As I lift her up into my arms, I notice how light she is. If she's an ounce over 100 pounds, I'll eat my hat. She's nearly catatonic in my arms, as we carefully descend the stairs, making our way to safety. I can't say that I blame her. She's been through so much the past few weeks; she's barely had a chance to stop and catch her breath.

Four weeks. It's only been four weeks since she was a bright-eyed college student, at the crux of adulthood. She was so innocent then, so carefree, so excited for what the world might bring that she exuded enthusiasm from every pore. I watched, from my mandated 20 yards, making sure that no harm came to the man that would be her ultimate downfall.

Now, I glance down at her waif-like form. Her cheeks are hollow, her once bright eyes seem to have dulled. She's aged so much in these past four weeks. I huddle her closer, hoping that she can absorb some of my warmth. She's shivering uncontrollably and clutching my black t-shirt, as though it's a life-line. I feel my stomach churn in revulsion at the lost child expression that has recently been a permanent fixture on her face.

When we make it to the final landing of the stairs, I set her on her feet, careful to make sure that she's able to support her own weight, before releasing her completely. She looks as though a stiff breeze could knock her over.

Her blonde friend, Ethan, I think his name is, rushes over to her side to lend her support. She still looks unsteady, dazed, and lost.

"What the fuck is going on?" The boy demands. He's so visibly upset at the state of his friend that I think he might actually take a swing at me, were he confident in Ana's ability to stand on her own. However, she still weaving back and forth, staring into space.

"There was a security breach. Mr. Grey requested that Ana be removed from the scene, and taken to safety." It's a lame explanation, one that does nothing to answer the heart of his question: what has happened to his friend.

"Fuck you, there was a security breach. A goddamn security breach is what happens when you accidentally leave the door unlocked and some dude wanders into your house, looking to score some weed. Whatever the hell this is…" he waves his unoccupied arm feebly towards Ana's weakened state "It's sure a hell of a lot more than just a security breach." His voice trails off at the end of his speech, as he turns more fully towards the human shell in his arms.

"Ana?"

Nothing.

"Anny, honey? I need you to look at me. Can you do that? I need you to focus on me now."

Her eyes slowly drift away towards his face, not quite focused, still listlessly staring through her surroundings, but at least partially acknowledging the voices of the people around her.

"Good girl, Ana. Know, I need you to tell me if you're hurt. Do you need a doctor, honey? Do you need me to call the police?"

At the mention of the police, she snaps out of her daze. Her eyes widen in fear, and her posture grows more rigid.

"NO. No police. He… He said that we shouldn't call them."

"Fuck that, Ana. You just came down the stairs, nearly comatose, and even fucking Brutor over there said there was a 'security breach'. You know what people do when there's a security breach? They call the goddamn cops!"

As Ethan grows more and more belligerent, his gestures become more exaggerated. His arms are waving in an erratic pattern, and the wild motions make Ana flinch and cower slightly back towards the wall.

"That's enough," I assert, stepping between them. I reach my hand out and place it in front of him, to stop him from coming closer to her, and frightening her more.

"She's been through enough. She doesn't need to be yelled at, and she's correct, Mr. Gray will not authorize police interference. Now, Mr. Gray has charged me with removing Ms. Steele from harm's way, and standing in this entry way is not safe."

Once I see that Ethan has calmed himself marginally, I turn back to face Ana.

"Now, Ms. Steele, where would you like to go? Mr. Gray wants you away from danger, and I want to take you somewhere that you feel safe, and that you'll feel comfortable."

"I need a drink. This has all been too much." With that, she turns on her heel and marches out the door, without looking back. Ethan and I share a startled glance at her sudden decisiveness, and hurry outside after her.

Once outside I try to capture her elbow, to guide her down the road to where the security vehicle is parked, but she jerks her arm out of my grasp and continues straight across the road. She doesn't stop to check for traffic, just strides purposefully across the street, a car screeching to a halt to avoid her.

