It was all wrong. The coloring around her eyes was only growing darker, and her throat and chest tighter. She was scared, but she didn't know whether she was more afraid of being hurt again, or of someone seeing that she was hurt. He hadn't laid a hand on her—even when he was high or drunk, he never became that violent—but his words had pierced her all the same. She was alone, possibly for the first time in weeks, and it was the worst feeling in the world.

She glanced up at her reflection in the mirror, her teary, red-rimmed eyes and pale face resembling someone much older and over-worked. Even her long, seemingly flawless hair had turned into a not-so-perfect mess, and seeing herself so upset just made her hate herself all the more. She turned away from the mirror, and squinted through the window that looked directly out onto the Hastings' property, wondering if any of her neighbors had heard the altercation.

No one had ever seen this side of her. For years, now, Jason had been mistreating her, and her parents had always simply just looked the other way. The only times he would act like a human being were when Alison would invite her friends over, and even those moments didn't last long. It was as if, to Jason, she was the worst thing that had ever happened to their family, and he let her know it every night. She didn't mean to mistreat others the way her brother did to her, but sometimes, she just didn't know how to act any other way.

The hole in Alison's bedroom wall looked dark and hollow, much like how she'd been feeling for the past half-hour. She couldn't even remember what their argument was about, but she still blamed herself for starting it—it was always Alison's fault. (She didn't listen to her parents enough; she was constantly slacking off in school; she made Jason's girlfriend break up with him; she was always in the wrong place at the wrong time.) To everyone else in Rosewood, the DiLaurentises were perfect, charming people. But no one knew what really went on behind closed doors, and maybe it was for the better. After all, no one ever cared to ask.

Alison wiped her eyes one last time, and sucked in a deep breath as she rose from her vanity table. She walked over to where her brother had punched the hole, and with shaking hands, she carefully taped the poster that she'd dug out from the bottom of her dresser over the damaged area. Later, when she regained her strength, she would find her father's bucket of plaster in the garage, and cover up the hole for good. But for now, she was just going to have to settle on the black-and-white photograph of the Eiffel Tower.

When she got back to her bed, she slumped down against the pile of pillows, and drew her knees tightly into her chest. She reached for the phone on her nightstand, and dialed the first number that popped into her mind.

"Ali?" the person answered tiredly on the fourth ring. "Why are you calling here so late? It's a quarter-after midnight."

Her heart sank at her friend's irritable tone. All she wanted was for someone to talk to, to distract her from her life for a little while. "Spence," she said, trying to sound nonchalant. "What's up?"

"I'm cramming for a test I've got in less than twelve hours. This is kind of a bad time."

Alison scowled into the receiver. "You're always cramming for a test. It's always a bad time…. Can't you just learn to live a little?"

The girl sighed. "Look, Ali, whatever you have in mind, I just can't do it tonight."

"I'm not plotting anything," she replied angrily. She lifted her head off her pillow, and glared at the bright screen of her phone. "I'm just bored. No one's home."

Spencer let out a sympathetic hum, a sound that immediately made Alison regret opening her mouth. The only thing she hated more than being lonely was being pitied, and her friend was clearly catching on. "You're welcome to come over here for the night, if you want. But you have to be quiet."

She swallowed, weighing her options. If she stayed home, there was always a chance Jason would return, and finish what he started. If she went to Spencer's looking the way she did, there was no doubt her friend would realize something was wrong. But what Spencer didn't know wasn't going to kill her. "I'll be over in about ten," she told her.

"Okay. Come through the back."

Alison hung up her phone, and sluggishly picked herself up from her bed. She quickly applied concealer to her swollen eyes, and ran a brush through her knotted hair, hiding whatever evidence was left of her broken spirit. She pasted on a smile, just like she did every other day of her life, and fled from her disaster of a bedroom. When she crossed her yard to the Hastings' house, she found that Spencer was already waiting for her.

