It happened again.

Another boy. Another heartache. Another mess for me to clean up.

It feels like it's almost monthly by now, I've saved and protected her so many times. I always know when it's starting, too, because she calls me. When it's 3 AM and I hear Paramore blaring from my phone with Mikayla 3 as the caller ID, I know it's time to go to work.

I was dreaming about her.

It was summer, and we were at a picnic table in the park. She wore a light blue and green sundress that came to straps at the shoulders. Her feet were bare under the table as her white flip flops sat forgotten somewhere in the grass. Her black hair is wavy and pulled back at the bangs, the rest loose and dancing as the wind lifts it.

We're eating watermelon. I sit next to her at the bench in simple lavender capris with a teal tank-top on. I nibble politely on mine, never quite comfortable with the traditional devouring that left it dripping all over the place.

Mikayla, however, was all into it. She held the slight in front of her, biting in strongly, the red juice escaping and running down her chin. I can't help but chuckle at the sight of her. She hears my laugh and eyes me slyly. Always with a smile though. She takes the less-sticky of her hands and gives me a slight shove at this.

I squeal indignantly at this, and push her back, taking a bite of my own watermelon. What the heck, right? I feel the cool juice rush over my teeth, through every crevice of my mouth, and then down my chin, just like hers. I swallow my bite, spit a few seeds onto the grass next to me, and wipe the dripping juice with my wrist.

She's already wiped off with the napkins we remembered to bring, and is looking at me with a smile of her own. Before I can do it myself, she reaches over and picks up a napkin, and begins wiping down my face with it. She gently slides the absorbent down my chin to my neck, and then back up again.

I shiver as her fingers reach over the edges of the napkin and glide against the skin of my throat. I feel a blush materialize on my cheeks as she does this, my breathing becoming shakier. My stomach churns, the butterflies leaping to life once more within.

We're close now as both of us are leaning in towards each other. My breath is catching in my throat as I see the wind pick up and swirl her beautiful hair around in the air. Our fingers are laced together, and she traces the lines on my palm.

Just a few more inches…

Her eyes shut as our lips come together. My stomach turns over as my breathing escapes in ragged gasps. We-

I sit up, jumping slightly at the blast of music coming from the phone on the small table next to my bed. My eyes are glazed over but I can faintly make out the clock as I glance at it, picking up my phone. 2:28 AM, it says. Sure enough, Mikayla 3 is lit up on my phone screen.

I sight, knowing what's about to happen, and turn on my bedside lamp. Knowing I can't prolong it any longer, I push the Answer button. "Mickey?" I said into the speaker.

I can hear sniffling on the other end, a sound that breaks my heart. "Mi-Mitchie…" her voice cracks as she tries to talk while crying. My heart breaks more. "He…Matt, he…"

"What is it, Mickey?" I ask softly and caringly, though I already know what he's done.

"He…he's been cheating on me." Sniffle "For weeks…with-"

I cut her off, not even wanting to know who. "Come over, Mick," I say to her.

She sniffs a few more times before agreeing. We hang up and I roll out of my warm bed, sliding my feet into the slippers on the ground. I stretch slightly, before standing and slipped out of my room.

I descend the staircase and turn the corner in time to see Mikayla tap softly on the glass door of our back yard. God knows why, but she always liked coming in through there better than the front door.

Her poor, beautiful face is scrunched up with pain as tears drop from her eyes and she swipes at them furiously, fighting a losing battle. She's still in the outfit she wore going out with him tonight; tight jeans, high heels, and a suede jacket over a black tank top.

I unlock the door and slide it open, feeling her warm, petite body collide with mine as soon as I do. I wrap my arms around her as she cries onto my shoulder. Her waist fits perfectly in my hold. Mitchie, this is not the time! I say to myself. Mikayla needs you! Put your stupid feelings aside!

I reach over with one arm, and close and lock the glass door. "Shh, shh, Mickey…" I say softly and soothingly. I reach up and tangle my fingers in her perfect black hair, stroking her scalp. I feel her tears soaking through the fabric on my shoulder, but I don't mind. "Come on," I say.

I reach down and pull her legs off of the ground. She wraps herself around me. I've done this so many times I can actually carry her now. We go up the stairs slowly, her sniffles and quiet dry hiccups the only sounds in the house.

