(A/N: Hey guys! I'm excited for this new story, and I hope you all like it! I know you guys were expecting a sequel for Ally Dawson's Secret, but I had this idea, and I kind of needed a change for a little while. I promise the sequel will go up, but for now, this is what I'm giving you. I hope you enjoy!)

Ally's POV

"Damn it, Ally!" he shouted, slamming his fist down on the kitchen table. "I am sick of your secrets. I know something is up! Just tell me what's wrong!" His face was bright red, and a vein popped out of his head right next to his temple. He was leaning over the table, breathing heavily.

I stared at my father with blurry vision, due to the tears welled up in my eyes. He was right, something was wrong. Something was very wrong. But I just couldn't tell him.

So I did the only thing I knew how to do. The thing I have done for years.

I ran.

Up the stairs, into my room. I ignored his calls, and slammed the door closed. I locked it and fell to the ground, sobbing. I heard pounding on the door, and my father screaming, "Open up!"

But I didn't.

I never have.

I kept crying and crying, not caring if he heard me. I had a reason to be upset. I have always had a reason to be upset.

The pounding eventually ceased, and I heard him stomp down the stairs. Probably to drink alcohol and smoke a cigarette.

Just like last night.

And the night before that.

And the night before that.

I sat up and buried my face in my hands, replaying the night.

How did things end up like this? I have never done anything to deserve this.

He had called me at six o' clock.

Just like every night.

I was expecting it.

I was sitting on my bed, legs folded, with my phone in front of me when it rang. The sound made my heartbeat quicken, and my throat dry. I knew it was him before I picked up the phone. I hadn't even checked the caller ID before raising the phone to my ear and saying,

"Hello Dallas."

Just like every night.

He had replied with his slurred voice, and I knew he was drunk. He was always drunk. He would drink and drink and drink, and then stop to take an Advil, and then drink some more. It was a wonder that he wasn't dead from alcohol consummation.

He told me to get the hell over to his house before he fucking killed me and my father.

Just like every night.

I had hung up, and stood up, walking down the stairs. The stairs made a creaking voice, and I counted each step as I placed my foot on it. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten.

I would turn the corner, and my dad would be there, sitting at the table, sipping a beer and reading the paper. He didn't even turn his head; just simply asked,

"Where are you going?"

I grabbed my jacket, took the car keys off the rack, and replied, "Out."

Just like every night.

He would glance up, just for a second, and make eye contact. Then he would turn back to his paper and sigh, causing my heart to break. I would turn away slowly, and reluctantly walk out the front door, closing it behind me.

I walked to my car, entered it, and buckled my seatbelt. I would shove the key into the ignition and turn it, bringing the car to life. I would drive down the same path. Turn left, stop at red light, turn right, and pull into his driveway.

Just like every night.

He would be waiting impatiently on the other side of his door. If I took too long, he would punish me. If I got there too early, he would be rough on me.

I was never on time.

If I was lucky, he would just cut to it, kissing me forcefully and ripping off my clothes. Other times he would beat me, causing me to fall to the ground. It depended on what mood he was in or how much he had drank.

It always ended up the same, though. Him, standing upright, completely undressed, staring down at me with power and anger in his eyes. I would be lying on the ground, naked, breathing heavily and bleeding in various places.

He allowed me to go when he had enough. Sometimes, that meant only once. Other times, that meant over twenty. He wasn't gentle; just cruel and hungry.

He told me to never tell anyone, or he would kill my father and me. Just like he did to the last girl.

When he had gotten sick of the last girl, he would get rid of her and go find a new one.

I was his current.

I am just his toy. When he wanted sex, I gave it to him until he was tired of it. I wasn't his first toy, either. But all the other girls ended up dead. Sometimes he did it. Other times they did.

I had fallen for his charm and charisma, only to be punished in the end. I thought he was good, but then he turned it all around.

I had always feared of the day that he would get sick of me, and then get rid of me. He couldn't risk leaving me alive; what if I told someone?

He would just kill me.

Game over.

But the other girls fought. They tried to stop him. They actually stood up for themselves.

I just let him do what he wants and then run.

All I do is run.

Run away from my fears, my problems, my worries.

My biggest fear is confrontation.