"That was quick," her friend said, holding open the back door as Ali stepped inside. She followed the brunette upstairs, and plopped down on Spencer's bed.

"So how long are you going to be studying for this test?"

Spencer seated herself on the chair across from her bed, and looked up at Alison. "I'm done, actually." She leaned back, and suppressed a yawn. "What happened to the rest of your family?"

Alison gave her a weary expression. "Out, as always. I'm surprised your parents aren't out partying with them."

Her friend raised an eyebrow. "Partying?"

"It's a joke," she groaned. "They're at some charity thing in Philly."

"Oh." She studied Alison for a moment, scrutinizing her in such a way that made Alison uncomfortable. "Where's Jason?"

She rolled her eyes. "Why the twenty questions, Spence?" She reached over to the nightstand, and picked up one of her friend's magazines. As soon as she flipped the cover, however, her gaze froze on an image of the Eiffel Tower, much like the one now hanging on her bedroom wall. Impulsively, she dropped the magazine, and peeled her eyes away.

"What was that?" her friend asked, a suspicious look on her face.

Ali tried to smile. "What was what?"

Spencer got up from the chair, and walked over to her. "You totally just zoned out on me."

"I was thinking about Paris," she lied. She grabbed the magazine, and showed her the picture. "I've always wanted to go…. Haven't you?"

"I've been there before…. When I was five." She lowered herself to the foot of the bed, watching Alison very carefully. "I know I don't ask this a lot, but…. Are you okay?"

Maybe you should ask me a little more often, she just thought to herself, giving Spencer a small nod. "I'm fine."

Her friend bit her lip, tapping her fingers on her knee the way she tended to do when she was overanalyzing a situation. She dropped her gaze to the mattress, and said in a hushed voice, "Did you mean it?"

Alison frowned. "Did I mean what?"

"What you said at the park yesterday. About wanting to die young."

"Oh, Spencer." She laughed. "I was only messing with Aria. You should know that by now."

Spencer looked up. "But I don't believe you. And it wasn't funny. Death isn't something you should be joking about."

She just shook her head. "You always have to do this. You always have to start something with me."

"Because I care," her friend insisted. "If you'd just let someone in for once, we wouldn't be having this argument."

"I am not in the mood for this." She started to stand, not exactly sure what she was doing or saying. But Spencer grasped her arm, and Alison found herself sitting back down. She was beyond frustrated, but was too afraid that her friend would ask her why. "My problems are my problems," she muttered. "I don't need you as my shrink."

The brunette gave her a half-smile. "You don't have to pretend to be this perfect, stuck-up Queen Bee all the time…. But if you don't want to talk about it, I get it."

Alison leaned back against the pillows, mentally kicking herself for what she was about to do. "Jason is hanging out with his stoner buddies. He left me, and it's too quiet in my house."

Spencer slowly moved toward her, and gently, but hesitantly, laid a hand on her arm. "That's all you had to say."

She nearly flinched at Spencer's soft touch, not used to her friend's sympathetic gesture. She tried to be grateful, but for some reason, Spencer's attempt at consolation only made her feel worse. She could not break down in front of her; it was unacceptable. She pulled her arm away from the girl, and turned her attention toward the back of the room. "Can we talk about something maybe a little less annoying?"

"Like what?"

Alison shrugged. "Anything."

Her friend exhaled, and crawled back to the other side of the bed. "We should call it a night."

For once, Alison agreed. She waited until Spencer switched off the light before settling into the mattress, and closing her eyes. It was possibly the first time she ever felt safe around the girl, but instead of saying so, she smiled faintly to herself, and made a mental note to thank her someday. There were still so many other things she wished she could tell her, but Spencer had enough going on in her life as it was. The last thing she wanted right then was to scare her away.

Maybe one day, she would learn to actually be honest with herself. Maybe one day, she would learn that sometimes, it was okay to be seen with red-rimmed eyes.