I close my door carefully with my foot, and set her down on my bed. She pulls back hesitantly as I pull off her jacket, hanging it over the end of my bed. I blush as I remove her tank-top and slide one of my Connect 3 shirts over her head. Finally, the worst part, I take off her jeans and give her a pair of pj pants. She puts those on herself as I look away, my heart pounding.

Mikayla thinks I'm being polite. Because I would never stare at her beautiful, luscious body like that. And the thought of her removing her clothes on my bed doesn't make my breath catch and force me to look away before I do something drastic. Because best friends don't have these feelings.

I climb onto the bed and sit with my back against the headboard. I smile lovingly (it's not hard) and open my arms in invitation. She sniffles once more, giving me a weak smile in return, and clambers over to me. She sits between my legs and leans back into me. I wrap my arms around her waist once more, and she puts her arms on top of mine, as if reassuring herself that I was there.

"They always hurt me…" she started quietly, in almost a whisper. I had to strain to hear her. "Why…?"

I already had my answer. I had it the day her first boyfriend dumped her. And it's still true. "They don't deserve you," I said confidently. "You're so much better than any of them. If you aren't perfect in their eyes, then they don't deserve you. Because you are perfect, Mickey."

She was silent for a time and I'd actually though that she'd fallen asleep, before saying "All I want is a boy who will just be honest with me. And really care about me. And not…be with me for the fame." She paused, sniffling again. "Who won't hurt me."

I wasn't sure how much more I could take of this. Every time she gets hurt and comes over, I take care of her. But it makes my heart ache and strain every time I do. It's crumbling slowly, and I wonder how much longer it will be before I need someone to put me back together. I'm in love with this girl and when she feels pain, I do too. The oh-so-familiar butterflies are back once more. My cheeks are red with blush.

Mikayla turns in my arms to look at me, and I realize how long I've been silent. All other thoughts, including that realization, flee, however, as she looks at me. Our faces are very close. I can feel her soft, quick breaths on my lips. She's looking at me with an expression that I can't read. I glance quickly between her eyes and lips, unsure of what to do.

Finally, I let go and drop. I lean in the extra two inches and capture her lips with mine. The butterflies go into an explosion as every inch of me tingles with the contact. I feel drunk almost; my brain is so overloaded with emotion. It becomes even worse as I feel her timidly begin to kiss back. Suddenly my intense longing and desire burst forth, a force I could contain no longer.

I grip her face delicately with both my hands, her cheeks burning against my cool hands. My tongue parts her lips and I slide it into her mouth. A moan echoes from the back of her throat, encouraging me to continue.

"I (kiss) will never (kiss) hurt (kiss) you," I say breathlessly as out lips collide over and over.

"I know-" she breathes, her fingers running up and down my back.

I move away from her mouth and down to her neck, planting a stream of kisses up and down her throat.

"I- ooh! Mitchie- I l-love you-ah!" she says in high gasps. Damn, she beat me to it. Ah well, things could be worse. SO much worse…

"I (kiss) loved you (kiss) first," I say against the hot skin of her neck.

I hear our clothes hit the floor as we shed them, one by one.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

When I wake up, I can tell that it's early. Bright rays of sun are shining through the cracks in the blinds. The next thing I realize is that I'm alone in my bed. I glance over at my clock. 6:42. I look around for Mikayla, slightly panicked, but see no trace of her.

I drag myself out of bed and pull on some clothes. I get to the bottom of the stairs, and turn into the kitchen, and breathe a sign of relief. She's sitting cross-legged on the sofa, gnawing on a piece of toast, and looking at the sunrise. Looks like she hasn't heard me come down.

"Hey," I say softly.

She jumps, hearing my voice, but quickly smiles. "'Morning," she says. I lean, timidly though, and we kiss once more. She doesn't pull away, and I have confirmation that she really is okay with everything we did last night.

I sit down next to her on the sofa, and wrap my arm around her protectively. She leans into my touch. We're comfortable and quiet, just content with watching the sun rise. And I know that never again will I have a night of comforting her while both of us hurt.

Hmm...I really don't like this one. The ending, the plot...really any of it. Dang. R&R though.