A/N: Okay, this ended up even darker than I anticipated. It does deal with rape and its aftermath, and although it's not very explicit, it could be triggering. I tried to keep them both as in-character as I could considering the situation, but I would appreciate comments/suggestions! The next chapter will be up later this week.

When it was over, Annie pulled her now button-less button-down tight across her chest, stumbling out of the alley. The bus stop was only a few blocks away, and it seemed a much better option than staying at her own apartment building. Her barred window looked directly into this alleyway, and she just wanted to forget about it. Not stopping to change clothes, she walked briskly to the bus stop. Her thighs ached, she was pretty sure her face a mess of black and blue, and she felt like she could hardly breathe.

On the way, she reviewed her mistakes. She should have waited until the next morning to put her garbage in the dumpster. She should have remembered her mace. She should have taken karate in school. She should have worn a longer skirt. She should have screamed louder – no, that one was forgivable on the part of the knife. The nick in her side throbbed as she recalled that detail.

Rationally, she knew this wasn't her fault, but she wasn't feeling rational. She needed to find someone, that was all she knew.

Annie reviewed her choices. Her parents were out of the question, she hadn't even seen them since she got out of rehab. Shirley would be at home with her boys, probably asleep. Britta was a terrible comforter and would probably get angry with her for blaming herself. Pierce – just no. She longed for Jeff's sturdy arms to wrap her in a hug, for him to wipe her face clean like a father or God forbid a lover or something else totally undefined, but she was afraid he'd be the lawyer and want to go after this guy or something. Troy was kind and safe and although her crush on him was decidedly over, it would be awkward to show up at his place half-naked in the middle of the night. Also, he lived with Pierce.

That left Abed. Annie was already climbing onto the bus headed to Greendale, by force of habit, so it would be convenient. She didn't understand Abed, but maybe he would understand her. Jeff once said he had Asperger's, but Annie wasn't sure. One of the girls in rehab had it and she couldn't read facial cues or people's emotions at all. Abed could read people better than anyone sometimes – he just didn't react right because he can't empathize. Empathy wasn't what Annie wanted right now. She wanted calm. When she got off the bus, she headed to Abed's dorm room.

The door was closed, but there was a sliver of light beneath it and she could hear the television inside. She shouldn't interrupt him, it's rude. She turned to walk away and felt her stomach clench with the reality of what had happened to her. Before she could chicken out, she knocked on the door.

The sound of the TV stopped and she heard a slight rustle. She gripped her shirt tighter.

Abed was in pajama pants and a plain green t-shirt. He looked at her for a long time, taking in her dried tears, torn shirt, wrinkled skirt, bruised cheek, and posture of shame. Then he opened the door and stepped back. "Come inside."

Annie did so, and Abed noticed her slightly uneven gait. "Sorry… for. It's the middle of… I didn't know where… sorry," she said, her voice hollow and scratchy.

Abed was surprised to find his own voice strained as he said, "It's okay. Sit down if you want. Can I get you some water?"

She nodded, but stayed standing. He got a water bottle out of the mini-fridge and handed it to her. Her hands were shaking too much to open it, so he took it back and twisted off the cap. He didn't understand what had happened to her, but he refrained from asking. People don't like questions when they're hurt or scared. That's why police interrogations are so tense and emotional. At least, they are on TV. He hoped Annie wasn't going to get arrested or something.

Her shirt was missing all of its buttons, and she struggled to hold it closed while she sipped the water. He went to his dresser and pulled out an old t-shirt.

"You can wear this if you want," he said, handing it to her.

She nodded, and Abed turned away and bowed his head. There was a small hiss behind him and he asked quickly, "Are you okay?" but didn't turn around. Annie didn't answer. She determined her wound was no longer bleeding and pulled the soft shirt over her head. It had the Star Trek IV poster printed on it. She looked at Princess Leia's defiant gaze and felt like crying. Her knees buckled and she fell onto the sofa with a painful thump.

"You can turn around now," she said, her voice thick. He did, and she was there, on his couch, in his shirt, her cheek swollen and purple, one hand over her mouth, the other gripping her skinned knee, holding in tears.

Abed sat on the couch a few feet away. He didn't want to touch her in case this was like the abused puppies that bite anyone who tries to pet them. Usually when Annie was sad her eyes looked like puppy eyes, and clearly she'd been beaten up. Right now her eyes just looked empty. "What do you need?" he asked, and when she didn't answer, he added, "I can drive you to the emergency room."

Annie met his gaze and shook her head, horrified. "No," she whispered. "No, they'll… they'll… it'll be like that all over again… I just… please no."

