A/N: first real chapter! YAY. Thank you to those who commented, it means a lot. If this story takes off, I will do a three-part book type thing, you'll see. Anyway remember, this is only from Miley's point of view.

The sections in bold are detail that Miley is experiencing but not writing about.

Disclaimer: I Own NOTHING

September 13th 2009

Where do I begin? Better question yet, where does it end? What's my middle? Because all I have right now is confusion. But then again isn't that the reason for keeping a journal? to tell the secrets, to let out confusion? Well if so then I'm in the right place. Then again, if I was truly in the right place, my life wouldn't be so screwed up. Or at least I hope it wouldn't be.

I hide it, make pretend like a five year old that it will end. It will NEVER END. By my silence I hide, reside, and dwell. Here, even in my thoughts I am haunted. Haunted by the memories still as fresh as the fake smile I plastered on this morning, or the make up, more like cover up, to all of the things that he is doing to me. I am human but no one can hear me scream and he doesn't care.

He is the reason for my pain, my fear, My fakeness, the BRUISES. It's all him, yeah Daddy dearest, Some great Dad.

Some times I dream about my escape. Maybe it'll be to some place dramatic like Fiji, or maybe just to a small town. The type of place where everyone knows each other's names, but NO ONE there would know anything of my past, That's how I'd live.

I get to school early, anything to escape the hell-hole I live in. I need a breath from it, but I've given up all hope on that. There is no escape, none at all. I opened my locker to empty white halls, it's just the janitor and I, but I can deal. It's the locker that is the problem. It holds memories, pictures of my friends. Friends, well it depends on your definition of that word. To me they're my cover, as long as they don't know, we're fine.



I feel like an alien walking into class today. All eyes are on me, and I hate that! I guess the world isn't use to the new Miley. Truthfully, I am not either. The old me was loud and vivacious. The old me wasn't the one in the back of the class ALONE. But that's the new me, scared to death on the inside, but will never show it. I'm bleeding on the inside and ok on the out, well not "ok" but I try to pull it off the best I can.

Right now all I want to do is curl up into a ball and cry, but that would be showing weakness, fear, and vulnerability. And that is out of the question. My back aches like hell, the bruises on my arms are dark black, and my whole life its self is broken. The beating last night was one of the worst. I cant even bare to write about it. He was drunk, I was the punching bag, like always.

I screamed out in pain as he threw me against the walls. I yelped as he ripped my hair out, so that I would stand up only to be punched back down, I cried silently as he twisted a wet towel in his hands and whipped my back with it. I had the white and red welts to prove it. The metallic smell that is still evident in the sent of my skin. It brings back memories of waking up in the puddle of blood this morning. . Last night was one of the worst, and the black eyes that are now covered with make up, are just a reminder.

I am in agony, but I hide it the best I can. the pound of make up, my jeans, and black long sleeve T-shirt help, but as I walk through the halls, I feel like I'm wearing a neon sign that flashes I'm abused for the world to see. I wonder, Do they know?

Miley's pen moves at lightening fast speed across her black notebook. Small short black lines covered the whole page, from margin to margin. She is doodling, that is obvious but what she was doodling was a cry for help in the form of black line.

An hour passed, the bell rang and Miley made her way to her next class, science. Miley made her way to her assigned seat in the middle of the room. She pulls out her black and white note book, as the world around her disappears. She is alone with her thoughts now even though there was a class of students surrounding her.

I've come to a conclusion, people suck. As is life wasn't bad enough some one stole my plants for my science fair project. Honestly, who would do that? I couldn't of said something to offend anyone because I now only speak when spoken to. I couldn't of possibly have done anything for someone to be jealous of me. I have nothing but yet people think that its ok to screw me over with this experiment. Well it doesn't matter if I fail because of this project. I have no one to impress. My dad, if I can even call him that anymore, wouldn't care. Just as long as no one finds out about the alcohol, or the abuse, he is just great.



I feel a thousand eyes burn into my head. Ok it's not a thousand, it's only two eyes, one set. They're his eyes, him being Nick Gray.

I don't know Nick very well, a party or two last year, back when I was the old me. He was nice, different, he seemed like he didn't are about what people thought of him, it was…. Refreshing I guess.

I can feel his eyes move from their focus on the back of my head, and onto the piece of paper that I am writing on this very second. I stay dead still, the only thing moving is my pen in my hand.

I can tell he is trying to read what I'm writing, he cant. I purposely write too small, it too loopy cursive, it's all apart of the plan. Maybe someday I'll think of my actual plan, but as of now I am to travel with no map.



The final school bell rings. Students of all ages ranging from fifteen to eighteen are pilled into the crowded hall way. It's like a sea of people, all talking, all relieved that the day is over, but one girl sticks out. For Miley has the same expression she's had on the whole day, hallow, and lifeless. She walks the hall, not talking to anyone. She is the loner.

The walk home from school is the worst. People try to talk to me, I answer with nothing answers, saying nothing important. They should be happy that I talk at all. I make my way out of the school and descend to the sidewalk. I'm using my arm as a desk to write on, it works.

The reason the walk home is so awful is simply because of my thoughts. My brain is consumed with thoughts of the horrid things to come. The only thing I know for sure is, he wont be happy.

He hasn't been happy since the divorce was official. He's bee drunk ever since, and when he's drunk he's not happy, and I'm the punching bag, like always.

I take my final steps to the house. I inhale, then exhale, preparing myself for what's to come. With one last deep breath I open the door, sliding my note book into my bag, I'm as ready as a person could ever possibly be for a think like this.

A/n: ok so first chapter is always rough, so I want reviews to tell me exactly what you liked and didn't so I can make the story better.

Thank you to all of the people who reviewed, it really made my day. You are all so sweet and I want to give you all a hug :]

Anyway, please review, it means so much to me when people review. It helps me grow as a writer.