Writer's Note: something I wrote about why Thirteen might not be quick to trust. Also, why she kept her besexuality a secret. One-shot, I'm not really good at writing long stories...

I slowly inched from my bed and walked cautiously across the room and into the bathroom. I barely glanced at my pale reflection, already knowing I wouldn't like what I saw, and ran the water. I held my hands under the stream and brought the cool, calming water to my face. It was after I had turned off the tap, dried my hands, and reached for my robe that I finally did catch my reflection.

My face was pale, ghostly even with dark circles bordering my eyes from the long sleepless nights. "Nothing a little cover-up can't fix," I said aloud to myself into the silence of the empty room. My eyes held a glaze that only drugs or sex could cause; or both. I opened the medicine cabinet, shifted my various vials of pain relievers and my inhaler over, and reached for my near empty bottle of eye drops. Tilting my head back, I dropped the liquid in and felt it burn. Eyes watering, I placed the drops back on their shelf and closed the door. I then instinctively reached for a brush to repair the damage the annoying redhead had caused to my hair and found myself in my own little pattern I hadn't even realized I had. Come in, wash face, put on robe, look at self, place in eye drops, and brush hair. I squirmed with discomfort as I thought about this carefully. Setting the brush back in place, I tied the robe tighter and left the cool bathroom to go back to my "friend" in bed.

"You had sex." my head snapped up from the case I was reading and my eyes met House's. It was a fact; not a question or a statement, but a fact.

"And that's illegal since when?" even to me, my voice sounded tired. I was more than aware of my colleagues' gaze upon me, but I kept my eyes on House.

"I never said it was illegal," I dropped my eyes back down to the file. All of them had gone back to the file as well, except Foreman.

"Thirteen, can I speak to you for a minute?" he got up from his chair and I pushed mine out.

"Great," I said quietly to myself as he led me out of the room. I turned back and saw Kutner staring at us as well as House and Chase. Taub, however, was still reading the file, hardly bothered enough to care. Foreman led me down the hallway filled with rushing people and into the elevator, pressing the button and I felt it move towards the ground floor. Confusion swept over me at once. "You know, if you're not going to yell at me, then why don't I just go back to the team?" He just stared at me incredulously.

"Why would I yell at you?" I shrugged and he went on, "look, I just wanted to talk." This got me suspicious.

"About what?"

"I wanted to talk to you about your behavior. Thirteen, you know you have less time than we thought and you partying all night, sleeping with strangers, and doing drugs isn't going to help," immediately I got on the defensive.

"Just leave me alone, please. I can take care of myself; I don't need you to do it for me." I started to press the button to take us back up, but he grabbed my wrist.

"Oh clearly you can take care of yourself," I pulled my wrist back. "Look, you don't have to be so independent all the time." I felt the walls start forming around my mask.

"Yes I do." my voice was flat, completely wiped of emotion and I could tell that it scared him.

"Why do you feel that way? You can depend on other people," his voice was soothing, but I couldn't stand it anymore. Before I knew it, I was shouting and the walls started to fall.

"No I can't!" I was ashamed to feel the heat of tears forming around the edges of my eyes. Though I was shouting, he was trying to remain calm, if not for him, than for me.

"Why can't you?"

"Because people just hurt you. They only want something, and when they get it, they throw you away. It's a lot easier to disappoint just you and not someone else too!" Already I felt myself calm down and I slowly slid to sit on the floor, ignoring the dust and dirt. Foreman crouched down too and I found my face level to his.

"This isn't just about your Huntington's is it? Thirteen, if something happened that you want to talk about, you can tell me I won't judge you." I scoffed at his offer.

"I've heard that before. And then what happened? I was left alone, cast away because of it."

"What happened?" his voice was understanding, smooth, calm; all things I desperately needed in a time like this. So, before I knew it, I was explaining my past to him. I was bringing up things that never needed to be dug up again, things I vowed to let die.

"When I was fifteen, my dad learned that I had been doing drugs and he sent me to a rehab facility for a few weeks. And while I was there…" my voice cut off, unable to continue.

