I thought she was perfect. She had the smile, the laugh, and really seemed to like me. Beautiful. For those hours that we talked, I was in heaven. Or at least, I thought I was. Looking into those eyes, I thought that I saw a perfect girl who had mercy on this pitiful wretch.

"Of course I still love you," she had said.

I was sitting in the room alone. The lights had been turned off, though I didn't ask for it, and I simply stared at the floor. Music may have been playing before she walked in; I wasn't paying attention. I wasn't even sure how alone I truly was; she could have cleared the room out. Thought filled my eyes, and memory clouded my vision. I did not hear, see, or feel anything, until she sat down next to me and put an arm around my shoulder.

I was on a couch. It was not a very comfortable couch to lean back in; the back of the seat and the back itself had too much give, putting one in an awkward position. But I was leaning forward, and as she brought me back to reality, I realized that I had been crying. She smiled at me. I thought it was a heartfelt smile, meant solely to comfort me. I tried to smile back, but instead only ended up shedding more tears.

I had failed. Long ago, I had promised my friends that I would be with them in their hardships; now they came and met me here. I had not been with them; I had cursed them, called them selfish, told them to find someone who could help them. I couldn't support them when they needed me. I thought. We'd been friends since high school, but somehow I had managed to alienate each of them. They came to tell me that the world was turning, and that I was being left behind.

And I cried. The shop closed, and someone turned off the lights. Too poor to afford a real home, I simply lived in the attic above, so nobody seemed to notice that I was staying here. I thought.

She did.

Maybe she had hardships too. I didn't know, and at the time I wouldn't have cared. Right now it was not about her. It was about me. I had screwed up. Perhaps it was not simply the loss of friends that hurt me, but the thought that I had failed. No money, no support. We had argued for hours previously; sometimes in a group, sometimes alone. "Sorry man, but we're moving on. We just can't forgive this." Could not be forgiven the wrongs I had done. There was no hope.

So she smiled, and led me up to my room, all the while talking to me. Comforting me. Telling me that I was not alone, that the world was not over. She was like water to the thirsty traveler; where otherwise I would have died, she restored me. She could do no wrong. I thought.

"Do you still love me, after all I've done?"

"Of course I still love you."

I thought she was perfect. We talked for even longer still, and soon we were talking of other things. Of lesser problems. Until - "I got evicted today. Can I stay with you until I find another apartment?"

I thought she was perfect. Suddenly it hit me that she wasn't. I had been entertaining a lie for these many hours we had talked.

And I smiled. I knew she wasn't perfect. But I knew she was perfect for me.

***

Weeks had passed since the night everything changed. She continued to live with me above the shop, though she always made it a point to be away before the owner showed up; I was supposed to be living alone, with the only conditions that I take care of the place, remain alone, and pay my rent on time. The owner had sympathy for me, knew my situation, and let me live for a rent much smaller than I would elsewhere.

Perhaps he was in my situation once.

As for our situations? I doubt she was even searching for an apartment to live in. In fact she said after one week that she was happier here with me than she ever was paying far too much for poor living conditions; and later she confided in me that she was never accepted elsewhere. So I let her stay with me. Both of us were happy with each other. Neither of us were happy with the world.

My friends, I later learned, all ended up going their separate ways. Some moved away, others stayed and simply stopped meeting with each other. One went to jail, and some did not change anything about his schedule. He would come by the shop every day at three, talk with me, order a drink, and leave. I never asked him about what I had done, and he never talked about it.

I was telling her about that night again. It helped the pain to talk about it, and it helped the pain to talk to her. Then one day she asked me a question. "The friend who comes into the shop every day. Was he there?"

I thought long about it. I didn't remember him being there. I almost said no before memory returned to me. "Yes. He was there."

"Oh. Did he say anything?"

It then struck me that he had been silent for the entire conversation. I assumed he was just shy - he had always been afraid of deep confrontations with friends - but he did not speak a single word to me. I knew he still lived where he always had. I rose from the couch and put on my coat. A large dark grey coat, somewhat used but far from ugly, it served me well during most seasons, though for winter I picked out something heavier.

"Let me go with you." It seemed a harmless request. She couldn't find her own jacket; I gave her mine. It was far too big on her; I thought it looked cute, but I left my thoughts unspoken.

