I grimace as his foot connects with my stomach again.  The beating had stretched into an hour now, the relentless punches, kicks, and small gashes made by razors and knives drawing my blood and scattering it across the pavement.  A final kick and I cough, blood spilling from my lips. 

            They left, board with their sport, for today at least.  That was the third time this week I had made the mistake of coming this way, past the science building on the way to my dorm.  I wipe the blood from my lips and stand haltingly.  It wasn’t far to home now.  Not far until I could collapse in relative safety.

            I slip past the group of girls that would coo over me, wanting to avoid a confrontation with any of their boyfriends.  I slip past people, ignored as usual, and I’m thankful for that.  Being seen, especially when I’m seen, only leads to a beating, verbal or physical.  I didn’t need that, at least not again.

            I fumble for the key at my door.  People walking past notice me and say hi, or slap me on the back, causing a hiss of pain to escape my lips.  I finally make it through and close my door.  The darkness welcomes me and I collapse, my bag sliding off into a corner. 

            I pull my self up, swearing I won’t scream, won’t cry.  I stumble through the dorm room, striping my shirt and jeans as I go.  I open the bathroom and turn on the light.  The image in the mirror has become normal to me.  My pale skin covered in even ghostly white gashes and dark blue bruises.  I look over the new bruises, most on my stomach and chest.  New gashes bleed slowly on my arms, cotton from the long-sleeve shirt in the open wounds.  My face remains clear of marks though.  They know that if they hit my face, people will ask questions.

            I start the shower and strip the last of my clothing away.  A cloud of steam billows over the side of the curtain, reminding me of just how cold it is.  I shiver and step under the torrent of water.  As the scalding liquid hits my bruises, I yelp and move away.  Gritting my teeth, I move back under the stream, whimpering as the liquid burns my back, cleaning away the skin and the pain of the bruises at least for a little while. 

              I slowly wash myself, cleaning away the dried blood from the gashes.  The paper thin cuts line my arms and legs, the larger gashes sit on my back.  I can tell you when I received each scar, each cut burned into my mind.  I choke back a sob as the soap slides into one painful lesion on my lower back.  I rinse the cleaning solution out quickly, hoping to alleviate the pain. 

            I groan and turn off the faucets and step through the curtain.  Showering with bruises and open wounds is a painful job, but toweling off is even more so.  The rough cotton rubbed against the raw skin of my bruises and cuts.  Another excoriating ordeal over, I shuffle back into the room and over to my dresser searching for clothing that won’t abuse my already red flesh. 

            I’ve taken to wearing long sleeves and pants to hide the bruises and cuts from pubic view.  Thank god it was cool here most of the year.  I slide into a pair of silk boxers and shiver.  The room was cold, it was always cold.  My room-mate liked the cold, so I didn’t argue.  I shiver again and sit down, staring off into space. 

            Hours past and I just sit, rubbing my arms absently to restore some of the warmth.  My eyes drift over to his swords.  The blades sit in their stands, cool and methodically cleaned.  They seem so much like him, always distant but somehow understanding.  I then move over to my bed.  Nothing stands out, save the small dagger that rests on his shelf. 

            I had often stared at it, thinking about surrendering to it.  The steel glints as a moonbeam shines through the blinds.  I grab at the hilt and move back to the floor.  There is something alluring about death, especially death to escape pain.  I stare at the point and turn it towards me, grasping the hilt in both hands.  “Why should I continue to live like this?” I whisper into the darkness.  My eyes close and I take a deep breath.

            I smelled him more than felt him as he wraps his arms around me and grabs the dagger, wrenching the blade from my grasp.  He throws the blade onto my bed and looks at me.  “What the hell were you thinking?” he yells.  I turn away, not meeting his eyes. 

            He moves to the blinds and lifts them, spilling moonlight into the dark room.  He gasps as he sees my bruises for the first time.  I shrivel up, pulling my knees to my chest to hide the wounds.  He moves over to me, worry in his eyes.  “Who did this?  How long has this been going on?  Why the hell didn’t you tell me?!” he cries out, fear evident in his voice.

            I turn away.  I didn’t want him to ever see me like this, this vulnerable, this weak.  We had known each other since high school and I had always hid my hurt and pain.  Tears begin welling in my eyes, begging to flow down my cheeks.  I find my voice and whisper “Why are you back…?”  He looks shocked. 

            “What the hell does that have to do with anything?!  You almost killed yourself!” he cries, grabbing my shoulders.  I refuse to look at him, keeping my eyes downcast.  He gently tips my chin so I’m looking straight into his eyes.  My voice hitches as I try to talk, but the tears start to flow down my cheeks.  He embraces me, pulling me into the warmth and security of his arms. 

            I cry in his arms for a few more minutes, letting the emotions pour out.  He kept asking me that same question, who.  I shake my head, pulling away from him and walking to the window.  “It wasn’t just one person…too many to count.  And as to why, you know that answer…” I whisper.

            He shakes his head angrily.  “Please!  How can three words change the way people perceive you?!”  I look at him stunned.

            “When it’s this world, how can it not?” 

            I sprang up, tears running down my cheeks, a cold sweat clinging to my flesh.  He looked down at the man sleeping next to him.  I reach over and grab a small stuffed wolf.  The small animal had been given to me the night after my attempted suicide.  I hold the plush close as I look out the window. 

            “You ok?” comes from the sleepy man behind me.  I smile and lean into him as he embraces me from behind.  He leans his chin on my shoulder and traces the long scar on my arm. 

            “Just a dream…” I whisper.  He nuzzles my neck gently, caressing the flesh with his cheek.  “Do you remember asking me how three words can change everything?” I ask quietly.  He nods and kisses my neck, eliciting a moan from my lips.  “See what happens?”

            He laughs, looking at their position.  The two college room-mates now lived together.  He smiles and turns me around.  “I guess I was wrong.  Even three words can change your life.”