I closed my eyes and covered my face with my hands. Tears were pouring out, and no matter how much he told me to stop the crying, I couldn't get them to stop. There was so much pain that was lit on fire inside of me, I couldn't even see. So I just closed my eyes and tried to numb the pain with my teeth, which bit down into my lip so hard that it almost drew blood. But, I wouldn't ever do that to myself; no matter how much I let him hurt me, I could never bring myself to inflict anything upon myself. I just couldn't, no matter how terrible a person I was.

"Shut the hell up," he told me, prying my hands off my face. I tried my best to resist him, but quickly gave up once I realized that he had taken everything from me. Why not let him continue to blaze my dignity and destroy it altogether. "I want your eyes open and looking at me when I'm talking to you."

I couldn't bring myself to open my eyes. It was almost like there was this barrier in my mind that told myself: "You will not obey him. You will not do one thing he says. Do not give in."

But I had to. "Open your eyes!" My face was getting slapped, and he was grabbing my wrists so tightly, I could do nothing but picture bruises beginning to form.

They opened, and through tears, I saw how angry he really was; I saw how angry I was making him. You want to know the real kicker? I felt bad. I was actually sorry that I was putting him through all of this anger. I never liked seeing him angry. He told me I was the reason he was so angry and mean all of the time; what could I do to make him happy? What could I do to change how he felt? I didn't mean to make him like this. If I had my way, he would be happy all the time. We would both be happy. I wished things could go back to the way they were when we first met. I wish I hadn't let him touch me.

"Don't move," he said. Then he threatened me. "If you don't do this, I'll tell everyone at school what a whore you really are. Do you want everyone to know how much of a slut you are, angel?"

I didn't reply to him. I didn't feel like my voice would be heard, even if I did say something. My voice crawled back down my throat, and hid itself so that he could never find it. Sometimes, even I had trouble finding where it was because it had been chased away far too many times for me to count.

When he looked away from my face, I closed my eyes again and balled my hands up into fists. Soon, I was feeling the extremity of these colors he makes me feel. My hands curled tighter and endured. That was all I could do, after all. If I tried to say something, it would only hurt more when he overpowered me. He could hurt me so far, sometimes.

These colors swirled and danced behind my closed lids as I waited for him to stop. Sometimes, when I think he's done, I open my eyes only to find him staring back at me. I find him looking at my burning eyes and through them until he thinks he sees the damage he's done. He doesn't understand. Not even I understand.

"There," he panted. I didn't make a sound. He leaned down and gave me a kiss on the cheek. I winced, and he noticed. "You really are a piece of work, aren't you?"

Still I remained silent. He waited for me to say something, just like he always did. Why did he wait? Did he want me to say something? I never knew, so I just didn't do anything. After he decided he was done waiting, I could feel his weight slide off of me. Then, the sound of pants being put back on and zippers being zipped.

"I'll see you tomorrow, 'Tasha," he murmured, opening my bedroom door and slipping out.

I just lay there, my eyes shut, letting the tears drain themselves out. This wasn't the first time, but every time it was over, I felt terrible. I felt like a little kid, lost and unable to find anyone that could help me find what I was supposed to do. I had no idea what to do with myself after Craig came over. Things didn't feel right.

Finally, I wiped my eyes, and stood up from the bed. I walked over to my dresser and took out a t-shirt and a clean pair of underwear. I slipped on the underwear first, not feeling clean at all. The t-shirt went on next, but I still felt exposed.

Tears were falling again. Why did I have to cry every single time? Couldn't I just get used to things? They would never get any better. I would always stay like this; Craig would always love me like this. He told me that he loved me. Why would he tell me that if he didn't? Love had a funny way of showing itself sometimes, I guess.

I didn't even have the guts to go take a shower like I usually did before I called Alex. I didn't have the guts to go downstairs and get a drink of water to calm my aching throat before I grabbed the phone that rested on the table next to my bed and dialing his number. This was also not the first night I had reduced myself to whining to Alex about this. I was terrible for searching for answers in him.

But he always helped me. He didn't ask any questions, he just comforted me. Sometimes he didn't even need to say anything; all he had to do was tell me I would be okay, and then I just was.

The phone rang. The phone rang, and rang, and rang. And then, finally, it stopped ringing. It went to voicemail. His mother's voice was strong and vibrant through the line; even in a recording, she sounded so strong and sure of herself. She was so completely the opposite of me.

When it came time for me to leave a message, I realized I didn't have anything to say. So I just hung up.

It seemed like he always answered his phone. I wondered why he hadn't this time. Sometimes it felt like he was waiting by the phone for me to call him so that he could help me. I never deserved it. I didn't deserve him. He was such a good friend. And I was such a... I couldn't believe he was so... kind. There wasn't a better word to describe him, because he was everything good, and in that sense, kind seemed to fit perfectly.