So I run.

Why face something when you can run away from it?

I would come home, and my dad would be waiting. I would look and sound beat up, and he would always question me.

I never answered.

Just like every night.

And then he would shout, causing me to lose it and run.

And I would end up here, in my room, sobbing, asking why this all happened to me.

And I'm sick of it. I'm sick of the same terrible thing happen every night. I'm sick of my father looking at me with those disappointed eyes. I'm sick of him hurting me and putting me down.

I'm sick of running.

But really, what choice do I have?

My phone rang from in my pocket, causing my sobs to cease. I checked the caller ID.

Of course.

It's him.

I answered it, knowing that if I didn't, then the next time I saw him, he would hurt me more than usual.

"Dawson!" his cold voice breathed, causing me to shudder. "Just wanted to remind you of our little arrangement. You better be here when I want you, or we are going to have issues, understand?"

I whimpered a yes, and he hung up immediately. I slowly brought the phone down from my ear, breathing heavily. It vibrated, and I unlocked the screen, revealing an alarm, set with the date and time.

August 17th at 12:00 am.

Happy 17th birthday to me.

Suddenly, anger courses through my body.

I do not deserve what I get, and I am not just going to sit here and accept it. I am not going to let him control me anymore.

But the thought of standing up to him freaked me out.

Then I thought for a second.

I could do the thing I do best at. The thing I've been doing for years. The thing that I should stop doing.

I could run.

I could run far, far away. I won't have to face Dallas anymore. I won't have to be his toy anymore. I could be free of him.

I get up and pull out a small duffel bag from under my bed. I unzip it and start throwing my clothes in there. I avoid putting skirts and dresses in it; just jeans and old t-shirts, most of them have bands scrolled across them. I throw a hair brush with some hairbands around it in there, as well as a pair of red converse.

I reach under my bed and pull out a shoebox. I lift the lid off and stare at the contents inside. There was about a thousand dollars in bills in there.

I quickly pick up the money and gather it together, so all the presidents were facing the same way. I folded the stack in half and reached for a coin purse in the box. I squeeze the money in and shove it in my pocket.

I throw my songbook in the bag, along with a pen, and my necklace that my mom gave me before she passed. I figure that's all that I need before I gaze over to my bedside table, looking at a framed picture of me and my father.

Reality comes crashing down on me.

My father.

I won't see my father.

I blink back tears as I walk over and take the photo in my hands, staring at it. That photo was taken by my mom a year before she died. I was only six, and we were on a fishing trip. I had dirt smudged across my face, and I was laughing, holding a worm in my hands. My dad was staring down at me, smiling.

I don't remember the last time my dad smiled.

I slid the photo out of the frame and set it on top of the stuff in the bag. I look around to check if there was anything I missed, but there wasn't, so I zipped the bag up and tossed it over my shoulder.

I grabbed my guitar case, which contained my red acoustic guitar and some picks. It was a gift from my father for my 15th birthday, exactly two years ago.

I looked around, and didn't feel comfortable running away without leaving my dad any word, so I sat down at my desk and pull out a scrap sheet of paper.

I take out a sharpie and carefully write down what I needed to say, and then read it over, making sure it was okay.

Dad,

I'm sorry. I don't want to go, but I can't keep living the same why I have been. Don't come looking for me. Maybe one day I'll see you again, but I have to go. I love you, and I always will. Take care of yourself.

Love, Ally xoxo

I set the marker down, unhappy with the note, but accepting it. I folded it up and set it on my bed. I looked around the room one last time before crawling out the window and onto a tree. I climbed down the tree and ran as fast as I could down the block.

It was rainy and cold, so I put the hood of my hoodie up, restraining my chestnut curls from flying everywhere. I saw a bus about to leave from a bus stop, so I ran over and boarded it. A chubby man with a goatee drove the bus, and when he boarded, he asked for the admission price, which was one dollar.

I pulled out the coin purse and took out a crisp dollar bill, and offered it to him. He smiled and took it, motioning me to take a seat. I smiled back at him and walked to the back of the bus, plopping down in the last seat. There was only three other people on the bus, and they were all sleeping.

I slouched down in my seat and yawned, exhaustion overtaking me. I smiled to myself.

