It started the spring of her junior year in college. She had driven home for the break. Her car had gotten stuck in the mud of the unpaved road entering Lima. Burt had sent him to pull her car out and tow it to the shop.

They ended up hitting the bar in celebration of a belated St. Patrick's day or so he tells her. She'd agreed because he'd put on this cheesy pout and stretched it out until she'd nodded her head and said okay fine. His grin had been too wide, so she'd rolled her eyes and amended her acceptance, one drink.

One drink came and went, and before she knew it, she was dragging him out of the bar by his hand and giggling as they stumbled and walked in the middle of the street.

When she woke at noon, it was with the sun streaming onto her face and wrapped around in only his sheets.

It was a repeated mistake or so she tells herself. She struggles to find her clothes but settles for his worn out McKinley hoodie when she finds her dress torn in half.

Her head is pounding, and because she can't seem to find him, she hopes maybe nothing actually happened.

In haste, she grabs her bag and opens his bedroom door to make her escape. If she doesn't see him, she can keep on pretending the soreness between her thighs was of an immaculate conception.

She's doing fine, tip-toeing across the carpet with her heels in her hand, until someone rounds the corner and cheerios spew out when she runs into him.

It's not who she's avoiding, but it absolutely might be someone worse.

He fumbles to apologize but gapes at her, in his Scooby-doo pajamas, when he realizes who he just ran into.

She has no choice but to bolt back into the room she came from. Holding her breath, she prays she'll somehow be able to convince him it wasn't her he saw.

She hears small raps against the door, and she closes her eyes, hoping that he'll take the hint and go into another part of the apartment so she can continue on her way.

Umm, you guys don't have to like open the door but, uh, like when- She opens the door, if only to stop his rambling and any implications she isn't done refuting in her own mind, yet.

He spares a glance over her shoulder to see if he's behind her, his eyes darting quickly in case they accidentally chance on something that isn't decently clothed. She pushes past him while he's scanning the empty room, still set on making her exit. Unfortunately, it'll no longer be as stealthy and furtive as she'd hoped.

After a sweep of the room, he was back to trailing her, asking her questions that she was ignoring with complete discretion. With him following closely behind her, she takes a wrong turn and together they find him strewed naked in the bathroom with his arms lapped around the porcelain toilet and his head reclined against the bathtub. It makes them both cringe.

This was the beginning.