I haven't seen her in years. Five years, two months, and nineteen days to be exact.

Her straight black hair forms a curtain over half of her face, but I can still recognise her from across the street. She's standing at the corner of a drug store, just in the shadows so as not to be visible to the general public. All I can do is gawk like an eejit for a few minutes and then I'm waiting for the light to turn green and walking across to her before I know what I'm about.

As I get close I notice her outfit. She's wearing a….ahem, a very revealing bright green top and short skirt with knee high boots. There's an oversized raincoat over it all and it looks painfully thin for late November. Judging by the way her arms are wrapped around her waist, it feels that way too. She doesn't look up as I approach but the bags under her eyes are blatantly obvious, even in the dim light.

"Maria?"

She looks up now. Her piercing eyes are so dark you'd mistake them for black in the night. In the daylight though, they're like bits of dark chocolate. I know; I've seen them. Her eyes catch me off guard and again I can only stare. Eventually I notice how thin and worn the rest of her face is. The last time I saw her, her skin was a rich caramel. Now it's pale and pinched, hugging her protruding cheeks and collarbone.

Even with all that she's still so beautiful.

Her head thumps lightly on the wall behind her and a chip of old cement falls to the ground. This isn't exactly the best part of town; all the buildings are in some state of disrepair, and the people even more so.

"Eoin? Is that you?" Her voice is tainted with shock and sickness. A tiny cough escapes her and she covers her mouth with a tattered glove.

I try to smile brightly. "Yeah, long time no see." She nods once and looks away.

"I…. never thought I would see you around here."

My Adam's apple bobs and I pull off what I hope is a casual shrug. "I was visiting a friend."

She glances up and flashes me a mischievous look. "Aw, you shouldn't have," she giggles.

I laugh with her, glad that some of the tension is gone. At least she hasn't lost her lovely sense of humor. I gather up the courage to ask, "How are your brothers?"

A pained look fills her face and she looks down again. I notice her arms wrap around her waist again. "You'd know more than I do. I left the house right after I dropped out of high school. I haven't seen Alfred or Matthew since."

"Oh…. sorry."

This time it's her turn to shrug. "It's fine, I'm glad I left. You know what my step dad is like…was like? Is he dead?"

I have to laugh at the hopeful tone in her voice. "Nah, not yet." Her frown is interrupted by a yawn followed by a violent shiver. "No offense, but you look banjaxed," I confess.

"Banjaxed? I wasn't raised on the Emerald Isle, Eoin." Maria looks at me pointedly and I laugh harder.

"Sorry. I meant you look tired."

Shrug. "I'm fine."

The obvious lie weighs heavily in my stomach. "Where'd you go after you left your parents?"

Shrug. "I kind of wandered around."

"Were you able to find a job?"

Shrug. "Yeah."

"Do you live close by?"

Shrug.

Her lack of response grates on my nerves, but before I can continue the pseudo interrogation another man walks up to us. We eye each other cautiously. He appears to be around forty, a bit overweight and slightly balding with such an average face I probably won't remember it in a few days. He looks away first and asks Maria, "Are your services already taken for tonight?"

Services?

I look at her questioningly, and her face turns a deep scarlet. She shakes her head and motions for the man to walk down the sidewalk so they can talk in private. I observe them closely as they stop near a bench. Their heads are bent close together and they talk in rapid whispers.

Something the man says makes Maria angry and she jabs a finger in his chest. I just manage to hear, "Give me half now or just walk away. Your choice," before the man sighs and pulls out his wallet. Money exchanges hands, and with mock formality he offers Maria his arm.

My mouth opens, ready to call her back to me, but the words die in the frigid air. She gives me an awkward wave goodbye before accepting the man''s arm.

I don't know what sickens me more, the way the man's wedding ring flashes in the street light or the fact that I'm doing absolutely nothing.

I come back the next day, hoping that Maria will be there again. Her silhouette casts a shadow near the corner of the drug store and I jog over to her. She still looks cold and pale, maybe even more so. She's twitching and looking around with half-lidded eyes.

"You got anything to smoke?" she asks as soon as she notices me.

I wordlessly pull out a pack of cigarettes, but she snorts and pushes them away.

"Please, they're not nearly strong enough."

Weeks pass slowly, and November merges into winter without my notice. For me, time passes by the precious pounds that Maria loses on her skinny frame, the number of strange men that approach and signal the end of our chats together, the way her eyes lose their sparkle and turn dull, and every time I try to convince myself that I have no right to butt in on her life and start telling her what to do.

One day, just around Christmas, she doesn't show up. I wait around for bloody ages, but admit defeat at midnight and head home. Once again, I put off calling her brothers and telling them about her situation.

I'm such a git.

I'm at our spot all the earlier the next day, and I wait. It's so cold outside, too cold. After an hour or so I see her coming up the street. My relief turns to alarm when I notice she's limping. I dodge around Christmas shoppers and call out her name. "Maria!"

I see her flinch and stop in her tracks. She stays still when I place my hands on her shoulders. Her head ducks down into her jacket, but I'm having none of that. My hand forces her chin up and I gasp in shock. Her face is a cruel pattern of blue, black, purple, and green bruises. The bottom lip is split and there's a bit of dried blood under her nose.

"Maria! What happened to you?"

Shrug.

Something inside me snaps and I sweep her up in my arms. She gasps in shock (or maybe pain?) as I carry her, bridal-style, to my car.

"Eoin, what are you doing?!" she screams. Her voice is hoarse and people turn to look at us.

I keep a firm grip on her and reply, "You're staying at my place for Christmas." My voice leaves no room for argument.

With a sigh she nods and slowly rests her head against my chest. Her breaths are so light, like birds that could fly away at any moment. Her eyes are closed, but a tear manages to escape, along with a sob.

I hope I'm not too late.

QAQ Eesh, why do I torture my favorite couples? Can someone explain why? Seriously...

Editor's Note: *sobs* *cries* Frickin' Ed Sheeran I hate everything.