A/N: All I can say is Wow! I love reading all of your reviews. Thank you all so much for being so kind. Special thanks to RilesVaughn24 for leaving me extremely long reviews on this story and Southern Summer Love. Hope you all enjoy this chapter!

Chapter 4- Caught

It's morning, finally. I didn't go to sleep last night so I sat in my bed rocking back and forth trying to hold in tears. Tears of pain, tears of sorrow, tears of hurt, tears of lonliness.

I know I needed to do something about it, but I couldn't. I wasn't sure if people would think I was a bad person for throwing my father in jail, especially my mother. Even though they fought almost everyday, I knew she loved him and for me to take him away from her wouldn't be right. I couldn't bring my self to doing it. You wouldn't understand what I mean, and I don't expect you to.

I didn't want to go to out of my house today. I didn't want to have to face the laughter, the mumbling, the pointing, the teasing, the taunting, and what ever else would probably come with it. All I wanted was to stay in my room and hide, mainly from my Dad. I picked up my sketchbook that lay beside my bed, and I began to draw. It was the only thing that would calm me down. Well, that and music.

As I was drawing, I heard dishes being thrown and my parents screaming at the top of their lungs. Why now? Why did it have to be this way? Why to me? I close my eys as tight as I can praying that it will all be over soon. I raise my hands to my ears trying to drown out their screams. Nothing works. I can't stop the fighting from being heard. Oh, Dear God. Make them stop! Just please make the stop!

Without realizing it, I begin to cry. The salt from my tears trickles down my face burning my scrapes and cuts. I can't even cry because there's pain in my tears too. Physically and emotionally.

The loud noises stop. Silence. Thank God. I get off my bed and put my ear to the door to see if my ears are playing tricks on me. They're not.

I go into the bathroom to stare at my reflection. That's not me. It can' t be me, but it is. It's a girl who experiences pain everyday. It's a girl who has secrets that are buried too deep to give away. It's a girl who's tired of it all. It's a girl who just wants it to stop. It's me.

My head jolts to my bedroom door when I hear someone coming up the stairs. My chest suddenly feels like it is going to explode as I hear the footsteps coming closer to my room. No, please. Not now.

I hear my father slapping on my door with his fist.

"Open up, Peyton!"

I stay where I am. I don't want to, but I know that I have to open it. I walk over to the pounding on the door and open it slowly.

Smack! He slaps me right across the face and pushes me out of his way as he enters my room.

"What is this shit?" he asks me pointing to my sketches that I have on my walls.

"My art," I reply still standing by the door.

"Art? You call this art?" he says as he begins to tear them off the walls.

"Stop it!" I yell, not even thinking why I said that.

He stops and looks at me with fire in his eyes. He grabs my sketchbook in his hand and sprints toward me. He grips the back of my arm, and leads me down the stairs.

" Who the hell do you think you are talking to me like that? How about I teach you some manners? " he says looking back at me as he continues to drag me.

I don't say anything. I don't apologize. I have nothing to be sorry about.

He takes me to the fireplace. "Tear those up and throw them in there!" he yells in my face.

I figured out what he's trying to do. He wants to hurt me both emotionally and physically.

As I open my sketchbook, someone knocks at the front door. Saved by the bell.

My father looks at me and then back at the door.

"Go answer that!" he says.

I get up to go to the door and look back at my father who is going into the kitchen. Probably to get a beer or something.

I open the door and there stand Lucas. He doesn't say anything. He stand there and looks at me with fear in his eyes, like he saw a ghost. I know what he's thinking. I know he sees my face and my arms covered with bruises, scars, cuts, scrapes, and bandages. He looks like he's searching for words to say, but he can't seem to find them. Lucas is speechless. I'm so embarrassed, so humiliated, so ashamed.

I watch his gaze go from me to something behind me. I turn my head to see what he's looking at. My father. He looks back at me and then back at him several times.

"Peyton, who the hell is at the door?" my dad asks.

"It's um just a friend from school," I say avoiding Lucas' eyes.

I know he hears the fear in my voice and sees the terror in my eyes. Lucas just keeps looking at me, like he's trying to register what exactly is happening.

"I was umm...I was...I was wondering if you wanted to hang out today?" Lucas says, his voice breaking after several words.

I nod my head as I look behind me to see if my father is watching us. He isn't so I close the door slowly behind me and grab Lucas' arm pulling him away from my house. I jump into his car quickly with him following close behind.

When we get in the car, he doesn't start the car right away.

"Drive!" I yell.

