"Can you just tell me where we're going?" It was a beautiful summer night on a deserted beach in San Diego. I, Jude Jacob, was following Connor Stevens, the boy to whom I've devoted the last ten years of my life, to who only knows where. Well, he certainly knows where.

Connor and I hadn't been in San Diego in years. Not since we were kids. Our lives together started here. I had been a foster kid who bounced around from home to home until I was finally adopted by two women – Lena and Stef. I had lived with them for a while.

We had met when we were 11 and fallen in love. It was an innocent, middle school romance that had grown to dominate every aspect of my life. I was devoted to Connor in every way. And I knew he felt the same. We were all each other had.

Now, ten years later, we were both 21. Life hadn't been easy for us. We didn't have much in our lives. But I didn't like to think about the bad stuff. I liked thinking about the wonderful life I had managed to carve out with this boy in front of me. Connor still looked exactly like he did when he was 16. His hazel eyes were still bright and full of joy. He was well muscled and he practically radiated his positivity. His boyish face and windswept blond hair made him pass for a teenager.

I looked tired. I knew I did. Every time I saw myself in a mirror, I could see the heavy bags around my eyes. Scrawny and underfed, I looked like a frightened rat. I hated everything about myself, except for Connor. He was probably the only thing that kept me going. That's how much I loved him.

Which is why we were in San Diego in the first place. We had been living in LA most recently in a sad little motel room. It was ratty and unkept, with mold growing on the walls and what I have to imagine were some serious structural integrity issues. But it was ours, at least for now. And being with him was the only thing that had ever mattered to me.

We made money how we could. But I don't like thinking about those kinds of things. I don't like thinking about the harsh things in life. Anyway, Connor had decided this afternoon that it was time to go. He said he had something to show me. Somehow he had scraped together enough money for a bus ticket to San Diego, and here we are.

He looks back at me and laughs. "Aren't I supposed to be the inpatient one?"

"Connor, I'm not taking another step until you tell me what we're doing! What are we doing back here in San Diego? You said you'd tell me when we got here. Well, we're here."

Connor smiled. I could see his pearly white teeth in the bright moonlight. He looked otherworldly. God, I loved this boy. "Well we're not there yet."

"Connor…"

He laughed and walked back towards me, stopping right in front of me so that I could see his face, glowing in the moonlight. I could stare into those hazel eyes forever.

"I've loved you forever," I tell him. He smiles sweetly.

"I know," he laughs. I frown and shove him.

"Jerk." He takes an exaggerated step backwards and laughs again at me. I cross my arms. "I'm done."

He reaches out and pulls me back towards him. Offguard, I stumble and fall into his arms. He stands me up, leaving his hands on my shoulders. Slowly, he brings his face close to mine, staring into my eyes. I shudder. His lips are inches away from mine. I start towards him, closing the distance until I hear him whisper.

"Look," his voice is hardly audible, but I feel him turn me away from him and away from the ocean. "Recognize it?" he asks in a normal speaking voice.

"Anchor Beach," I gasp. "Of course. How could I forget? It's where our life started." I turn back to him, my confusion clear on my face. "Why are we here?"

"Come on, I'll show you."

We're sitting at a table in the cafeteria. Not our table, of course. All of the tables have been long since replaced since we were here. Across the wall is a giant poster that reads CLASS OF 2030 – WE LOVE YOU VP Adams-Foster. I smile. It's nice knowing Lena is still here, saving kids. There's a pang of guilt about being back here. Being back in San Diego, back in this school, back this close to it all. But one look at Connor and I don't regret a thing. I'd do anything for this boy.

"So - and don't think I don't appreciate the trip down memory lane – but what are we doing here?" I break the silence. Connor smiles expectantly.

"I want you to tell me a story."

"We had to come here to play story time?" I sigh.

"You tell me a story, and then I'll tell you why I brought you here." Connor smiled again. I couldn't say no.

"Once upon a time there was a brave knight who rescued a sad prince from an evil witch named," Connor laughed again and interrupted.

"Not that kind of story. I want you to tell me our story."

I frowned. "What do you mean? You were there for it." He smiles. "Well, you were there for most of it," I correct. "But what is it you want to hear? Once upon a time, two middle schoolers met and fell in love immediately. Then they lived happily ever after with each other and everything was perfect." I waited. "Happy?"

"Why are you lying, Jude?" I bite my lip and look down at the table. I hate it when he's like this. When he pushes for things I don't want to do. My version was the real version in my heart. Did he need something else? He reaches a hand across the table and grabs mine. I feel him squeeze, completely enveloping my smaller hand in his. Still, it does nothing to warm the chill that's somehow come over me.

