Here's the next chapter! Thanks so much for the reviews, guys! Please please PLEASE keep them coming! Enjoy this chapter!
I don't know how long I was there. I only moved when I saw the digital letters on the clock on the night table. It was three in the morning.
Tears still streaming down my face, I slowly got up, wrapping the comforter around my body, and checked the closet.
This was one of the closets subject to holding the overflow of Traci's clothes, thank God. I checked another door. Bathroom. Perfect.
I locked the door to the bedroom, and went to the bathroom, I took my wig off, and set it on the counter, and undid my hair from the cover it was under, taking it out of the ponytail.
I turned the water on, and stepped in.
It was scalding hot, but I didn't bother to change it.
Then I paused. I remembered watching episodes of 'Law and Order: SVU; and this was the last thing I should do if he was ever going to pay.
But I felt so dirty.
I just wanted to clean.
I must've used more then half of the bottle of body wash I found in the shower, and the remaining contents of the shampoo and conditioner bottles. When the water began to get colder, I cranked it up to scalding again.
When I finally stepped out of the shower, my skin was an angry red, and I didn't feel clean at all. I went back to the bedroom, and pulled some of Traci's clothes on over my own bra and underwear.
I found my bag thrown across the room, and shoved the wig in to that, and put my shoes back on.
I then found my phone, broken.
Under the cabinet in the bathroom, I found plastic garbage bags.
Shuddering, I put the clothes I had been wearing in there. They'd been under me when he'd...well, they held evidence. I left the comforter...Traci had told me after every party, she had her staff wash every room from top to bottom – and then washed my hands viciously in the sink of the bathroom. I stuffed the bag with my clothes in to my bag, and then walked out of the room.
There were still people dancing, and people passed out on the couches and chairs. Without notice, I was able to get out.
And then, I ran.
I ran to the end of Traci's street, and waved down a cab, giving them the 'address' of Rico's.
The area was, of course, empty, as it was four in the morning.
I went in to the shack, and looked around. I stuffed the bag in to the rafters of the ceiling and out of site. No one would know it was there.
I then ran home. When I got there, the lights were all on. I was in trouble. I slowly walked on to the deck, and opened the door.
Dad was pacing the room in front of the couch, phone to his ear. He stopped when I walked in.
"You can stop looking Jackson, she's here." He said.
I looked at him for a moment, as he hung up the phone.
"You are in so much trouble young lady...where the hell have you been? I've been worried sick! It's four in the morning, Miley Ray Stewart!" He roared at me.
I looked down, and then ignored the aching all over my body, and ran past him up the stairs, and in to my room. I slammed the door shut, and fell on to my bed in sobs.
His voice was roaring as he came up the stairs. "Miley Ray Stewart, how dare you run away from me you are in so much trouble!"
When he got to my door and discovered I'd locked it, he slammed on the door. "Open this door NOW, Miley!"
I quieted my sobs. Maybe he'd think I was asleep and go away.
Then, I heard the key in the lock.
I'd forgotten about the key. Stupid key.
I pulled my covers over my head, and held them tight in my fist, as he finally got the door open.
"You, young lady are in so much trouble you will be forty before you have a life again!" He yelled at me.
And then, he stopped.
"Miley?" He asked, his voice softer. I'd tried to be quiet with my crying, it wasn't working. I was sobbing like I had when my mother died. So hard, I could barely breathe.
His hands gently but roughly at the same time pried the blankets from the death grip they were in in my fists, and pulled them back, and he lifted me so my face wasn't buried in my pillows, therefore it wasn't constricting my breathing even more.
When I was sitting up. I reached out and pulled the covers up again, to cover myself.
"Why aren't you wearing your own clothes?" He asked, his voice sharp.
The sobs rocked through my body harder.
His hands gently grabbed my arm, and he held it out, and he saw the bruises. He surveyed the other arm, then gently tore the covers back again.
I was wearing one of the only things I'd been able to find in Traci's closet, a mini skirt. He saw more bruises on the parts of my legs the fabric didn't cover.
His eyes found my face in shock, and he saw the bruises there from when...the monster had hit me.
"Miley," He breathed, his voice gentle, the way it usually was. "Baby girl, what happened?!" His voice was urgent, he wanted to know.
He wrapped his arms around me as I shook my head, still sobbing hard. My head against his chest, he stroked his fingers through my damp curls, holding me close.
We sat there for a long time. The sun had fully rose in the sky, Jackson arrived home announcing it was nine in the morning, and asking me where the hell I'd been, he'd got called away from the biggest party of the year to look from me. He'd stopped as he'd entered my room, and saw me crying, daddy holding me.
Dad had waved him away, and we sat more. He didn't ask again, but I knew he wanted me to tell him.
Once I'd calmed down enough, once my breathing had returned to semi-normal, I opened my mouth.
My mouth tried to form words, but no noise came out.
"You want to try writing it down?" Dad suggested. I feebly nodded, and he reached for a pad of paper and a pen.
I waited as he did. The pad of paper had been located near a frame on my night table, a picture of Lily, Oliver, and I.
I wondered what they thought...when I hadn't returned home on time, dad had surely called both of them when I had not returned home.
I wonder if Oliver had though 'maybe if I'd gone with her like I'd promised, she wouldn't be missing.'
Maybe Lily thought she should have gone with me, then I would be home.
My heart sank even more when I realized the probability of either of those occurrences happening was low.
Dad gently put the pen in my hand and held the notepad in front of me.
Shakily, I lifted my hand, and pressed it to the paper. I shut my eyes as I wrote, not wanting to see myself form the words. As I wrote, my mind screamed it, over and over so that eventually, my voice, hoarse and broken screamed it too. Over and over, I yelled, I cried.
Jackson appeared at my door, face pale and angry, as Dad tried to calm me down, holding my tightly, whispering that it'd be ok, but all I did was scream it and cry some more.
"He raped me."
