Guess who's back with a new story? :P I have to warn you guys that this one is a sad one...like, a really sad one. But, I'd love it if you would read it! :)

Disclaimer: I do not own Austin & Ally or anything else you recognize.

Prologue

Ally's POV

"It's all your fault! All YOUR FAULT!" my father screamed at me. He reeked of alcohol, so I knew he'd come home drunk again, like every single night of the past two years. "It's all your fault!" he staggered around, breaking things.

I cowered in the corner, looking for a way to escape my father's latest rampage. But I was out of luck. He was blocking the only way out of the room. In an effort to stop him from breaking everything in the living room, I asked, "How is it my fault, Daddy?" in my thirteen year old voice. Instead of calming him down, my words had just the opposite effect on him.

He flew in front of me, put his face close to my little one, and growled. "Because she was driving you to your guitar lessons when the crash happened!" He yelled in my face.

I was terrified. My heart was pounding, my hands clammy, and I wanted to flee. But I managed to get my next words out. "It's not my fault, Daddy. The other guy was drunk, just like you are right now, and crashed into the car. It was the other guy's fault," I said in a small voice.

That's when it came. It came hard and fast, and in a split second, I was reeling backwards, hand on the cheek he had just slapped. I stared at him, stunned. My father had blamed me countless times for the past year, but it had always just been yelling and screaming. Never had he slapped me. Tears filled my eyes, but I wiped them away, determined to prevent him from seeing them. He didn't really mean it. It was just the alcohol talking. I desperately wanted to believe that.

My father walked over, punched me in the stomach, and sneered. "Don't ever talk back to me like that. You already killed your mother, Allyson. What more do you want?" Again, he punched me, causing me to gasp in pain.

I watched as my father walked across the living room to the place where my favorite cherry red guitar hung on the wall. It was one of the guitars my mother had given me before she'd died, so it was special to me. He reached for it, plucked my precious guitar of the rack, and raised it above his head. "You don't deserve this." In one swift, fluid motion, he smashed my guitar to the ground.

The guitar broke into a million pieces, and my heart shattered with it. "No!" I screamed. "No! Why did you do that!? Mommy gave it to me! I hate you! I hate you! I HATE—" I was interrupted by a slap across my jaw.

"That'll teach you to shut up," my father said.

Sobbing, I scrambled up, ran up to my room, and collapsed on my bed, crying my eyes out.

I bolted out of my memory and took a look at my surroundings. My room. Everything I owned was in this one room. My clothes, my shoes, my books, my instruments. Everything. After that day, four year ago, I learned to keep everything in here, where it would be safe. My dad never came in here, for some reason. Maybe it just reminded him of mom too much, or it was because he hated me too much. Either, way, I'm really glad he doesn't come in. This room is the only place of escape I have. At school, I'm bullied and teased, and at home, I'm abused by none other than my dad. The only place where I get a break is my room.

The bed creaked as I got off my bed. I scanned myself in the mirror. I wasn't pretty, and I had scars all over the place. Scars that people had given me. Scars that I had given myself. I lifted my shirt, revealing the fresh cuts and bruises. These were from yesterday's nightly beatings. Every night, when he came home, my father would punch, kick, and threw empty beer bottles at me. Every morning, I would take out my makeup and cover up the visible cuts, scars, and bruises, so that no one would ask questions. That was exactly what I was doing right now.

When I was done, I changed into jeans and loose oversized sweatshirt so that the material wouldn't cause more pain to my scars, bruises, and cuts on my body. I brushed my hair, leaving it down to help hide my face, grabbed my backpack, and once again looked at myself in the mirror. I was skinny—something I constantly got teased about. That, and the clothes I choose to wear.

I took one last glance at Mirror Ally and took a deep breath, preparing myself for the long day ahead of me.

And that's the prologue! What did you think? Let me know in a review! :)

The next chapter will be up by Monday.

So until then, don't forget to get #Loud!

~amillipede