A/N: I do not own the characters used in the story except my OC Ryan. My first story, so please review. I would like to hear your opinions. I will writing the story in her POV.

Chapter 1

"Go get my beer bottle." Her uncle shoved her towards the fridge.

I stumbled, almost hitting my head on the marble counter. I opened the fridge and grabbed the first drink my eyes came across. I feared that got the wrong one, but bravely walked back to my uncle .I showed him the label, while looking in his eyes for any signs of anger. He grabbed the bottle from my small hands and hit me across the head. I yelled, fueling my uncle's anger more. He kicked me, landing punches, in between the kicks.

"I'm sorry, please stop."

He didn't answer, but punched me harder. All I could do was close my eyes and wait for the torture to be over, but the end felt like it would never come. At last, she opened her eyes, to find her uncle passed out on the couch. I tried to get up, but my legs couldn't support me. Crawling back to what I called my room, I heard my uncle shift on the couch, and immediately stopped moving. When it seemed safe, I opened the door, finally making it to the place where I felt some security. I fell asleep on the floor, never making to the bed. I cried, knowing I would endure this pain the next day, and the next day after that.


Sterile white sheets rubbed against my skin with every move and monitors beeped every second. So this is what a hospital felt like. I opened my eyes and let them roam around the room. Every machine was flashing, beeping, doing whatever it could to signal it was working. And it was driving me nuts. Then my eyes wandered to the one person in the room beside me. It was him. He was still here. I couldn't believe it, after everything I'd try to do to myself, he was still here. I let my head hit against my pillow, and sighed.

Tears dared to fall, and I was doing every possible thing to not let them. I was tough, not weak. But here they were sliding down my face effortlessly, like ice skates on ice. They felt everlasting, and I looked at my wrists showing me the constant reminder of what I've been doing to myself. The slits varied in size, some of them being as long as an inch. I moved them out of my viewing, and tried to not let my cries be heard. You, did this to yourself, Ryan. I know I did, and I was feeling sorry for myself. Self pity wasn't gonna get me anywhere, except where I was. Movement alerted my eyes to him, and I waited for what was coming.

Punk opened his eyes, and stared at me for the longest time. No talking, just silence. I looked at the heartbeat monitor, avoiding his eyes. "Ryan."

I looked back at him, his dark green eyes boring a hole in my hazel ones. All I could do was look at him speechlessly.

"Why'd you do this to yourself?"

My lips quivered, and I arrange my features, making sure my façade was not broken. It didn't seem like it, so I went ahead and answered. "I don't know."

He sighed, knowing his questions weren't gonna get answered honestly. He just sat there, his eyes never once leaving my face. Like I didn't know what he was doing. I rolled my eyes, in frustration. I just wanted to rip these needles out of me, and run away. Like you always do. Yeah, I like to run away from problems, but I can handle some. This is just something…I can't.

" You know I'm here cause I care about you." Punk rubbed his eyes, in lack of sleep, and I instantly felt sorry for him.

"I know." My eyes darted downward.

"No, you don't." Why did I feel sorry for him, again? He didn't believe me.

" Yeah, I do."

"If you do, then why do you keep doing this to yourself?"

I sighed and a another tear rolled down my cheek. I didn't want to be answering his questions right now. There you go again, running. It was automatic for me. Why should I have to answer to him, anyway?

"You know the door's open? You can leave anytime you want." I said.

"I'm not going anywhere."

Just what I needed. There he was being as stubborn as usual.

"Why are you still here?" It was my turn to ask the questions.

He shrugged his shoulders, playing with his lip ring. I sighed, that wasn't the answer I was looking for, of course. A shrug of the shoulders didn't mean anything. I looked at him again, actually watching him. He looked beyond tired and his clothes were stained. Four pepsi cans were beside him. And I thought again, this was all my fault. I do the stupidest shit in the world, and here he comes like my night in shining armor. This was beyond messed up, more like dysfunctional, but he was my best friend.

I would do just about anything for him, and he'd jump through flaming hoops for me, I never understood that. Guilt filled me up, for how he cared about me that much, and the little I did about him. I cared about him, just not the same as he did for me. But he was in this hospital room with me, sitting in the same chair he'd been, never mentioning once about when he had to leave. He gave two shits about me, and I gave one and three fourths about him.

"Why are you still here, Phil?"

He smirked." I don't know."

He enjoyed seeing my blood boil, just as I like seeing his. Awkward silence filled the air, and just to get rid of it I asked some more questions.

"How are you?"

"I should be asking you the same question."

I sighed again, knowing he had every right to ask his questions, while I just stood on defense.

"Punk, what do you want from me?"

"Why you keep doing this to yourself." He said it, plain and simple.

"I don't know."

I couldn't tell him, he would hate me. If he ever found out, our friendship would be over. But keeping the secret from him, was just as painful as telling him. He would never know, he couldn't know. But if this happened again, he'd be sitting in the same chair, asking me the same questions. That is something I will never be able to answer, and I think he couldn't either.

TBC? Read and review please.