First of all I would like to begin by thanking Christinamarie712 for being my first ever reviewer. As a token of my thanks I offer an imaginary cookie to you since a) I do not have any real ones currently and b) I doubt you would ever want to receive a real cookie from some random guy who happens to have a fanfiction account.

Second of all I GREATLY apologize for being late in updating my story. I had some personal and school business to see to but now I can be back in full swing.

Thirdly, I would like to remind everyone that this fanfiction is rated M for a reason. Though I try to stay away from a bunch of openly disturbing stuff some of that stuff is still in here (hint, hint… this chapter).

And lastly this chapter does contain some sensitive material. Please be advised.

Chapter 4: Rachael

About twelve seconds after I open my mouth, intending to tell my story, I still haven't said anything. I finally close my mouth and look towards the ceiling. My mind just feels like it had been hit by a bus. I was completely emotionally exhausted and it apparently showed. Cole, who had been sitting across from me on the couch with Leo, says kindly, "I know this situation must be playing hard on your mind. In order to make it easier for you we 'influenced' the doctor to let us have the room privately for a while. We can wait until tomorrow to have you tell your story, so you can get it straight in your head. But remember, the longer you wait, the harder it will…"

I take this opportunity to interrupt him saying, still staring at the ceiling, "I want to say something now. If I don't I will never get this started. I only ask, no matter what I say, none of you can interrupt. NO INTERRUPTIONS. OK?"

"OK," everyone replies. I sigh hard at their desperate want for information. I just feel too emotionally tired to argue against the situation. "I have never told this to anyone," I croak, still refusing to look at anyone but the ceiling, "so this is rather hard." I feel Phoebe and Piper both squeeze my hands in comfort. I barely register, but it is enough to push me to finally speak.

"OK. I told you earlier that roses are love," I say, determined to start somewhere. "Let's just say I didn't receive many roses when I was little." I originally grew up an hour east of here. The neighborhood had the air of being really depressed. No one smiled and waved to one another, no one talked to the neighbor to see if they were OK or just to chat: everyone just minded their own business. This philosophy of business seeped into the minds of everyone so far, that a teenage boy across the street from me cried on his lawn almost daily and no one came to see what was wrong. I remember after hearing about his suicide when I was eight, that his older brother had shared the same fate years earlier. That's the air I grew up in: business and if you survived pleasure."

"My family owned a white, two floored house with basement. It had the perfect American family look; white house, clean, green, cut grass and even a white picket fence. If you asked anyone who knew my parents, such as the members of the church I was dumped at, they would all tell you that my family was just like the appearance of the house, perfect. I always noticed that the house, like the family within, held holes in the fences, cracked wooding and the garden held no roses."

"Inside the house, the portion that the guests saw was very much like the outside, perfect. Everything you saw was clean and nothing out of place. A dream home," I add crying. Both my sisters squeeze my hand again, pushing me to go on. "But appearances can be deceiving. My room was on the second floor, right across from my parent's room and it bugged me when I was little that my door had no lock even though my parents' room had one. My room had a twin bed, with a few sheets on it, and across the walls were drawings of things I had either seen or imagined in my short lifetime."

I was a very curious child growing up. I had a 175 IQ, did great in school, read and painted a lot. I had always liked painting. I had pictures of pretend friends, roses, drawings of people doing everyday routines, scattered all around on the wall. I had a very active imagination. Across from my bed was a dresser and on my dresser were four dolls. There was a red headed freckled doll named Mindy, a short blue haired doll named Binky, a blond Barbie doll named Sue and my favorite, the brown haired one in a large red dress named Rachael. My imagination would grow on days I was scared or depressed (which were a lot after I turned eight) and I could hear and see the dolls talk and move. They would comfort me, or tell me to stand up for myself, all depending on the circumstances. I know now that it was all in my head but back then it seemed so real. I remember Rachael comforting me for the first time when I had my first period at the age of eight." Here I heard both my sisters gasp, but true to their word, they did not interrupt.