Neither of us ever bought a car, so we would use the public transit. Sure, it cost a few cents, but we had an unsettled question to ask. I hadn't wondered why she asked. She knew he had been my friend, and was with us as we talked every now and then (when she skipped work, which was becoming more frequent as days grew on), but never said anything.

We didn't need to go all the way to his apartment; fate drew him out on its own, and he got on this bus, and sat right in front of us. "Hey-"

"How did you know I was leaving?"

My next words were cut off by a gentle nudge to my side. I looked at her, and she nodded at me. Somehow, I understood.

"I didn't want to tell you. I know you must hate me." He sighed, scratched his head uncomfortably.

I shivered, though not from the cold. She wrapped the coat around me, but I didn't notice; she leaned her head on my shoulder and fell asleep, but my response was purely mechanical as I put an arm around her shoulder. "I don't hate you."

"Who do you hate, then?"

"I hate myself." That was my problem, then. I hated myself more than my friends hated me, because I had failed them, and promised to do so. But I had her. She was not perfect, but perfect for me.

"I should have helped you out. We could have given you another chance."

Before I found the words, he said his farewells and left the bus. I stared after him as we rolled away. "You did help me out, dear friend. You let me meet someone perfect. We may not have much, but we have something new."

I decided to let her rest.

***

A few hours passed after we returned home. She grew more affectionate but less talkative, almost as a child who had been frightened by something she didn't understand. But when I asked her about it she shook her head and said nothing. Soon she had fallen asleep again, sprawled half on the couch (which had been moved up to my room, as a new one was finally purchased), and largely on the floor.

I let her rest, and crawled into bed. It seemed to be merely seconds later that I awoke to a feeling at my side, now wearing only shorts and a large T-shirt of mine that went down to her mid-thigh; she had abandoned the couch for a more comfortable bed. Yet for some reason, my thoughts could not focus on her. Once again I had to focus on the weeks where I ruined all of my friendships.

The entire month had been bad. I had taken a pay cut because the shop was in a recession. Lacking in funds, I found myself losing sleep, and losing my temper more and more. My friends noticed it, but I didn't seem to. Then one of them came to me and asked for some help. We had promised to help out our friends when we graduated from high school, and so far everyone had held true to that. Everyone but me, that is.

"Look, I need some help. Pitch in a few dollars, or some food, just this month. I swear I'll pay you back."

I was indignant that anyone would ask me for money or food. I was losing money and seldom had food enough to feed myself. What's more, I had hit a bad streak of writer's block. Frustrated, I told him to go ask someone else.

"Everyone else agreed to chip in some. It's only a month. Come on, you promised. We've been friends for years. Don't leave me now."

But I didn't care about my promise. I told him he could go to hell, and that he was ignorant to my problems. I was poor, starving and miserable, and he came begging me for money; I told him they should have been helping -me- out, and told him to leave. I was still mad at him the next time he visited; in fact, I had let my anger brood.

I called him names I wish I had never spoken, told him things I wish I could take back, and when he took offense I punched him in the eye. And so he left, and reluctantly told my friends the story behind his black eye. I had calmed down by the next day, but was still angry, and was not friendly with him for the week that followed.

At the end of that week, came the night where everything changed. His black eye had recovered, and he stood there, silently, that night. Before tears, thought and memory clouded my vision, I saw him talking with her. He was also crying.

And now he was moving out of town. And he did not hate me. He felt he should have stood up for me. And now he was moving out of town.

I sighed, and tried to return to sleep. The one I had wronged the most, still respected me after all I had done.

***

The next thing I remembered was the alarm clock going off. I opened my eyes, though I knew I didn't need to wake up today. She had set it. I watched her roll out of bed, and walk sleepily over to the stand, turning off the alarm. Keeping the lights off she stepped into the bathroom and closed the door. A few minutes later I heard the shower running; I was unable to keep my eyes open.

When next I opened them the sun had long since risen, and she was long since gone. So it went. I was still tired, told myself a few more minutes was all I'd need, closed my eyes. I did not wake up in a few minutes, but a few hours; at 3 PM I was awakened by the soft touch of her hands on my shoulders.

"Hi," I said stupidly. She smiled, and didn't say anything as she took me by the hand and pulled me out of bed. "What were you talking about?" I asked. "It was so long ago now. What did you say to him the night you moved in?"

For a minute I was afraid she would simply cling to me and keep silent once again. But this time she spoke. "He said he was a horrible friend."

"Why?"

"He let your friends rip your life away from you."

