I cringed as his foot made contact with my stomach. I was sprawled out on the floor, taking it quietly. I bit my lip so hard that it bled – screaming just made it worse. He grabbed my hair and pulled me off the floor, and glared at me.

"It's your fault your mother's away all the time. Without you, she wouldn't have had to get such a demanding job that takes her away from us!" He spat in my face. He said that as if I didn't miss her too. I wanted my mum to come home, too.

My mum had a job where she was away on business trips all the time. She came home three times a year: Christmas/New Years, my dad's birthday, and one time in the summer.

Well then why don't you get a better job so that mum wouldn't have to support this whole family? I thought bitterly in my mind, not daring to say it aloud. My father was an author, and so far he hasn't finished one novel yet. It was pathetic. I wanted to throw back sarcastic remarks and insults at him. But as much as I hated to admit it, my father was obviously physically stronger than me. He could easily kill me one of these days.

He was still talking, insults rolling off his tongue as he bashed my head into the wall repeatedly. I clenched my fists and I squeezed my eyes shut, knowing it would be over soon.

I was bruised and cut everywhere, and now I'm pretty sure the back of my head was bleeding, too.

Wonderful.

He stepped back and dropped me, and I collapsed to the floor, panting. He walked away, wrenching the door open and climbing into his car, probably going to a bar or something.

The moment I heard him back out of the driveway, the tears started coming. I've trained myself to hold them in, to never let him see my weakness. But the moment he was away-it was like they were in overdrive.

I supported myself on my hands and knees, tears sliding out of my eyes and dripping onto the tiles in my house. I was shaking and bloody and dizzy, and with all of that and the crying, I couldn't breathe properly. I gasped for air and collapsed onto my side, which only caused my pain in the arm he had kicked. I rolled onto my back and moved my limbs around, making sure none were broken.

He makes sure of that. No broken bones, nothing done to the face or hands or neck, where people could see.

I didn't tell anybody about this – not Bex, Macey, Liz, Grant, Zach, Jonas, or Tristan. We had been best friends since second grade, where we were all seated in the same table group. It was the teacher's hugest mistake, considering we never paid attention and we just laughed and talked all the time, even as little kids. I usually told them everything. Except this. I didn't even tell my mom. I didn't want them to take me away to some foster home where I would never see my friends again. My friends were the only things that I truly, deeply loved in life. Suddenly, something vibrated on my butt.

I was really freaked out for a second until I remembered I had put my phone on vibrate. I pulled it out and saw a text from Zach.

Hey. Bored-be over in 5. Everyone else is at a movie that sucks. Good thing your dad didn't let you go.

No, no, no! I typed back a reply about not being home or something, but he would know I was making excuses. He always did. Zach knew me best out of all of my friends. I quickly got up and crawled up the stairs, still being too weak to stand up yet. It took really long, and I was scared he would catch me crawling up.

Five minutes. Five minutes to clean myself up. I forced myself to stand on my feet and leaned against a wall, trying to fight the nausea.

I looked at myself in the mirror. The back of my head was matted in blood, my arms had many cruises and a couple cuts on them, my left leg had an extremely long cut on the side due to the vase he shattered, and my right leg only had bruises. I quickly cleaned my cuts with anti-bacterial alcohol, which made more tears squeeze out of my eyes from the pain. I sharply threw the bloody wipes away, stuffing them to the bottom of the trash can so no one could see them. I washed my hair and winced when I had to pull out the already-drying blood sticking to strands of my hair, clumping them together. The wound was still open, and I had no idea how to bandage it without wrapping it around my whole head noticeably. So I wrapped my head up in a towel and pulled on sweats and a baggy T-shirt. I heard Zach's car in the driveway, and I was about to go downstairs to meet him, until a strong wave of... just pure exhaustion hit me. I fell to the floor and my dizziness was worse than ever. I dragged myself to the bathroom, managing to get to the toilet right before I vomited up some blood and the contents of my dinner. I quickly flushed, the smell and sight of it making me want to throw up again.

I was sitting there gagging, tears pouring down my cheeks, wounds half-bandaged, when Zach found me.

"Get out!" I screamed. He slowly walked over and flipped on the lights, which I had turned off when I was trying to make my way downstairs. I hid my face from him.

"Cam?" He whispered. He sounded like he was going to cry. I just shook my head, my mouth opening but no words coming out.

A million lies popped into my head-I tripped, I almost got raped in a dark alley...anything but actually telling him the truth.

I didn't want to explain.

This couldn't be happening.

Five years of hiding it.

Five years of wearing long-sleeves and jeans, even in the summer.

Five years of keeping my dirty little secret, and he finds out like this?

It was so unfair.

He was crouching beside me now, and he undid the towel from my head. My damp wavy hair fell down my shoulders, and I stared at the towel in shock.

It was soaked in my blood.

"Zach. Just leave!" I screeched, grabbing the towel from him and throwing it into the bathtub, making a wet slapping noise. I wanted to pretend this wasn't happening.