"What happened?" he urged me to go on and my voice came out in a hoarse whisper.

"I was raped."

It was a gloomy day at New York Rehabilitation Center, but inside it was just as bright as ever. Perhaps even more, maybe they had a switch for brighter lights when the day got darker so the depression cases didn't sink even lower. I wandered the hallways for lack of anything better to do as I waited for my session of personal therapy. In between arts and personal therapy, I had a good thirty minutes to wait. I rounded a corner and saw Sebastian Becker standing at the end of a hall. I did a u-turn and went back the way I had just come.

It was customary for everyone to avoid Sebastian at all costs; if you didn't, you could wind up in the nurses office. It was rumored that Sebastian had been to Juvenile seven times, had three DUI's and even got charged with assault. Now, as I quickly walked the distance back to the therapy office, I found that he also noticed things. He had noticed my appearance and quick retreat and had immediately pounced upon it.

I heard his footsteps behind me and picked up my pace, practically running by time he caught up with me.

"Hey, it's Remy right?" I nodded then turned, making it clear I was leaving but he grabbed my arm and I turned to face him. "So rumor has it you're a lesbian, that true?" My cheeks blazed, of course rumor has it, things always got leaked out in places like this.

"Not technically."

"Not technically?" his eyebrows rose.

"Yeah, I mean, I'm not lesbian."

"Well, people are saying that about you. And what do you mean 'not technically?'" I hesitated; did I even want to tell him? Let me think for a second, um….no. But, when I started to turn to leave, he grabbed my arm again, this time it kind of hurt. "Look, you're just making this harder for yourself. So I'll ask you again, are you lesbian or not." I yanked my arm away.

"First of all, it doesn't concern you, second of all don't ever touch me again, and third of all I'm not lesbian, technically speaking, I'm bisexual." Again I started to turn and again he pulled me back, this time though, it was downright painful. He pulled his face close to mine and whispered menacingly in my ear.

"Do you know what we do to queers like you?" I tried to stay calm as he forced me into a nearby closet, but on the inside I was coming apart. I knew I should scream for help, but even as the thought came to my mind he covered my mouth firmly with his hand. "If you scream, it will only be more painful," my eyes widened as he locked the door to the closet and came back to where I stood. "Now, maybe I can teach you to like what you should," I shook violently as he wrapped his arm around my waist and brought his lips up to my ear again. "So what's the matter with guys huh? You'd rather be out fucking girls? What's with fags like you, why can't you just be normal?" I pulled away quickly as he reached for my shirt. He reached out again, this time quicker. With a 'slap' tearing through the silence in the small space, I raised my own hand to my cheek. It stung horribly; I hadn't even noticed he hit me until it happened.

While I was momentarily distracted, he reached for my shirt again, this time bringing it up to my stomach before I twisted away. Before I knew it, I was forced to the ground with two handfuls of my hair knotted between his fingers.

"If you're not going to make it easy, it will only be harder and more painful for you dear Remy. I will take you, and you will learn to fix yourself." With that, he forced my shirt off me the rest of the way and unlatched my bra, baring the upper half of my body. I tried to squirm away but he slapped me again, this time harder. By time I recovered he had already got my jeans off me and was about to take off my underwear but I kicked out at him and sent his clutching his stomach. I ran to the door and banged on it, trying to attract anyone's attention. Sebastian grabbed my neck and hit my head against the brick wall, hard. "I told you that if you were going to scream, it was going to hurt. What a shame you couldn't just make this easy on yourself." Now he took off my underwear and forced me to the ground again.

Every time he thrust into me, it hurt. Every time I whimpered, I got slapped. And he wasn't easy, he liked it rough. The bad thing was; I didn't. So after our little "lesson" he left me to get dressed and go to my therapy appointment, making sure I wasn't even a minute late. I didn't tell anyone what happened. Not that day, not when my father picked me up, and not even when the doctors found cuts on my inner thighs during a physical. I never told anyone…until now.