"What did you say to him?"

"I said he was wrong." She shrugged. "And I said that I would help you." I knew they had been friends from an early age, and that she had known this decision meant they would probably only rarely speak again. "He understood."

I smiled at her. "I love you."

She didn't seem to hear me. She frowned and looked over at the wall. "I loved you then, but not like I do now." I knew what she meant. I smiled at her, and she smiled back. I moved and sat down on the couch, leaning back despite the uncomfortable feeling it conjured. She sat next to me, and put an arm around me, just like she did to draw me back into reality weeks before.

In her arms, I felt safe. I relaxed, satisfied that while we were together my troubles would fade from memory. Just as she drew me into reality, so now she led me into a bliss where I had never done or said any of it.

***

But some good things must come to an end. Suddenly I had a beautiful idea that just might sell itself to a publisher, and I gently moved her arm from off my shoulder. She asked what was wrong.

I told her nothing was wrong, just that I had an idea. Then she smiled at me; she knew how important that was to me. And of course she asked me what my idea was. I paused, trying to put it into words, then nodded. "It's about a man who has a guardian to help him through his difficulties. It's an analogy."

"To what?"

"You." She was delighted. I started calling her 'my guardian', and she was excited for me to get it done. As I worked, she would give me ideas or answer the questions I asked her. If she ever got sick of it, I couldn't tell. My guardian was always there for me. But eventually my fingers grew weary of typing and my mind grew weary of thinking; she had fallen silent, and so had I. I had gotten a fair amount written.

Stretching, I turned to look at her. My home was a small two-room job. The only furnature was my desk, the couch, and my bed; the couch had become more of a laundry basket due to a lack of floor space (part of which was taken up by a drum she owned), so she lay on the bed, using my coat as a pillow. The other room was the bathroom, which was put in for me when I was allowed to stay; the wall was strange looking, but worked, and everything in the bathroom was compressed into a small area.

Her eyes were closed, her hands folded on her breast, which rose and fell steadily. She was asleep, or looked the part perfectly. I smiled and moved aside the clothes on the couch, before sitting down and drifting back into thought. This only lasted a few moments, however; the phone on my desk rang. Her eyes opened and she looked about sleepily, and I rose to my feet to answer the phone.

It was one of my friends; I hadn't seen him since the night my world changed. We exchanged pleasantries for a few minutes. I commented that the girl who was my guardian had fallen back asleep. "And how is she?" he asked.

I told him she was fine. For a moment he was silent; but before I could ask if he was there, he spoke again. He said that she had told him to call, and given him the number. I was somewhat confused. "Do you want me to wake her up for you?"

"No. I need to talk to you." He paused. "I'm calling from the jail, man." I was silent. I had always tried to keep him from trouble when we still hung out together, but towards the end of our friendship, I had stopped. Angry with the growing bitterness my friends felt towards me, I eventually simply told him I didn't care, or have the time to keep him straight.

"What'd you do?"

"Beat a guy up. Look, she says you're sorry for what you did. I think she's a liar, or you are, but I just wanted to tell you you were right. This crap screwed me up."

"I -am- sorry."

"Well it doesn't matter anymore, does it? You got what you wanted. None of us around anymore to keep her from you. Screw her, and you too! I can see you sitting there, trying to keep from smiling 'cuz I'm in the slammer, after you kept telling me that it'd screw me up. Well you were right. I guess you sure told me." He hung up.

I did too, and simply stared at the phone. I hadn't expected that, but neither did it come as a shock. I stared until I heard noise coming from the bed. My sainted protector had awakened again (or perhaps she was never fully asleep). She sleepily rubbed at her eyes, then looked at me curiously. "Who was it?"

"A friend. He called to tell me I was right."

"How did it go?"

"He got angry."

"I'm sorry." She stretched. "I got my paycheck today. How does dinner sound, on me?"

I smiled at her. "Let me get my coat."

She laughed and threw it at me. A few minutes later we were out the door.

***

I didn't notice where she was leading me. I stopped when she stopped and I moved when she moved. Perhaps it wasn't wise of me, to follow blindly, but I did so anyway. After taking a few buses, we reached her apparent destination: a cafe by the beach. The sky was overcast, and a slight rain was falling; meanwhile the waves crashed fitfully against the rocky shore, and this little seaside diner was largely abandoned during the days and nights. Those who attended were largely businessmen or retired folks, more focused on their newspapers than the scenery. Occasionally a young couple might stop by for a whimsically romantic meal, or groups of students would use it as a hangout.