"I needed Rachael's support when I confronted my parents about it. Dad would tell me to go away or to ask Mom and Mom would just tell me that it happens to every woman, so get used to it. They never helped me through it or told me what it meant."

"Both my parents were extremely predictable and reliable. They always went to work, no matter what was going on with me and had the strictest home schedules of anyone I had ever heard of. They always worked during the day and had the evenings and Sundays off. Sunday would be spent cleaning the house, random chores and if time was left then they would leave to have fun. Rarely was free time spent with me. They would always be in bed trying to go to sleep at eleven. Whatever time they had left would be given to their habits. My mom loved three things; Dad, drinking and poker. When playing poker she loved to spend and was actually quite a good player, so she didn't lose all the time. After work she would play poker with friends at a local casino and then come home and drink. The only time she didn't drink is when she was out of or I hid the beer. My dad was the same way. He loved three things; Mom, drinking and sex. When he came home from work, he would continue work and then drink a little and when Mom got home, after her drink they would have long sex. At ten they would stop, maybe see me or do something quick and then go to bed at eleven. This schedule was strictly maintained.

"Within a month of my paternal grandmother dying (the same one with the roses), I had my first period. The weeks following weren't fun," I say. The images flicker into my mind like a movie as I speak once more.

Eww, I thought running into my room. I strip my pants and underwear off and stare at the blood on my legs. What's going on, I thought crying loudly now.

"What is all this racket?" Screams my mom, obviously drunk, stumbling into my room. She sees my naked, slightly bloody legs and starts to laugh, "Huh, looks like it happened to you early, sucks to be you."

I watch her now stumble over to me, while I dare to ask, "What is it? I am not going to die, am I?"

Mom just stares at me funny and says sluggishly, "No, it happens to all women. Clean it up now and stop dripping all over the floor!" I immediately act, cleaning quickly but efficiently. My mom stumbles out of my room continuing to laugh down the hall.

After cleaning it up I start to cry, I have no idea what is going on, and the blood scares me and it is still coming out. During my cry session I hear a soft sweet voice say, "Don't worry, it's natural. Though you may want to get something, like a big clothe napkin to use as kind of a diaper, until you find something better." While the voice is talking I look everywhere around the room, searching for the source. Unable to find one I do the voice's bidding and go into the kitchen to grab a large clothe napkin. I go back into my room and here the voice command, "Now wrap it around you like a diaper and you'll be OK. Use clothespins from the bathroom closet to hold it up." Still unable to find the source, I grab some clothespins and after a half hour of very complicated maneuvering on my bed, I accomplish my task. "Good job, Paigey! Now turn around so I can see you."

I spun around to see three of my dolls sitting on the dresser, leaning against the walls as they've always done. But one, Rachael, is sitting bolt upright, unsupported, in the middle of the dresser. I couldn't see any signs of life, movement or sounds coming from her as I inch closer. When I finally am face to face with the doll, I prod her and, as expected, she falls over. As she continues to lie unmoving, I turn away only to hear the same voice say, "Hey! First of all, ow. Second of all, you didn't have to poke me." I spin around and my jaw drops. Rachael is not only standing perfectly upright on the dresser, but she has the appearance of looking completely human, except for her being the size of the doll.

I slowly walk over to my doll, my jaw still wide open, watching her sly grin run across her small features. She still is wearing the same clothes as my doll and has the same basic physical structure. She pats the ground next to her and I place my hand there. She walks into my palm and sits cross legged. I bring her up to my eye level and she grins and waves at me. I give her a slow awkward wave back, still completely speechless. "How?" I am finally able to ask.

She merely smiles and says, "You were sad, lonely and scared. So I comforted you." The answer seemed so simple but for the first time I felt comforted by someone else's words. I was stunned and just stared at the little figure. I heard footsteps coming from the hallway and Rachael says quickly, "I need to go but if you need me, I will be there!" She then falls back into my palm, now taking the form of my beloved doll.

