Neither of them had much time over for me.

I was fourteen and a half when social service started coming around to our house. Our neighbours had complained. My teachers had seen the bruises on my arms. The scars on my body.

A social worker, a nice lady, took me to a foster home.

My mom looked relieved. My dad wasn´t home.

The social worker took me to a home with two loving parents, with siblings. Dogs and cats.

Clean clothes and warm food. A bed to sleep in without the sounds of someone beeing raped in the next room. A house where you didn´t had to be scared or was a mom that helped you with your homework. A dad who took you to football games. A big brother that teased you without mercy. A baby sister that looked up to you.

It was a family that loved me.

I ran away.

If I wasn´t there, who would take care of my mom? Who would protect her ? Who would stand between her and the fists of her latest "boyfriend"? My dad? God?

I believed in neihter. I still don´t.

I only knew one thing: I couldn´t let my mom die.

When I was sixteen I had enough and left. Or got kicked out. Depend on how you want to see it.

I never looked back, never went back to that house. Never saw my mother again.

I´m not sure if she´s still alive.

Some memories are better left behind.

Some people it´s best if you forget. Erase them from your memory.

And I had erased her.

Until I met Trisha. And the memories started flowing back.

The look in her eyes where the same as the look in my mothers.

Hate. Anger. Resentment. Pain.

At one time, she too had that look of defiance in her eyes that I could see in Trisha´s.

The last time I saw my mother the spark in her eyes where long gone.

It had been replaced with fatigue.

She had given up.


Trisha Rogers was a beautiful woman with a flash of temper, of defiance in her eyes. I had no trouble understanding why Deaq had been attracted to her in the first place. Why he had fallen in love with her.

I had no doubt that they had made each other happy.

Now she is bitter, angry at the world.

I had felt sorry for her when we first met. It was clear that she had been through a lot, that the sorrow was heavy on her shoulders.

She must have heard the sympathy in my voice, seen it in my eyes, because she revolted against it, calling Deaq a jackass, her voice tight with anger.

I felt my jaw muscles tigthen and my eyes turn cold, but I didn´t say anything, refusing to start an argument with her.

She had her reasons to continue to hate Deaq.

Deaq had his reasons to still be in love with her.

Feelings where tricky.

Your heart has a mind of it´s own.

You can love someone deeply, loose yourself in a person. Dream of a future with them. A life full of love and happiness. Of trust.

A life full of children.

Then something happen and the love turn into hate, the happiness into bitterness.

The trust into distrust.

I know it all to well.

My parents, people that you are supposed to be able to trust.

My friends, girlfriends. People I had loved. And trusted. People that had betrayed me.

More times than one.

I know the feel of betrayel. Of distrust.

And I hate it. With a passion.


She turned her head away from me and checked the instruments, her forehead wrinkled.

I guess she saw something in my eyes that made her uneasy.

I leaned in closer and felt her stiffen.

And the words I whispered in her ear made her furious. I could see her hands curling into fists.

She wanted to hit me, to feel her palm connect with my face. A look on my face made her reconsider.

I don´t hit women. I consider men who do weak, idiotic jackasses that should rot in jail.

Right then, in that plane, sitting beside a women who reminded me so much of my mother, I could bearly control my temper.

Images of my mother´s face flashed before my eyes. First the scared look on her face when he got drunk. Then the resignation. It was normal for her. Guy after guy, night after night.

The hiding of the bruises the next day, the screams that came from the bedroom when he thought that I was asleep.

I can still remember the pain in her eyes. The blood dripping from her face.

The threats that came from his mouth. The knife pressed against my skin.

" Tell anyone and I´ll kill you. Or your slut to a mother. Besides, who would believe you? The police? You remember who your father is right?"

The cold laugh. The feel of his fist against my stomac.

I know the feeling of hate all to well.

I´ve grown up with it.


- So, where are we going?

Her voice brought me back to reality and I turned my head and looked at her.

Going? I had no idea what she was talking about, the memories still clouding my brain.

Then I remembered and the hate in my heart grew. Finland. Martin.

His face when we found them in that wearhouse. I never wanted to kill anyone as bad as I wanted to kill him in that moment. And there have been many men that I´ve wished dead.

Then the images changed.

The reason why I did this.

Her sleeping face the last time I saw her.

My angel.

My love. My whole world.

The mother of my unborn child.

I´ve known happiness and love.

In the arms of her.


- Finland. We´re going to Finland.