This is it.

The next chapter to my life.

And I'm going to love it.

I don't know how long I had been traveling. It could have been weeks, months. All I know is it was a long time, and I traveled far.

I rode the bus. I only got off once a day for food and to relieve myself. I couldn't stop running because I thought if I did, then Dallas would catch up to me and find me.

I would get calls from him daily, but I never picked up. He would shout into the voicemail, telling me that he was over me, and he would find a new girl.

I should have been happy. I should have thought of that as a good sign. But it scared me that he never stopped calling. If he had gotten over me, than why had he kept calling? I was waiting for the day that he didn't call, but it never came.

I didn't pay attention to where I was. I could have still been in Florida, or I could have been in Washington. I didn't know, all I knew was to keep running.

One day, it was around six, I decided to get off the bus and take a rest break. The bus pulled to a stop, and I stood up and got off, taking in my surroundings.

There was a small town. And when I mean small, I mean SMALL. There was a small motel building, an apartment building, a gas station, a couple of shops, a restaurant, and a park. That was it. Not to mention, everything around it was just open field. There was nothing else. I felt like there should have been tumbleweeds rolling around.

I looked at a sign that was implanted in the ground. It read,

Bradford, Texas
Population: 76

That's a big difference to Miami.

I walked over to the restaurant, and read the letters painted on the building in red.

Day and Night Diner
Open 24 hours a day

I pushed through the doors and took in the place. It had a vintage theme to it. There were different pictures of old bands on the walls, and there was a stage with microphones and drums set up, but with no one performing. There were quite a few people there, about half the population of the town. I slid down in one of the booths, setting my bag and guitar case next to me.

A couple minutes later, a short, curly haired Latina girl in a waitress's uniform approached me with a pad of paper in her hands. She didn't look up at me, just sighed and said, "Hello, I'm Trish, and I'll be your server today. Welcome to the Day and Night Diner, open twenty four hours a da— hey!"

She looked up from her pad of paper in shock. She glanced down at me, almost like I was an animal she had never seen before. "Are you new in town?" she asked, still staring.

I cleared my throat, feeling a little uncomfortable with all the attention. "Yes, how did you know?" I replied. She smiled a little and said, "This town is really small. I know everyone here. Wait, how old are you?"

I shifted in my seat and said, "I just turned seventeen a couple weeks ago."

Trish squealed and sat down across from me, leaning her elbows on the table. "I'm seventeen too! Finally, someone my age around here! I mean, there's Cassidy, but she's a snob. And Austin, but he's a year older, and I don't like to associate myself with him, and Dez, who's just weird, and again, a year older. But you seem normal! We're gonna be the best of friends!" she ranted, waving her arms everywhere.

I laughed, amused at Trish's character. She seemed really outgoing and friendly. "Sorry, I'm just passing through," I chuckled, watching Trish's excited face turn glum. "Oh," she sighed, a little disappointed. "Whatever, we can chat now! Oh, and I didn't catch your name!"

I laughed again and extended an arm. "Ally Dawson," I said, with a smile on my face. She took my hand and shook it.

For the next hour, Trish and I just talked about random things. It was nice having a girl friend, and I defiantly liked Trish a lot. She was really spunky and loud, the exact opposite of me, but in a way, that made it easier to click with her. We talked so long that a new waiter stepped in and asked me for what I wanted. I ate a burger and talked to Trish at the same time.

"Well, I got to go before I get fired," Trish said, standing up. My smile faltered for a second, I didn't really want to see her go, but I said, "Sure. Nice getting to meet you!"

She smiled at me and said, "If you're ever in town again, then you'll find me here."

And with that, she picked up my empty plate and walked away, leaving me alone. I got up and picked up my guitar case and bag. I put some money in the black bill and scurried towards the exit, but I wasn't really watching where I was going. I opened the exit door and smacked right into someone, causing my case and bag to fly everywhere.

I rubbed my head and looked up, dazed. And that's when I got a good look at who I collided into.

It was a boy.

And he was cute.

(Okay, so that's the first chapter. I spent a while typing this, so I hope you like it. I really like the idea of this story, almost more than Ally Dawson's Secret! Anyways, read and review!)