I stopped talking here for my voice, which had been cracking near the end. Every syllable more I tell them I am that much more to breaking. The story forced me to remember my most beloved companions and friends; my dolls. Even though they only acted in my mind, I still miss them terribly. Only with their strength and support did I survive. During this intermission, I signaled to my sisters that they could talk. Phoebe talks first.

"Your mother laughed at you?" I nod, closing my eyes. "That's horrible." Both Piper and Phoebe look at me shocked, well more than they already were, as I laugh and say, "If that makes you mad and queezy Phoebe, I suggest you leave as it only gets worse."

"Then tell us more," commands Piper. My eyes go in shock this time as I stare at Piper. I had seen Piper sad before, but never over me. Her voice is severely broken and chalk full of tears. Her eyes have tears in them and they are streaming down her face. I nod and continue.

"Anyways, after that event, within the weeks to follow hell was born. Hell in the form of my confusion, pain and father. My only source of comfort was the rare live visit from my dolls. They all had different personality traits and ways of going about things. Mindy and Binky acted as the young ones. Mindy was highly energetic, liked jokes and was always running her mouth. Binky was a highly emotional thigh that would cry, laugh or get mad at the littlest thing. Sure was rule abiding, very clean and protected, and always reminded me of chores, duties or anything else I might forget. Rachael, however, was clearly the matriarch doll. Every time her soft voice would speak we would always listen in wonder. She was the perfect mother figure and I always sought her comfort and advice. Advice and comfort I needed in the weeks to come."

"Three weeks after my event, it was in the middle of summer vacation, so I usually had the house to myself. I was lonely but still happy my parents weren't there. I had been cleaning since I got up and around three, I finally had some time to do my shower. The shower was near my room and since no one would be home until later I left my clothes in my room. After my shower, I dried and walked into the hall completely nude. After I closed the bathroom door I heard a noise in the hallway behind me, and I turned around and saw my father." I choked here in slight grief. My sisters' eyes were wide; obviously fearing what was to come.

"No…" I hear Phoebe softly moan. I turn to her to see her biting her lip. I could only nod to her. I looked back at the ceiling to continue, "I could see even then that my father was drunk. I learned later that his work was off completely that day in order to fix an air conditioning problem. He had gone away to drink with friends, come home and saw me. I saw a wild look in his eyes and tried to run to my room, but the moment I stepped foot in my room he already had me." I start crying now with my body shaking. I look at my sisters pleadingly and say, "I tried to fight at first but he was my daddy! He stripped completely after plopping me on my bed and then he…" I stop her. It was all too much. By now I am crying buckets. I feel my left hand is squeezed and I look at Phoebe. Her eyes are red and it looks like she was crying heavily but manages to say, "You have nothing to feel ashamed of. You have to tell us your version of the story, Paige. Exactly what happened." As I shake my head she adds, "Trust me. You'll feel much better after you tell somebody. I know I did." I look at her stunned expecting it to be a bad lie but she nods confirming.

"What?!" cries Cole. "Who? When?"

Phoebe just kept staring at me and said to relieve my shock, "I told Piper when it happened to me. Years ago by a man named Roger, Prue's ex-fiancé. I never had the heart to tell Prue though." I look at Phoebe shocked to hear this. "You need to tell us what happened. It'll hurt at first but you'll feel better."

I nod slowly, still in shock at Phoebe's story and she adds to my benefit, "He was later arrested for raping someone else and landed for years behind bars."

I not again, strengthened slightly by Phoebe. I open my mouth and start talking. "Well he got me on my bed and then placed himself on top of me," I say all while crying. "He then… then… FUCKED ME!" I shout this part harshly. Both my sisters hold my hands firmly while I break down. I finally gain composure and add, "I felt so much pain as my innocence left me. It hurt so much, I tried to call out but he placed his hands roughly over my mouth. With his mouth he started playing with my undeveloped breasts." I break again but quickly gain my control back. "Once he ejaculated in me, he left. Left me naked, bruised, bleeding, scared and alone on my bed. But I didn't know that my hell was just beginning."