PROLOGUE

It was dark.

That was all I could think about. The darkness.

I reached my hand in front of my face – even touched it – and nothing. I couldn't see anything.

I strained my ears to listen for something – anything – that could give me comfort. It didn't have to be something necessarily comforting. Just something to let me know that I was home, safe. The sound of a dishwasher or something. But I heard nothing. I brought my hand up to my ear next, snapping my fingers so close to my ears that I could feel them brush against my skin, but I didn't hear anything.

Then, out of nowhere, everything flashed red, and I was in pain. I screamed, but no sound was heard. Nobody was there to help me. I saw a face in that red flash, but I knew that that person wouldn't help me.

He was the one that made me feel this pain.

I wanted someone to help me, this pain was unbearable. But to be honest, the loneliness was almost worse than the pain.

Anybody can take the pain of anything, but knowing that you are alone is much worse.

Victorea woke up in a cold sweat, but she did not scream. No matter what happens, she will not scream. Which was good for her, because it wasn't like she was in private. No, she was still on her plane. Which was funny, because it was only a five-hour flight, and it wasn't like her to fall asleep so quickly. She tried her best to look around nonchalantly, making sure the other passengers (maybe about fifteen or so) didn't notice her little murmurings during her nap. Great, she thought, People are staring.

However, she didn't know if it was because they saw her having a nightmare, or because they knew who she was. But the second she made eye contact with any of them, they turned away.

It wouldn't have come as a surprise that everyone here had heard of her. She was very popular for something she wasn't proud of, which is why she left Oklahoma in the first place. Everyone in that state knew her by name because of what happened, but even country-wide attention has been brought to the sixteen-year old.

Although, now that she thought a little more about it, maybe they were staring because she looked so out of place. After all, every passenger on this plane looked to be at least around thirty, with fancy suits and ties, briefcases, straight and slick hair, and had an air of authority around all of them. Whereas Victorea seemed to fit in a completely different category. She was young compared to them – easily the youngest on the plane. And she was not dressed like these people were. They appeared to be from California or some other big place, while Victorea was simply an Oklahoma farm girl (or at least, she looked like it). She looked down at her clothes, speculating the informalities.

Well, she didn't look too bad.

She was wearing Maurice's jeans, so they weren't too Redneck or anything, white K-Swiss tennis sneakers, and an Aeropostale pink shirt, with a cream bandanna scarf around her neck that matched the Aeropostale 1987 logo. Sure, it wasn't any John Varvatos or Chanel, but it seemed to work. After all, this was a gift from the Social Workers who helped her.

She realized that maybe, if they didn't know who she was, that she was alone, and didn't appear to have enough money to afford an airline ticket. It would be obvious that she was alone, but the Social Workers bought her the ticket, too. Such nice people, she thought.

Or maybe it was because of the bruises. She covered her arms with her hands, hoping nobody would see those.

Flight Oklahoma 485 is reaching its final destination. Thank you and we hoped you enjoyed your flight.

The neutral feminine voice on the overhead speakers snapped her out of her thoughts that had almost become disturbing again, and she looked out her window. It was fairly late in the afternoon, about seven o'clock, but the Sun doesn't set until around seven thirty in late August, so it was still easy to see below the plane. Most of the people on the plane here were headed to New York City, which was about two hours south of where the plane was going to land, but Victorea was headed only about twenty minutes away from the airport, to an orphanage. A social worker was assigned to pick her up once the plane lands and drop her off to the orphanage.

Victorea began to wonder what her new life would be like. She was going to live in a town that nobody has really heard of, but that would make it easier for the press to leave her alone.

She just hoped it wouldn't be as bad as her life back at her old home.