Demi Lovato is a typical college student, but is also secretly part of an unit of special agents - undercover cops-. Her life changes and takes an unexpected turn when her team receives a dangerous mission. Meanwhile, new feelings are starting to de...
The blood slid down her arm, warm and dark. It stung horribly, but she was used to it by now. Why couldn't she stop? She doesn't want to cut anymore, but it's so hard to battle against an addiction. She's not strong enough.
Taking a towel out of the Chicago Dream's washroom, she dried the blood and wiped up her arms. Something inside screamed at her to stop, but she just wouldn't listen. Whether it was Nick, Ariana, Selena, Demi or Joe, the dark voices will always triumph. Her mom and the abusive pedophile. She hated them, hated.
"You were never good enough!" She accused, blinded by rage, and threw a pair of scissors across the room. "Never good enough to be a mother!"
Miley picked up the blade and scratched her hurt wrist another time, making the cut deeper and even more trenchantly painful. "You should rot in hell!" She managed to stutter out, torn between heartbreak and profound, almost abyssal, agony. She was once a bright and beautiful girl, but everything was ruined the day her father left them hanging.
And her mom didn't deal with it the right way. She was supposed to be the one comforting her, not the one crushing all her dreams, hopes, and future. She was supposed to hold her while she cries, not become her worst nightmare and biggest fear. And now Miley was left ruined, defenseless, and it'll be so forever.
"I just want to end the pain," Miley whispered to herself, her life parading in front of her eyes.
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Yes, two people abused her and ruined her. Physically. Mentally. But the one who first crushed her heart wasn't those two.
It was her dad.
He was her hero and he taught her so many things.
Music.
Her eyes lit up, because the music was like a therapy to her, a ray of hope for her darkest days. Something she'd always hold on to. Something that will always be part of her. Something that will never leave her.
It has been years since she last thought about music. The last song she has ever written... The Runaway... She could remember it perfectly.
(A/D: I wrote this song, so please do not judge and please respect the author. And don't take credit for it.)
Sorry to disappoint, but I'm only human Vulnerable, I completely lost myself Bands-Aids and bandages can help no more Runaway, take me away with you
Sinister thoughts dance through my head Remember all the tears I shed My own desperate screams haunting me Day after day, they trample me
Kicks and punches and slaps and rapes Silent screams, distress calls Out of control, things had been done I'm suffering, I need to run, to run
Rain is pouring, tears are streaming The road is burning, clearness is drowning Invisible demons transverse my body The runaway as my only ally
Red lights block my blurred vision Dark circles bounce like an illusion The asphyxiating throb has one direction to aim The runaway is the end of the game
The past years all came back at me I cover my face, I can no longer see I have nobody to lean on So why do I keep going on?
Each day gets more and more intense I'm confused, nothing makes any sense The pain is unbearable, I give up There's only one way to escape this hell
The end is approaching My heart is hammering The streets are now empty The runaway is fading...
Miley closed her eyes, like a prayer. She doesn't want to be a victim of 'the runaway syndrome' anymore. She doesn't want to feel so cut out of the world anymore. Like she doesn't belong here.
She wants to love again, smile again, live again. Be happy.
But once a heart is broken, it can't be healed.
Meanwhile
"Sorry, I don't let strangers enter my house," politely declined the African girl, ready to close the door.
"No!" I shouted. "Wait, Roxane! I need your help!"
The teenager turned livid at the mention of her name, stricken with terror. Truthfully, she was traumatized after her neighbor's kidnap. "H... How do you know my name?" She gulped with difficulty. "P...please d... don't hurt me! Beatrice is e-enough..."
I sighed sadly. I bet she will need professional help after witnessing someone's kidnap. But now wasn't the moment to take care of her mental health. I needed details. "I'm not an assassin, Roxane", I rectified. "I'm a special agent, undercover cop Demi Lovato."
The African girl's face changed color, passing from pale of fear to red of emotion. Her lips quivered slightly before she burst out: "Save her! I'm begging you! Save my friend!"
My heart ached once I noticed that it was the third person in four days who relied on me. Counted on me. Depended on me.
"It's my fault..." She broke down crying and threw herself at me. "I feel so guilty day and night... I saw him molesting her and it was so horrible."
Frankly, it's hard to be this kind of cop. You just want to end people's suffers, but you simply can't. She looked so helpless, so broken.
"I... I was frozen in shock! I-I tried to help her, but she shook her head multiple times at me. I... I was about to call the police but once I returned back to the window... Th-there were no one around anymore. I thought I hallucinated before we reported her missing. If... If I called the cops earlier, she would... She could have been rescued."
I blinked with compassion as the poor girl sobbed harder and harder. I couldn't imagine the pain they're going through, Beatrice and all her friends or relatives revolving around her. She is just a girl next door. It could've been anyone, even me.
"I will find her soon, I promise."
She nodded and sniffled loudly. My thoughts diverged to Zachary, that heartless criminal, who I hated with a passion and deep repulsion. He ruined a lot of innocent citizen's lives, stole a girl's virginity, abused tons of human beings and fucked them up in every meaning. I wanted to kill him. Maybe I will, after all.
"Save her," repeated Roxane, her tears wetting her Afro.
I stared blankly at her pleading brown eyes and thought about the poor Beatrice who was randomly chosen to be a victim. How was that fair? It wasn't. Then, I made a huge promise to myself.