So when he didn't pick up the phone, I started crying again. These tears were silent, the farthest thing from hysterics, but I cried for Alex. I cried because he wasn't there this time. I cried because, out of everyone in the entire world I could possibly want to be with right then, it would be him.

I curled up into a little ball underneath my covers, in between stained sheets. The night was such a pretty shade of blue, and I just didn't seem to fit in at all. I could never fit in. Craig would never let me fit in.

Just then, I heard a knock on the front door; it was quiet, like they knew my parents might have been home. The person on the other side of the door knew me, I could tell. I just hoped it wasn't Craig.

No, I told myself, he would have just let himself in. It isn't Craig.

I wiped my eyes. They hurt so darn bad, I couldn't stand it. They felt so swollen and red and puffy, and I didn't like feeling so depressed. Walking from my room down to the end of the hallway where the door was, my chest tightened. I tried not to get my hopes up, but I couldn't help myself. I wished so bad it was Alex, I couldn't even get it past myself that it probably wasn't him.

But when I opened up the door, it was his face I saw. He looked down at me with those hazel eyes that looked burnt against the dark sky. I just looked up at him with my pitiful eyes, not even strong enough to take a shower, smelling like Craig, and so completely exposed. My heart was racing, and before I could wipe my eyes again, Alex spoke.

"What happened?"

He never asked that. I wished he hadn't, but I knew I couldn't hide it from him forever. He never knew what was wrong, because he didn't want to make me feel worse by making me actually tell him. But this time was different: this time, he could tell it wasn't just another night.

"Nothing," I tried to say. But my voice was gone. I couldn't find it.

"Natasha," he started again, not waiting for an answer, "you've got to tell me. I need to know what he did to you." He walked into the house and shut the door behind him. He walked right up to me so that his chest was just inches away from mine; his eyes stared down at me like a hail of bullets. "I won't judge you. Out of everyone, you should know that you aren't wrong."

"I'm a whore," I coughed.

He glared, but not at me. At my words. "No," he said, pressing himself upon me. "You are the farthest thing from it." His eyes were filled with an emotion that I couldn't even put into words. It was strong, I know that. But as for a definition, that was something I lacked.

My eyes burned, and I felt fresh tears rolling down my cheeks.

"Tell me," he said.

For the first time, I actually wanted to tell someone. I wanted to tell him. I wanted to tell Alex, so that I wouldn't feel so alone. I wanted to tell him that it was my fault, too, and that I was such a slut for letting anyone do this to me. But I knew that if I told him, I would be punished. Someone would know who wasn't supposed to know. Then, more would know. Soon, if I told Alex, everyone would know.

"I can't," I whispered. Because I just couldn't, no matter how much it killed me to tell him 'no.' The look on his face changed when I denied him the answers that bubbled up to the surface, that were just an inch beyond his reach, was a look that sent my blood racing. I could tell that he felt like I'd just slapped him; why couldn't I tell my best friend this?

I was afraid, that's why.

My chest was heaving as the crying and the shaking continued, growing more intense. Alex took my hand and pulled me into him. I rested my head on his chest and breathed in deeply. He smelled like home. My arms found their way around his neck, and I felt my knees shaking. Alex pressed his hand firmly on my lower back, not letting me fall. That only made me cry harder, I didn't know why.

"Natasha," he said so quietly, even I could barely understand him. "You mean more to me than everything."

I coughed a few times, the hysterics finally kicking in. "Alex," I whispered, "I love you."

When his lips met mine, my heart dropped. My tears kissed our lips like hot rain as I turned my face slowly to fit his. He kept his left hand on my waist, but moved his right hand up to meet my neck. I couldn't help it but keep on crying, though, no matter how embarrassed that made me. I didn't want to cry in front of Alex. I didn't want him to think I was weak, but rather strong and completely sure of myself.

He was the one to break away. "I'm sorry," were the first words to leave his lips.

"I told you I was-" I started, then cut myself off by biting my lip and pushing myself away from Alex. "I can't do that," I murmured to myself, not even caring if he heard me. I closed my eyes and put my hands over my face again. I backed myself up until I was up against the wall, then slid down it and brought my knees to my chest. My arms wrapped themselves around my knees, and I buried my face in between my legs.

"I'm sorry," he repeated, not wanting to disturb me any farther. "I didn't think- I can't believe I just did that. I'm sorry, Natasha, I can't even believe myself."

"It's not you, it's me," I said in my quietest voice. "I'm such a... slut. I can't even stand myself. I feel so dirty, sometimes, Alex."

And suddenly, he was beside me. "I don't want to make you feel like that," he said, grabbing my hand. "I'm sorry." I could really tell that he was: that was all he could muster up to say to me. Alex wasn't the type of guy to say he was sorry when he wasn't, so I could only assume that these profuse apologies were nothing but sincere.