"Ms. Steele, please. This isn't what I meant, when I asked you where you wanted to go." I shout out to her, as Ethan and I dash after her, and I see her destination. A hole in the wall bar, with a crooked sign above the door that looks like it might have once read Vinnie's.

"What I meant was that I could take you back to Escala, or to a hotel, or a friend's house. Somewhere safe. Not some dive bar right across the way."

We've almost caught up to her, but she's nearly to her destination. "Don't come if you don't want to, but I told you, I need a drink." She shouts over her shoulder as she grasps the door handle.

The hinges make a god awful screech, as she forces her way inside. We enter just behind her.

Striding over to the bar, she slaps her hand down on the surface and orders a shot of tequila.

Ethan and I sit down on either side of her. I try to reason with her, to make her see that this is a bad idea, but she ignores me and downs a second shot. Ethan, however, seems to have abandoned his line of questions about what happened in the apartment, and has started working on his new goal, which is apparently to get hammered right along with her. Perfect.

2 hours and 7 rounds have passed. Mr. Gray still has not emerged from the apartment building. I desperately want to go back inside, to make sure that everything is okay, but I can't leave these two here. Mr. Gray gave me direct orders to protect what he considers his.

I glance over at his latest acquisition. She can't hold her liquor. A lot of that probably has to do with all of the weight that she has lost, since she met my employer. It happens to them all, over time, just not usually at this rapid of a pace.

She's leaning heavily on her equally inebriated friend, as she gives him the cliffsnotes version of the events of the day.

"Ana, Ana, Ana," he slurs. "You gotta get out of that bullshit," he waves his arm wildly in the general direction of the apartment. "He's no good for you Ana. We all see it."

This is the wrong approach. I know it instantly. I've seen this happen as well. As soon as their relationship is questioned by an outsider, they shut down.

And there it is.

"I love him, Ethan, and if you can't respect that, then you can't be a part of my life."

She stands up suddenly, wobbling a little as the alcohol hits her, and starts stumbling to the door, without paying the tab. Wearily I sigh, as Ethan shuffles after her, and I pull out my wallet and lay down enough bills on the bar to cover both of their drinks. I have to hurry to catch up to them, as Ana has picked up quite a brisk pace, in the opposite direction of the car, I might add. She's shouting accusatory things back at Ethan, as she storms away.

"You're just jealous. You've always had a thing for me, and you can't stand to see me happy."

Ethan stops chasing her after that.

"I'm sorry you think that little of me, Anny," he says, sounding surprisingly sober. "I won't bother you anymore. I just hope that you really are happy, and you're not just lying to yourself."

With that, he turns around and shuffles dejectedly back into the bar. Poor kid.

Now that she's no longer being chased, Ana seems to have realized that she doesn't have anywhere to go, and she starts walking back towards me, tripping a little, as the tequila compromises her already limited coordination.

"Take me home please, Taylor."

"Home, Ma'am?"

"Back to Escala."

"Of course."

I gently grasp her elbow, to help steady her on the walk back to the SUV. The further we walk, the more heavily she leans on me.

Once we make it to the car, I open passenger's side rear door, to let her in, but she stands steadfast on the sidewalk.

"No," she states, in a whiny tone. "I don't want to sit in the back, I hate sitting in the back, it makes me feel like a child."

"Of course, Ma'am."

I open the front door for her instead, and she awkwardly hoists herself into the seat. First facing the seat, then rolling around to face the front, once she realizes her mistake. I wait to make sure that she can buckle herself, before I close her in.

On the way back to Escala, she seems to drift off into an alcohol and stressed induced slumber, her head lolling back and forth on the seat, as the car turns. It's a peaceful drive back, and I slowly allow myself to unwind, and release some of the tension balled up in my shoulders.

I thought I was going to lose one or both of my charges today. I hate that part of my job is listening to Christian, even when I know he's wrong. He should have never been allowed into the apartment before me, and he should have let me do a sweep before Ana went in, but he insisted that there was no way that Leila knew where Ana lived. Stupid. She knew where Ana worked, it wasn't that much of a leap to assume that she knew where she lived as well. I tried to tell Christian, but he doesn't listen. To anyone.