I wanted to pretend this was all a horrible nightmare.

"Cammie. Who did this to you?" He asked, softy brushing strands of hair off my face.

"No one. Can you please just leave?" I asked. Every part of me hurt. I wanted to just lay here and go to sleep. "Why won't you tell me? I'm your best friend." Zach demanded. "You have to tell me who hurt you."

He forced me to look into his dark green eyes, which were glaring into mine, his mouth set into a stubborn frown.

I just closed my eyes, which were getting extremely droopy.

"Shit." Zach muttered. I felt the air whoosh around me and I was in his arms, probably getting his shirt all bloody. He set me down on my bed and I heard him take out his phone. I shot up, which caused me to shriek in pain.

"Don't call!" I cried, clutching my stomach. "Don't call the police, or the ambulance. Please don't call."

I looked at him desperately.

"Why not? You're dying." Zach threw his hands up in the air in frustration. His face was desperate and angry and extremely...disbelieving.

He was probably trying to pretend this was all a nightmare, too.

"Because they'll take me away." I whimpered.

Shoot.

I should not have said that.

Zach put the pieces together and his eyes widened in rage.

"Your dad did this to you?"

I just collapsed back onto the bed and closed my eyes, giving into the darkness, not even bothering to answer his question.

I woke up, every part of me sore. It was still dark – only about 3:30 in the morning. I kept my eyes closed, and concentrated on the sound of my breathing. It gave me something to hold on to-something that was real and calm and painless.

It was peaceful. No sounds of my dad clicking away on his laptop, and no cars driving by on the road with their radios turned too loud.

I rolled around, and realized Zach was in the bed with me. I didn't care. I had suspected this. I peeled my eyes open and looked down – he had re-bandaged all my cuts and my head had a long strip of cloth around it, too. My bruises were prominent and purple now.

Attractive.

Zach's eyes were closed, but I knew he was asleep from the way his mouth was set. When he slept, his lips parted the tiniest bit, and his breathing was always calm. His messy brown hair fell in his face, and I had a sudden strong urge to push it back with my hand.

Right now his mouth was set into a tight line, and his eyebrows were furrowed. It seemed as if he was thinking about something. He had his arms around me and it was warm.

I remember when I was little, my mom had a job where she stayed home most of the time and my dad was happy. Whenever I had nightmares he would come into my room and hold me in his arms, protecting me from the monsters.

I snuggled deeper into Zach's chest, trying to escape reality.

His hands came up to my head and started stroking my hair, which was somehow no longer caked in blood. I realized that I was in a set of clean clothes, instead of my bloody ones from last night. I blushed at the thought of how I got into these clothes, but was too tired to care.

"Thank you." I whispered to him. He didn't say anything.

"How long has this been going on?" He asked after a while.

I contemplated lying.

"And don't you dare lie to me."

Guess not.

"About...five years?" I estimated.

"What?" He shouted, pulling me out of his chest. "You've been hiding this for five years?"

I cringed as his raised voice, every sound echoing around in my mind and making my headache worse. I just nodded.

"Why didn't you tell me? I could've...I would've..." His voice broke. "I would have protected you."

His words ran through my mind.

He would have protected me.

I swallowed.

"I don't know if you could...my dad's pretty strong. I don't want you to get hurt, too. I never told anybody because then somehow the secret would get out, and they would take me away from you and Bex and everybody." I frowned, eyes still closed.

"You guys are all I have left." I said softly.

I needed to go back to sleep. My head was pounding and every breath I took hurt my stomach.

"You'd be surprised at what you can do for someone you love..." Zach breathed out, his lips parting and his eyes closing.

But mine did the exact opposite. My eyes shot open and I looked at his face.

He loved me?

Surely he meant like...a friend love.

Right? The pain in the stomach got shoved aside by the butterflies, which had managed to make their way in there. I wanted to ask him about it, but the dark circles under his eyes made me keep my mouth shut.

So I laid my hand on his cheek and stroked his face.

"Thank you for taking care of me." I whispered again, closing my own eyes. I felt his hand come up and cup mine, holding it.

Hi, guys. So...yea. I know what you're thinking.

ANOTHER STORY! FINISH YOUR OTHER FIVE STORIES!

But I needed to write this.

Yes. Needed.

My only way to escape my...reality is through writing and reading and art. One of my friends is going through a...situation like this, and it's horrible and I'm scared and I didn't know what to do.

So I wrote about it. This is not going to be a one-shot – there will be multiple chapters.

I don't what's going to happen and I'm really angry at her father and there are people taking care of it, but I'm being selfish because I don't want her to be taken away from me.

But I just needed to write this because this is the only place where I can vent and pour out all me emotions and just...deal with my problems.

So don't be angry if you don't like this story, because it's the only way I can actually grasp what's going on. Writing this made me understand how she felt more, and I'm going to protect her. Even if it means she's going to be taken away from me, I'll let her go because that's what a good friend will do.

So yea.

Thanks for reading – I'll update soon.