"Don't be sorry," I murmured. "I'm just a bad person."

He sighed. "What does he do to you?"

This time, I noticed the tears had disappeared. My eyes didn't have any tears left to cry. So they just stayed dry and burning. He wouldn't stop asking, I knew it. I knew that he would never stop. He loved me too, and he cared too much about me not to ask. I wanted to kiss him again so bad.

This is why he does this to you, my mind spoke. It's because you are a whore. You are, and you know it. You do things like this. Alex is your friend. You aren't allowed to kiss him and love him the way you do, because if Craig finds out, you're dead. Then, Alex will leave you and you'll have no friends. Is that what you want? Just tell Alex. Then he will understand. Then he will leave you alone. That's what has to happen.

So I told him. I didn't like it, and the guilt I felt after spilling my guts was almost unbearable. But I couldn't do anything about that once I had done it. I couldn't take the words back.

"Craig," I paused after realizing my voice had broken. I cleared my throat and began again. "He... tells me things."

"What kind of things, Natasha?"

I bit my lip.

"Natasha?"

"He tells me... that if I'm not with him, no one else will take me. No one wants me, and I know he's right! He's right about me; he knows me better than I know myself." Alex didn't interrupt like I thought he would, so I continued. "Craig tells me that if I don't do things... people at school will find out... these things... and I know they'll find out now! I shouldn't have told you!"

Man, I wanted to cry so bad. There was this big empty space in my stomach that felt like ants crawling around and biting me everywhere so that I was just one big mess.

"Why didn't you tell me that first time you called?" he asked.

"I thought you would get mad at me."

He frowned. "You're the last person I would ever be mad at. You should know me better than that; I could never be angry with you." He brought an arm around me and held me close to his side.

I flinched. Alex noticed.

He sighed again. "He touches you, doesn't he."

I didn't know what to say to that. I didn't know if I should. Did he want me to? It sounded like he knew. I decided not to say anything, to just wait for him to continue; it sounded as if he were about to say more.

"I knew it," he told me, resting his head on top of mine. "I knew it from that first night you called me that you weren't just having a bad night. Something else was going on this whole time that you weren't telling me about." He planted a soft kiss on top of my head, and my chest inflated. "I knew that he was doing things to you, but I didn't know what it was."

"I smell like him," I said bluntly. My throat hurt. "I didn't have the guts to take a shower this time."

"This isn't your fault," he whispered. "Don't think for one second that he did this because of something you did. You didn't do anything."

"He tells me I'm no good," I said. "He's right."

"He's wrong," he pressed, his voice shaking. "You are perfect. You haven't done a thing. Don't say that. Never say things like that, things that aren't true. Natasha, you are perfect. I love you."

"I love you, too," I murmured. As bad as I felt admitting it, I meant that in both senses. He was my best friend, and I would love him forever in that way, but I also loved him the same way I used to love Craig. I loved Alex more than I had ever loved another, because he was so good to me. He was too good for me. I didn't deserve him.

"Do you mean that?" he asked.

"I do," I responded. "I love you."

Alex looked down at me, taking his head off of mine, and I looked up at him. This time, it was my lips that found themselves upon his. His arm, which was curled around me, clung tighter. His fingers made small indents in the exposed skin of my arm. A shiver traveled up my spine and I could feel him smile, if only slightly, in the corners of his mouth as his kiss became mine.

"Don't worry," he murmured, resting his forehead on top of mine. "I won't let him hurt you anymore."

I didn't have a choice. I had to believe him. During all of those years I knew Alex, there wasn't once instance that he lied to me. He was sincere. What he said, he meant. And I loved him for it; if you can trust someone, it's the best feeling in the whole world. And I could trust Alex. I did trust him.

My parents weren't even home, which I think he figured out after a while on his own. He made the connection: it was a Friday night, and every Friday they went to their friends' house for a couple beers. Alex knew that. He must not have been thinking clearly when he ran over. I wondered how long it took him to get over here; I lived a couple miles away from him, and he didn't own a car. Maybe he rode his bike.

In any case, my eyes were closing. My chest heaved, and I was suddenly inexplicably tired. I leaned my head against his chest and sighed, long and deeply.

"What are you thinking about?" Alex asked.

"I'm not sure," I told him. "I'm not really sure of anything anymore."

"No?" he said, his voice twisting at the end.

"I'm sure I love you," I replied. "That's all."

He kissed my hair and held me tight. My chest filled with sparks that were set off like gunshots. In their wake, my heart tingled and I felt whole. For the first time in a long time, I felt like I was wanted. I felt loved, and that's all you can really ask of someone. To be loved.

"And that's all you need."