"Okay," he reassured, confused by her reaction. "Do you want some ice? There's a machine downstairs."

She shook her head again, staring at her lap and reaching across the couch to grip his hand. "Don't leave please?"

"Okay," he said again. "Annie…"

She released his hand. "Thanks," she interrupted. "For the water."

He reached over to pat her on the shoulder, like how people comforted each other on TV, but she flinched instinctively as soon as he made contact. Something was very wrong.

He sorted through the information he had gathered. Annie was very sad, and very scared, and something else, too, something he couldn't quite figure out. Skinned, dirty knees, bruised face, slight limp, torn shirt, she'd been crying, and she couldn't stand being touched.

"Oh," he breathed, putting it all together. "Annie…" he whispered, his heart racing. She looked at him, barely meeting his eyes. Her cheeks flushed, and he suddenly identified the something else as shame.

Abed always thought they were all in some madcap ensemble sitcom, and usually they were. This wasn't supposed to happen in a sitcom. This wasn't supposed to happen at all. "I don't know what to do," he admitted. "I could call Britta, or Shirley…"

She shook her head and looked up at him, eyes pleading. "They can't know. They – we – please, Abed, don't ever say anything please…"

"Of course," he said, wishing he could inflect his voice to sound more comforting or serious or something. "Whatever you need."

"I need to take a shower," she admitted.

Abed hesitated. "Annie, if you want them to catch this… person, we have to go to the police now. For DNA." He'd seen enough police procedurals to know that.

Annie nodded. "Do you know how a…" her voice shivered on the word, "rape kit works?"

He shook his head. The TV didn't show that part. He didn't want to know. He hoped she wouldn't tell him. "I'm not going to the hospital and I'm not going to the police," she stated firmly. Abed nodded, relieved that her confident tone was seeping back into her voice. He hated that Annie was sad. He wanted to hurt the person who did this. That was different. Other than the group's fight with those bullies at Christmas, he was rarely violent.

Abed didn't know how to comfort her. She didn't seem to like physical contact, and he couldn't blame her, but that meant he had to comfort with words instead. And he had it on good authority that he wasn't very compassionate.

Instead of saying anything, he stood, and Annie's darting, watery eyes watched him remove a clean towel from the bottom drawer of his dresser. He chose her a pair of sweatpants that would approximately fit and handed them to her. Annie stood on shaky legs. "Where…" she started. Abed nodded towards the door and she followed him down the hallway to the women's room. She went inside, and he stood at the door for a couple minutes trying to process before running downstairs to the ice machine.

When she shed her torn clothing, Annie looked down to see a body that wasn't hers. The legs of this new body were unsteady, the thighs and wrists bruised, the chest covered in hickeys and bite marks, the knees embedded with sidewalk. She didn't recognize it, and it wasn't hers.

The water in the shower was too hot and her unfamiliar skin turned red where the stream her. The red dampened the visual effect of the purple bruises, so she didn't adjust the temperature. She went through the motions, massaging her fuzzy-feeling head with some stranger's borrowed shampoo, rinsing it, working the conditioner in, rinsing it… She scrubbed her skin where he had touched her as hard as she could without a washcloth.

The steam calmed her and softened the pain in her abdomen. She lost track of time, but her whole body was an angry red by the time she turned off the water, and her skin felt numb. The scrubbing and heat had re-opened the shallow wound in her side, which was leaking blood in pink drops all over the pristine floor of the dorm showers. She quickly staunched the flow with Abed's towel, making a mental note to put stain-stick on it later.

Annie waited until she was fully dry to change, which took a while because of the lingering humidity in the room. Her throat felt stuck, and she realized she had missed a prime opportunity by not crying in the shower. Now whenever this lump of shame or whatever in her chest got out, it would be loud and messy and probably in front of Abed. There was an innocence about that boy that she felt guilty for interrupting. This probably didn't fit into his carefully constructed plot. It was thematically irrelevant, or something. Despite being behind two opaque curtains, she wrapped the towel around herself tightly as she waited.

Still, if Annie had gone to anyone else, she would be sitting in an ER or a police station right now. She shivered slightly and realized she was dry except for her hair. She pulled on Abed's shirt and sweatpants, relieved to be covered up. The sweatpants had to be rolled up to stop them from dragging. Her own wrinkled, too-short skirt was on the floor along with a pair of useless panties and her shoes. She picked up the shoes and towel and threw the rest in the trashcan.

Her mother would have made her wear pantyhose with a skirt that length. He probably would have gotten through those with no trouble anyway.