"I love you, Jude. I've always loved you. But you're always doing this. You're always telling this romantic version of how things happened to avoid dealing. And you need this. I want you to tell the story from the beginning. No lies. No embellishing. No fantasy. The story of Us. The good and the bad. The pretty and the ugly. I need you to tell it the real way."

We sit there in silence. Connor holding my hand and staring at me. Me, having my hand held, and avoiding looking directly in his eyes. It's an emotional rollercoaster being back here. I know what Connor's trying to accomplish by having me do this; bringing me back here after all this time. I'm so tired on the inside. At 21, I feel like I'm ready to go to sleep forever. If it weren't for Connor in my life, I don't know if I'd want to keep going on. The ten years we've been together haven't always been easy, but everything has always been perfect between us. Maybe it's time I do this for real.

There's a fear there. I'm afraid, deep in my heart, that I'll lose him forever if I take a real look at all the pain; if a spotlight is shined on all the dark, grimey, nasty parts of our life together, will he still be there? Will I lose him forever in my heart? I don't think I could live with not loving him exactly the way I do now.

"I wouldn't know where to start," I finally tell him. "Do I start from when we first met? When I went to live with the Adams-Fosters?" Connor arched an eyebrow. "When I went to stay with the Adams-Fosters" I correct. He smiles again and squeezes my hand. "I just don't know where to start."

Connor nods. "It's a pretty involved story. Let's do the prologue first." He pauses. "Why don't we start with your mom? What was she like?"

I think back to my life before Connor. Before I came to stay with the Adams-Fosters. Before I was beaten by my last foster dad. Before I had bounced around from home to home. Before I knew pain. I think back to my life with Mom and Donald. "She was…perfect," I gasp out. A lump forms in my throat and tears come to my eyes. Connor squeezes my hand.

"Just take your time. Start again when you're ready."

I don't know how long we sat there. I tried to gather my thoughts and clear myself, emotionally. Connor was right, and it was time to do this. I needed to go way back. Connor didn't push or prod, and let me have the time to myself to get ready.

"She was perfect," I start again.

My mom was perfect. She was beautiful and wonderful. It's cliché, but her smile could light up a room. I was only 5 when she died, but I remember the feeling of warmth and safety I had whenever I was around her. I think I loved Donald once too, but it's hard to remember him as he was and not as he is.

I was too young back then to remember a lot of specifics. I remember our house. Three bedrooms. Small, but it seemed huge back then. I know because I want back to look at it once with Callie.

My room was filled with toys. I remember playing dressup and dolls and games and tea parties with Mom and Callie. Every day was wonderful and perfect, and Mom was always there for me when I needed her. Every night she'd tuck me into bed and read me a story. If I had a nightmare, she'd come into my room and stay until I fell back asleep.

I smile at Connor and squeeze his hand back.

"You do that for me now."

"Are you comparing me to your mom?"

I stick my tongue out. "Can I continue?"

I don't know why it happened. Like I said before, I was only five. But I remember hearing Donald and Mom yelling at each other one night. I was asleep, and their yells woke me up. I got up out of bed. I was scared. I saw Callie creeping out of her room too. She took my hand and we walked together towards the living room.

As we poked our heads in, Mom and Donald saw us.

"Let's go for a drive," Donald slurred, "and finish our talk. The kids will be fine for an hour."

"I…I don't think that's a good idea, Donald."

"Fine, you want to do this right here in front of them? They can listen. They should know that their mom's such a-" Donald's face was red, and he was stumbling and yelling and spitting. I've never seen anything as scary as Donald the night my mom died.

"Alright! Alright alright alright!" She was crying. "Alright, just, let's put them back to bed." Mom picked me up and took Callie by the hand and led us back to our rooms. She told Callie to go wait for her and that she'd be back in a minute.

I was crying and wouldn't let go when she tried to lay me back down into bed. "Don't go, Mommy. Daddy's yelling and I'm scared. Don't leave me." She kissed my forehead.

"Sweetheart, don't be scared of Daddy. He's just a little upset right now. Everything will be better in the morning. I promise. I'll be here when you wake up." She kissed me again.

"Can you read me a story?"

"Not tonight, sweetheart. It's very late. Close your eyes for me, bug." She kissed me again. I let her lay me back down into bed. She brought the sheets up around me and tucked me in. She kissed me again. "I love you, bug."

"Love you too, Mommy," I yawned.

And she left. That's the last time I ever saw her.

"Did you ever find out what they were fighting about?"

I shrugged. "She had tried to find Robert."

"Callie's dad?"