Ana groans slightly in her sleep, and her brow furrows. Probably dreaming about today's events. Poor girl. I hate watching them waste away like this. I want to drive her as far away from Escala as I can, and shake her until she sees sense. I want to give her every single brochure that has ever been written on domestic abuse, and make her read them all until understands.

It's all there. He separates them from their families and friends. He withdraws from them emotionally to punish them. He manipulates them with sex and gifts and makes them think that it's love. I can't stand it.

But I do.

We pull up to Escala, and I reach over and gently touch her arm to wake her up.

"We're here, Ma'am," I inform her, as her eyes flutter open and she whips her head around in confusion.

"It's alright, Ma'am, you just nodded off on the way back to Escala. Everything's alright." It will never be alright with him.

She nods her head and starts slowly making her way out of the car. Her actions are still sluggish and uncertain from the booze.

I once again aid her in walking over to the elevator. Once inside she starts giggling, quietly at first, but with increasing hysteria.

"Elevators are magic, ya know," she states in a matter-of-fact town. Then she nearly knocks me off my feet as she launches herself at me, and suddenly her mouth is on mine.

Her lips are acrid with the taste of alcohol and the pressure that she's exerting is almost painful. I gently try and peel her away from my person.

"Ana, Ana, please, you don't want to do this. You've just had too much to drink."

She blinks and staggers back against the opposite wall of the elevator. Her eyes suddenly come back into focus, and she realizes that I'm not him. Then she surprises me again, and sinks to the ground, her chest heaving in huge wracking sobs.

I hurry over to her, try to pick her up off the ground, but she's not helping, and I can't lift her from this angle without possibly harming her. The elevator dings to announce our arrival to the top floor, and I jam my thumb into the emergency stop button, buying us some time before the elevator descends again. I sink down on to my haunches, getting down to her level, and try to reason with her, but she too hysterical.

"Ms. Steele, please, we're at our floor, we need to get off the elevator now."

She doesn't acknowledge me at all.

"Please, Ms. Steele, we can't stay here."

It takes several minutes of constant pleading to break through to her, and even then all she does is lift her arms to me, like a lost child, and consent to be lifted.

I pick her up, and carry her into the apartment, glad to have finally reached our destination, but she's still weeping uncontrollably, and I know I can't leave her like that, no matter how desperately I want to just disappear into my own suite and have this day finally be over.

Reluctantly, instead of placing her on the couch and leaving her to her misery, I carry her into Christian's bedroom, where I know she'll feel most comfortable. I lay her down on the bed, and she instantly curls into the fetal position, hugging a pillow to her chest and burying her face. Much to my relief, her tears seem to have quieted some. I know that she'll have a hell of a hangover tomorrow, so I go and get some Advil to leave on the counter, for when she wakes up. I know, just like last time, Christian won't want to provide her any medicine to help, he thinks that people that overindulge in alcohol deserve the headache. Needless suffering, in my opinion. Everyone makes mistakes. Mrs. Jones will leave her some orange juice in the morning, and I'll make sure there's medicine for her now.

When I return to place the pills down in on the nightstand, her sobs have finally ceased. She looks like she may have fallen asleep. I switch the lamp off, and turn to leave, and I hear her mumble something as I take my leave.

"What was that, Ms. Steele? Did you need something?"

"Why can't he love me back?" She murmurs into the pillow.

I don't know what to say, and I know that she won't remember this in the morning anyways, so I turn back around and leave. Softly closing the door behind me.

I quickly send a text to Christian, letting him know that Ana has made it home safely, neglecting to mention the details of what happened at the bar, for now. I know that I'll be held accountable for that later, but there's no reason to go into that tonight. It's late, and if he knows the full truth of what happened right now, he'll storm home and demand that Ana explain her actions to him immediately. She can't handle that right now. She needs to rest.

Tomorrow we'll both be held accountable for our actions, but for now, we'll let sleeping girls lie.