Chapter 5 - A sob story

I run without thinking, the trophy still clutched in my hand. I run blindly, not knowing where my legs are carrying me.

I should've known when I finally end up in the suburbs, sweat dripping from my face. It's not like I have anywhere else to go unless I go to the police and report what my father has been doing. But then I would have to fill in paperwork, lay a case against him, and all I want to do is just to get the fuck out of here and not look back.

This city has shaped me and molded me with grief and sorrow. I want to say goodbye to it once and for all.

So I don't have any other choice but to ring the doorbell of the house that has been more of a home to me than my own over the years.

The door opens, and Alyssa's younger brother, Blake's eyes widen when he sees it's me standing on the other side.

I can't even imagine what I look like right now.

"Moooooommmmmm!" He shouts, not taking his eyes off me.

In the past, he would've just stepped aside and let me in without saying a word, but I haven't been here in three years.

"Who is it, sweetie?" Mrs Miller's kind voice comes from behind him, and I almost burst out in tears at the familiar sound.

Her face pales when she sees it's me, her gaze traveling to the trophy still clutched tightly in my hand.

"Juliet, are you okay?"

I'm usually not at a loss for words, but my voice is not working, and I simply shake my head.

Mrs Miller brushes past Blake, and then I'm in her arms, and for the first time in three years, I feel safe.

Maybe my mother was wrong. Maybe I would need people in my life after all. People like the Millers whose door has always been open to me.

"Let's get you inside, honey." Mrs Miller gently steers me inside the house where a confused Mr Miller is also standing, looking at me like I'm an alien.

"Did you not go to prom, Juliet?" He asks, confused, but his wife shakes her head at him as she leads me to the kitchen, which has always been my favorite room in the house.

It is always warm and smells like freshly baked cookies.

Mrs Miller takes the backpack from my back and gently pries the trophy from my fingers, setting it down on the kitchen table. It's the first time I've noticed there's blood on the golden figurine.

"Honey, should we call the police?" Her voice remains calm and sweet, even in the midst of her seeing the blood.

"I don't know." I whisper.

What if my father is dead? What if I killed him with that blow to his head, and I have to go to jail? No going to university for me, no getting revenge on the Morettis. All the studying and training for nothing because I killed the asshole who has been abusing me for years.

Mr Miller is there with a glass, and he puts it into my hand. "Drink this, don't think about it, just knock it back."

I do as he says, and the liquid burns its way down my throat, effectively knocking me out of the trance I was in. I cough, and Mrs Miller gently rubs my back.

"Can you tell us what happened, sweetie?" She asks. "We just want to make sure you weren't hurt in any way."

"I wasn't hurt tonight." My voice sounds foreign to my own ears, like it doesn't belong to me. "But I've been hurt before."

And so I tell them everything. From my father hitting my mother, from when he started choking me and me pushing Alyssa away. And I tell them that I hit him against the head with the bloody cheerleading trophy and that I just ran. That I had nowhere else to go and that my feet carried me here.

Mrs Miller looks at me with her mouth hanging open, a horrified expression on her face. Mr Miller looks green in the face, and he can't meet my eyes.

This is exactly what I was scared of.

That pity.

I've never wanted anyone to pity me.

I'm the Ice Queen. I'm untouchable.

"Oh honey." Tears shine in Alyssa's mother's eyes. "You don't have to worry about anything anymore, okay? John and I will sort everything out. Why don't you go take a shower and go to bed in Alyssa's room."

I don't let her invite me twice. I'm up from that chair, grabbing my backpack and leaving the horrid trophy behind. I take a long shower and get dressed in my ex-bestie's pajamas, her bed familiar as I slide under her covers.

And I fall asleep without preamble. Maybe it's the alcohol Mr Miller gave me.

Or maybe it's the fact, that for the first time in three years, I can close my eyes without worrying that this would be the night my father ends up killing me.