"Yeah. Donald told Callie once. She didn't tell me for a while. She didn't want me to hate Donald. Mom had been trying to find Robert and Donald thought," I sighed. "He thought she was going to cheat on him and leave him. So he got drunk and came home and yelled at her. They went for a drive. Donald drove. And he got into a wreck. Mom died."

Connor nodded. "And then what happened?"

Mom died and Donald went to jail. I went to stay with a lot of foster homes after that. Callie and I were always placed together. It was scary, staying in new homes and with people who didn't care. I got hurt some. Physically, I mean. The kids weren't always nice. Callie protected me as much as she could. She was raped at one of the homes. I looked up to her so much. She was beautiful and kind and strong and fierce. She could do anything. I really believed that.

I believed that for a long time, but that was part of the fantasy. My brave, strong, beautiful big sister who could do no wrong, except when she did and even then she was right in my heart. That was the fantasy. Reality sucks.

We went to stay with one guy. I don't remember his name. It was over ten years ago. A whole couple of lives ago. He treated us like slaves. We were responsible for doing the cooking and cleaning. It wasn't the worst place we had ever been, but it wasn't the best. Homes where they don't hurt you are survivable. Homes where they just ignore you, that Callie and I had learned to deal with. We had each other, and it's all we needed then.

The man's wife had left him a few years before we got there. He might have been a nice person before. He was hardly with it afterwards. I think he wanted foster kids at first to not be so lonely at home. But I don't think he had anything left to love us.

One day I found some of his ex-wife's dresses. I don't know why he kept them. There was hardly anything from her left. But he kept those in his closet. They were so pretty. They were the prettiest things I had ever seen in my life, and I wanted to try one on. I wanted to look pretty. I wanted Callie to see how pretty I could be.

So I did. And he caught me, and he hit me. A lot.

Callie tried to stop him, but he was bigger and stronger. I was crying, and it hurt so much. And then we heard a loud bang and the sound of glass breaking. He stopped hitting me. And we heard the sound again and again and again. He looked out the window. Callie had taken a bat and was beating his car. The man's pride and joy was being destroyed by my big sister. He left me and went outside. She took a swing at him and missed. He punched her in the face and took the bat. The cops showed up. He told them she had beaten me, took a swing at him, and destroyed his car.

They didn't ask me what happened. She pled no contest on the advice of a public defender. She went to juvie, and I stayed with the man. We were promised I'd get to see her when she got out.

But that didn't happen. She got shanked in the joint then got released. She was placed with Stef and Lena. She convinced Brandon to come and rescue me. They did, and I came to stay with the Adams-Fosters for a while.

"You skipped over a lot there." Connor frowned."

"You said it was the prologue. That part doesn't involve you."

"You're still speeding through it. You're not getting to what's real. You're not going over the stuff that's still haunting you."

"Is that why we're here? Because you're tired of listening to me have nightmares?"

"I'm tired of being your baggage, Jude."

"You're not baggage! You're everything!" I yelled. Connor withdrew his hand. Tears started falling down my face. I said softly, barely above a whisper, "You're perfect."

"I'm not, Jude. I can't be that. Because that's not real. People aren't perfect. They fuck up and make mistakes. They die. People are people. In your mind, I'm still this…" he waved his hands around, looking for the right word. "I'm this brave knight who's there to rescue the sad prince. But the problem is you're never done being the sad prince. So I'm not there to rescue you. I'm there to keep you locked up in your tower."

He took my silence as a sign that he could continue.

"I'm not 16 anymore. I'm tired of seeing you sad. I want to rescue you, but you're the only one with the key. So, please do this for me. Do this for your brave knight so you can finally leave this place."

"You're the one who brought us here."

"You never left, Jude. I want you to look at what happened to you for a change and stop trying to bury it. Stop trying to bury me. I want you to take the time you need and really tell this story."

I sighed. Connor was right. Connor is always right. But so was I. The foster homes weren't important. "I survived, Connor. That's the important part about before. I lived. What happened to me there…it's not the worst that ever happened to me. But it doesn't matter. What I learned there was how to live without love. I was on autopilot that whole time. I learned how to not get hit. I learned how to deal with not being wanted. But I don't want to revisit every detail or every kid I knew. Some bad stuff happened and then I ended up here. And here's where everything real happened. Everything that brought us to where we are today." I was breathing hard. I think I had raised my voice again. Connor looked unfazed by it all. After a few minutes, I started again. "I'll tell the story, Connor. You're right, and I need to do this. But I want to do it my way. That stuff before isn't what matters."

Connor smiled. "Feeling better?"

"No." I admitted. "But I'm glad you're making me do this."

"Well that was the easy part. Think you're up for doing the rest?"