She didn't explain her choice and I didn't ask. She simply led us inside; a bored-looking waitress led us to a booth which overlooked the turbulent seas, and we sat down. She seemed intrigued by the ocean, but was still responsive when I spoke to her. We talked of nothing significant, and I loved every word of it.

"Are we ready to order?"

The same bored waitress took our orders. I ordered a hamburger and a Coke; sitting opposite me, my angelic guardian asked for a cup of coffee and a short stack of pancakes. She spoke almost as soon as the waitress had gone. "Is that man over there reading what I think he is?" She pointed. There was a man sitting at the next table over, reading a small paperback book.

As he turned the page I recognized the cover art and the name easily. This was one of my books. I nodded to her, and moved closer to the man. "Where did you get that book?"

He looked up at me. As most of the men were in this place, it seemed, he was a middle-aged businessman, slightly overweight, balding, and shorter than the average man. "I picked it up in a second-hand bookstore for my daughter."

"Does your daughter have any other books by that man?"

"No. She collects books like these, though. I think she'll like this one."

I smiled, but said no more. If he was curious, he could ask. I sat back down, and she smiled sincerely at me. "That's encouraging. I'm sure this next one will be big. That'll get your career going."

"I hope it's big, but not because I want the money."

"Why?"

I smiled. "It's about you. I would die to have it do you an injustice."

She laughed. The sound was beautiful. Somehow in that laugh I felt that even without my old friends, living with this girl, my protector, I had found something better than anything I'd had before. Slowly, the pain had started to fade.

Our drinks arrived, then our meals, and we ate. I was not in heaven; I was at a diner on a winter's beach with a girl I could never have hoped for in my wildest dreams. And I once again felt true joy.

***

The next day she didn't return home as early as she usually did, but this was excusable. She would every now and then have something or other to be doing elsewhere. I was fine with this, because I had placed my ultimate trust in her. If she said she wasn't doing something, she wasn't doing something. However, I had a question for her that I wanted to ask; so I stayed camped out downstairs for a while, taking the liberty to fix myself some coffee to help stay awake.

I eventually went back upstairs and began working some more on my story, but I couldn't bring myself to focus. I forgot what my question was and began simply to long her company. A new acquaintance stopped by, and we talked for a while downstairs. He eventually left, promising to stop by some time tomorrow so he could meet the girl I talked so much about.

It felt strange making new friends, because I still felt attached to the old ones, even though one of them hated me, and another felt that he had wronged me, and the others hadn't spoken to me. So perhaps I was somewhat aloof at first. But now, with all thanks to my wonderful protector, I felt that my crimes against my friends were being forgiven, and that I could move on.

I fell asleep waiting for her, though it was not long before I was awakened by the muffled sounds of her voice calling my name at the door. I found that somewhat odd, as I knew I had given her a key, but guessed she had forgotten it. I moved over to open the door, and she was still screaming and pounding - she stopped suddenly as I opened it for her, and smiled stupidly at me, as if all of her screaming had never happened.

Then she took a staggering step forward, and wrapped her arms around me, and attempted to kiss me - I refrained for the moment, partially because this was unexpected, but largely because I could smell the alcohol on her breath. "Come on, let's get you to bed."

She didn't seem unwilling, but she certainly helped very little. I don't know if she could have or not, but I eventually simply found myself lifting her off the ground and carrying her upstairs. This she seemed to enjoy, as she began speaking slurred 'whispers' into my ear, and kissing me.

For a moment this didn't seem wrong to me. I was ready to grab a bottle and simply enjoy this for the night, until I put her down on the bed. She had begun to attempt to unbutton her blouse, though in her state was having more than a little trouble doing so, and I could do little more than stare at her. This was wrong. She couldn't be like this, and I couldn't be liking this.

I told her I was going to the bathroom and would be out in a few minutes. She didn't respond. I entered the room and closed the door behind me. And I cried.

***

So I cried myself to sleep. Or so it seemed. I woke up in the morning in the same position, seated against the wall, and reluctantly rose to my feet and opened the door. It was a few hours before dawn, but still many hours had passed. I stepped through and looked about. As I had suspected, she had fallen asleep; once again she looked like the perfect girl I remembered. I climbed into bed, fortunately without disturbing her rest.

