Quigley and I are walking down a city street and talking about our wedding plans. His fingers are intertwined with mine very tightly. He asks me about my dress—what color is it (Ivory), how it is cut (Modestly), and when the alterations will be done (In two weeks)—and I know that he's the one. I know that he'll take care of me, I know he'd never hurt me. He loves me so much.

He tells me he loves me and kisses me sweetly. I push him back—I don't like to kiss in public—and we laugh. I look in his eyes and I know he's the one. How can he not be?

Someone runs up behind us and pushes us over, grabbing my ring and purse. The man can't run very fast and Quigley catches up to him in no time. He tackles the man and gets my things from him. The man throws a punch at him and Quigley runs back towards me.

"Come on," he yells. He grabs my wrists and pulls me along for a moment. We turn a corner and then duck into an alley. It is lit be a few street lamps. We lean against the wall, as if we are trying to merge into it, and we see the man run past us. He doesn't see us.

We take a few deep breaths, and at least I am still shaking from fear. Quigley puts his arms around me and kisses my forehead, my temple, my ears. I look up at him, to ask if he's okay, and he kisses my lips. This time I don't object.

I start to get uncomfortable after a moment. I try to pull away, but he pins me to the wall. I ask him—tell him—to stop, but he doesn't listen. He tells me he loves me again.

I somehow don't believe him anymore.

Suddenly, the lamps go out and everything turns to black and I feel him force me on the ground. I'm crying now, and I feel so helpless. It happens all over again.

I woke up with a scream, my heart pounding, my breath coming very fast. I looked around my room and reassured myself I was in my apartment, not with Quigley. It took a moment for me to clam down. Once I did, reality made itself know and the smell of food floated into my room. The smell of Mexican cuisine, my favorite, gave me the motivation to get out of bed and walk into the kitchen. Sunny was pulling enchiladas out of the oven. I spied taco shells and meat on the counter. Duncan was sitting on the sofa, writing in a notebook. He was the first to notice me.

"Sleeping Beauty awakes, eh?"

"Yeah," I replied groggily.

"We were torn between letting you sleep and waking you up for dinner. It's Mexican food," he added unnecessarily.

"I know. I could smell it in my room. The smell woke me up."

"Dinner's ready!" Sunny called from the kitchen.

As we walked, I asked Duncan, "Why is she here? I thought she was staying with Klaus and Isadora?"

"She wanted to come cook something for you. She's been kind of emotional lately, and it shows through her cooking. She hasn't stopped since she heard you were coming home. If you don't believe me," he added quietly, "look in the fridge."

I got a plate and returned to the table. I served myself an enchilada or two and a taco, which was piled high with cheese and tomatoes, and sat down at the table. I realized I didn't have a drink and walked back into the kitchen to get one. When I opened the fridge, it was packed with homemade goods. Everything from chocolate pie to roast beef, from lasagna to steak, from macaroni and cheese to mashed potatoes, and everything in between.

If Sunny never cooked again, I'd have enough food to last me until I died.

Duncan came up behind me, reached past me to get out the milk, and whispered, "I told you so, Vi."

I shook my head and walked back to the table. When Sunny sat down, I said, "Thanks, Sunny. It was really nice of you to come over and do all this for me."

And that was where the meaningful conversation stopped. We sat in silence for a few moments. The only sounds to be heard were of the silverware scrapping the plates.

"So," I said, in an attempt to make polite conversation, "how was your day today, Sunny?"

"Fine." She looked down at her plate not wanting to meet my eyes. She went on. "We started reading a novel in Lit class; we're learning about algebra-type stuff in Math; Mr. Perry gave us a test today mechanical advantage, which I failed; in Social Studies, she assigned us a report on a religion other than our own. I'm doing Islam, I think, or maybe Buddhism."

"That's cool," I said.

"You're not gonna yell at me?"

"For what, sweetie?"

"For failing a Science test? On mechanical advantage?"

"If you don't understand something, you don't understand it. That's all there is to it, Sunny. The only thing that matters to me is that you're putting forth effort and learning something, even if it's not—."

"But I failed because—" she stopped for a split second and continued in a sad tone, "you couldn't help me."

I closed my eyes slowly. She hadn't meant it like it ended up sounding, I knew. But just because it wasn't mean the way it was said didn't mean nobody thought about it that way. There was silence, dead, suppressive silence, for a few moments when I heard Sunny whimper. I looked over at her and saw she was crying. Before I could move, she stood up and walked away. Duncan got up quickly and followed her. He caught one of her wrists and pulled her gently into his arms. Leaning against him, she continued to cry for a long time.

I put my head in my hands and nearly cried as well. I fought to gain control of the tears. A few escaped, and I wiped them away. I walked over to Sunny and stroked her hair lightly. Duncan moved back slightly so I could hold her. She buried her face into my chest and her tears renewed themselves with less force. I let my own tears fall down my cheeks. They landed in Sunny's hair. I don't believe she noticed.

"I-I'm sorry, Violet. I di-didn't mean it like th-that."

"I know, Sunny. I know. I usually help you with stuff like that. I understood what you meant perfectly."

"I promise, Violet, I didn't—"

"Sunny," I said firmly, "look at me. We can't go on pretending like nothing happened. I was in the hospital, yes. I was gone for a long time, yes. I was raped, yes. Life doesn't stop because something bad happens. You just have to deal with it and go on with things. I'm not saying nothing will change as a result of what happened. Things may change, and we'll adjust. Admirably, I'm sure." I leaned down, kissing her forehead. She wiped her eyes and nodded.

"Violet?" she asked softly.

"Yeah."

"Why did he do that to you?"

"That's a good question, Sunny," I said quietly. "A very good question, indeed."