He listens to me and instantly presses on the gas. We drive in silence. I'm not sure where he is taking me, but we enter an abandoned parking lot. Lucas stops the car and once again, stares at me.

I'm not looking at him, but I can feel him studying me closely. It's making me very nervous.

"Peyton? What happened to you?" Lucas asks sounding fearful of what my answer might be.

I sit in the passenger seat debating on what to say. Do I lie? Do I tell him? Do I just walk out of the car and leave?

"Come on, Peyton. What happened?" he asks again.

"It's nothing," I say still avoiding looking at him.

"How can you say that it's nothing? Do you see yourself right now? You're covered with bruises from head to toe."

The sound of his voice says that he's concerned, but I'm still pushing him away. I don't want to tell him, but at the same time I do.

"I can't tell you Lucas. I'm sorry."

He doesn't push for an answer anymore. He simply nods his head and says, "Ok."

Out of no where, my emotions start to get the best of me and I start to sob. I cry into my hands as hard as I can. Lucas looks over at me and takes me into his arms. He hugs me tightly as I take my hands away from my face and cry into his jacket. He rubs my back and tells me that it's going to be ok. I'm squeezing him as tight as I can as I continue to weep.

When I finsh crying, I still don't want to let go of him. His arms are still locked around me as if I was going to run away.

"Do you want to go back to my house so we can clean your face up?" he asks me.

I hesitate because I was afraid his sister or mother would be home.

"My mom and Lily aren't there. Don't worry."

I nod in agreement as I pull away from his embrace.

He smiles at me. "It's going to be ok."

We arrive at Lucas' house, and Lucas wraps his arm around my shoulder. He takes me into the bathroom and gets out a first aid kit. Lucas takes my old bandages off and sprays a disinfectant on my wounds. I flinch a little from the stinging.

"Sorry," he says.

"It's ok."

He places fresh gauze pads on my wounds and wraps tape around it.

"Thank you, Lucas," I say.

"Your welcome," he whispers.

Lucas was so caring and gentle. I loved that he was the one to take care of me. He was a wonderful person who I couldn't understand why he was the way he was. He could be friends with anyone he wanted because he automatically fit in. He chose me.

"I don't want to go home, Lucas," I say still overwhelmed with him seeing me like this.

"I know," he says as he looks deep into my eyes.

Lucas sees me. He sees me in a way that other people don't. He understands my agony and suffering. It was time. I needed to tell someone.

I took a deep breath and swallowed hard. "He beats me."

He looks at me with seriousness. "What? Who?"

I know he knows who I'm talking about. He just wants to be sure. "My Dad."

He doesn't know what to say so I continue.

"I make up excuses for him, ya know? So they don't put him in jail. I load on cover up and conceler to hide his marks. These aren't mine," I say pointing to the bruises on my face, "They're his." I take another deep breah before I continue. "My parents are alcoholics and drug-addicts. They smoke and drink until they pass out. My mom knows my Dad does this to me, but she ignores it. She doesn't want to have to deal with it."

His face is pale, white as a ghost. "How-How long has this been happening?" he asks.

"Since I was little. Probably around 5 years old. That's when everything went downhill. My parents were fighting non-stop, so they both turned to drugs and alcohol. They're stoned or drunk everyday. That's when I learned that I needed to take care of myself. Pretty messed up, huh? A five year old having to take care of herself. Anyway, they would fight and my dad would be so angry that he would take it out on me. Any little thing I did wrong he would turn it into something huge. Say if I left a toy on the ground, he would throw it at me and then slap me. Then, he would hit me for no reason at all. It was like a daily routine and I couldn't stop it. He was out of control. My mom would stick up for me the first few times, but after that she just let him. She let him hit me no matter how long I begged him to stop. If I told him he was hurting me, he'd hit me even harder. It was like my cries for help were encouraging him to beat me faster and harder. He would hurt me in any way possible. Mostly physically, but sometimes emotionally. Like today, before you came, he wanted me to tear up my artwork which is the only thing I have to be proud of. And he wanted to get rid of it." I stopped when I felt tears rolling down my cheeks.

He brought his hand to my face and brushed it away as I continued. "My life is crazy. I live with two psycho paths. People at school hate me because I'm not like everyone else. It's not fair. I have no one."

"You have me," Lucas says leaning down to embrace me once again.

"Thank you, Lucas," I whisper.

" Your welcome. Thank you for letting me in," Lucas says into my ear.

I nod my head and close my eyes. I have someone. I have Lucas.

I never wanted to go back home. Ever.

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