But I got no sleep for what was left of the night. I was still shaken, still confused. Every noise that she made drew my attention, for as night grew on I desired more and more to talk to her.

The sun rose, and the alarm clock sounded. She emitted an irritable groan and sat upright, before going over and punching the snooze alarm ere she simply unplugged the device. As she dragged herself back to bed, she suddenly seemed to notice that I was now there, and watching her. Somewhere behind her tired, hungover exterior, I sensed that she understood. I stared at her. She climbed back into bed.

Words failed me, and she said nothing. Rather, she simply snuggled up against me and closed her eyes, soon asleep once again. Somehow comforted, I slept as well.

I rose at around eight, and went to turn on the computer, only to find it already on. Deactivating the screen saver, I pulled up my document and began typing. My spirits darkened but my idea still alive, I wrote about the man's guardian becoming enamored with the things of the world. The man was confused, and couldn't think of anything to do to help his guardian elude the corruption so inherent in nature.

Then he realized that he could simply ask what had happened. But the man was afraid, because his guardian had helped him, and it felt wrong for him to give advice or comfort to the guardian.

Then I realized that I already did.

Sighing heavily, I sat down on the bed and gently shook her. She woke, and sat up. Seeing me, her expression became grim. "Last night-"

"I know."

"Did we-"

"No."

For a moment she was silent. "I'm so sorry."

"Why?"

She explained. After work, an old friend had stopped by. Ere she and I had met, they were an item, but stopped seeing each other, and eventually simply stopped associating with each other. He saw her working, found out when she got off, and stopped by to take her out to a party. She saw no harm in having a little fun that night, and had never expected to return home so drunk as she was. Never intended to be so drunk. Never intended to hurt me.

I understood. If my visions were crushed, hers were too. But somehow I understood that this was not her. Actions speak louder than words, but her being spoke louder than her actions. I put an arm around her and smiled. "I love you." And I meant it.

***

The sun rose, and a while later the alarm rang. Tired, but blissfully happy, I hit the save button and turned to face her, as she blinked away sleep and looked at the clock. She seemed reluctant to do so, but eventually she went into the bathroom and closed the door. I sat down on the bed. Soon it became lying down. The shower started running, and my eyes closed slowly. I opened them as she shook me awake. "I'm leaving. Don't fall asleep on me."

Before I went to shower, I looked at all I had written the day before. Everything was unraveling. The man's complications were diminishing, and all of them looked like less of a problem now that he had overcome, and saw his relationship with the guardian in a new light. All that was missing was a good ending.

But then I thought about her comments. "I don't want -our- story to end at all," she had said. Perhaps this one need not have a definite end. All of the storybooks ended on the same note: "and they lived happily ever after." Why not this?

So I began to write the ending. Somehow it seemed fitting that I do this alone. "Days continued on, and the man and his guardian, with the help of each other, saw their problems in a new light. Yes, they continued, but where one would fail the other would carry. Thus, less occupied with these issues that arose, the time and energy was now available to them to reach beyond what they could before. They were together, and together they conquered."

I smiled, and went in to shower and change my clothes. Then I went down to work, still asleep on my feet, and went about my day.

Again she failed to return right away, but I was little concerned about it, largely because I was little awake. I returned to my room and fell asleep on the bed, until the door opened and I awoke to the sound of voices: that of the friend who had stopped by a few days before, and the poorly restrained laughter of my guardian.

For a minute old feelings awoke, but they died as my friend spoke, a mildly amused smile on his face. "She fell asleep on the bus. This why you didn't let me in yesterday?"

I nodded, and gestured at the couch. "Let me tell you about it - but first, my story. If you would, my guardian, you may read the ending aloud to us."

She did so. It was like hearing it for the first time for me, somehow, though I was its writer. Upon her completion of reading it, she smiled at me. "My dear conqueror, I cannot imagine an ending more perfect."

We told our story to my friend. He left afterwords, and I lay down on the bed. My guardian looked over the rest of the story, nodding and commenting where she felt it was appropriate.

Eventually I stopped responding, and eventually fell asleep. She woke me later, gently. "I looked it over. Want me to send it in?"

Still yawning, I told her to send it to the publisher who had agreed to look at it. She did so, and soon dropped onto the bed next to me. "The ending is perfect."

"Why do you like it?"

"We live happily together. I wouldn't trade that for the world."

"Neither would I." I smiled and closed my eyes. "Neither would I."