Apperently I hadn´t been the only one lost in thought. Trisha looked like she would jump when she heard my voice.

- Yeah, okey. Finland.

Ten minutes later we where flying, the clouds outside the window looking like cotton candy.

And again my thoughts started to wander.

The last time I saw my mother.

A thursday in May. More the ten years ago.


" They had been arguing. As usual. My dad was coming home next week and mom´s newest boyfriend was furious.

- I don´t care that he´s getting out of jail. He´s not living in this house, you hear that bitch?

- He´s my husband. I can´t just...

His hand connected with her face, giving her yet another bruise.

- Shut up. That so hard to understand? Shut your mouth. Do I need to teach you another lesson bitch?

- I´m sorry. I won´t talk about it again. I´m sorry.

- I´m sure you are.

I knew what that tone meant and my stomac turned into ice.

The sound of my mother beeing slammed against the bedroom door, her head jerking backwards, hitting the wood with a thud echoed in the tiny apartment.

- No, no...

My mom´s crying made me curle my hands into fists.

This was the second time this week.

This would be the second time I stopped him.

My back still ached after the last time. The cuts on my nuckles hadn´t healed. My left eye was still swollen as a result of the black eye he had given me.

I was getting sick of this.

Sick of having to protect her. Sick of getting cuts and bruises and twisted limbs.

Why did she have to choose those jackasses?

How long would it take before one of them killed her?

I got up from my bed where I had been laying, trying to sleep, and walked towards the bedroom.

The crying had stopped. Now all I heard was whimpers, like the sound of a scared dog.

And the sound of a belt hitting flesh.

His laugh.

The last time. This would be the last time I did this.

I stood outside the bedroom door , letting the hate wash over me. Then I slowly opened the door, making his head snap in my direction.

This was the last time."


That time it was the guy who ended up in hospital. And I ended up on the streets.

My mom kicked me out, afraid of what the guy would do to me if I was still there when he got out. What he would do to her.

She would let him back into the house. And somehow her decision hadn´t surprise me.

If she had to choose between her latest boyfriend who beat the crap out of her ,or me, her own son, she would always choose the boyfriend.

I learned early what hate was. How betrayel felt.

I was only eight when I figured out that the only person you can trust was yourself.

It would take more than ten years before I trusted a person again.

It wasn´t before I met Deaq´s brother that I knew that there is people out there that you can relay on.

It wasn´t before I met Billie that I truly learned what love was.


She´s crying.

I´d turned my head to look at her, to ask her how long it would take until we would reach Finland.

I found her crying, the tears streaming down her face.

Her eyes full of sorrow.

And again, the memories of my mom threatened to overwhelm me.

- Are you okey?

The words came out before I could stop them and she turned her head and looked at me, surprise in her eyes.

- I´m fine.

She wasn´t fine and we both knew it.

-You sure?

- Yeah.

I let my eyes roam over her face and sighed.

A stubborn lady indeed. She wasn´t fine, far from it. She needed someone to talk to, needed someone to listen to her pain. To tell her that she was loved.

She needed Deaq. I suspected that she knew that.

And I was sure she hated herself for it.

As I said before, the heart has a mind of it´s own.

I handed her a handkerchief and gestured towards her face.

- You better dry your tears then.

She touched her face and seemed surprised to find it wet, like she hadn´t realized that she had been crying.

She dried her tears and then she sat staring at her lap, playing with the handkerchief. She seemed embarresed to have been caught crying. That someone had seen her weak.

Why would tears make someone weak? Showing emotion. It´s what makes us human.

And still, knowing that, I have never let anyone seen me cry.

´Cause it made me feel weak.

- Thanks.

- You´re welcome. I cleared my throat, not knowing how to continue, what to say next.

Ask her why she had been crying?

Was it really any of my business?

- So, how much time left before we´re in Finland?

Her shoulders relaxed, thankfull that I didn´t press the matter.

- One hour, give or take. Depends on the weather.

And my thoughts shifted.

I didn´t care about Trisha, about the fact that she still was in love with Deaq.

I saw Billies face in front of me. The look in her eyes when we found her in the abounded warehouse. The fear.

- Good.

I saw his face.

And it filled me with strange feeling of peace. Of satisfaction.

An hour.

The clock was ticking.


So? What do think? Any good? Again, I´m sorry that it has taken me so long to update. First it was the Olympics, then... then it was my dad. is not fare. Anyway, review please! .