I groaned in annoyance. Annoyed at myself for going to the wrong door, and annoyed at the curly haired jerk for teasing me about it. I quickly changed into my pajamas and crawled into bed. School didn't start for another week and a half so I still had some summer Netflix binging to enjoy. I booted up my laptop and snuggled up under my blanket.

This was the first night I had ever spent on my own, besides a few nights my mom had worked night shifts. The only difference then was I always knew in the back on my mind she was only about a twenty minute drive away and could be home if I needed her. Now she was several states away and I couldn't help the loneliness creep into my chest. I was no stranger to this feeling. When my dad died it was the only emotional setting I had. My mom threw herself into her work and I was left to morn him on my own. I was suddenly very upset with myself for not waiting to move in until after my roommate was here. I turned up the volume on my laptop in the hopes to drown out my dark thoughts.

I was almost caught up with Greys Anatomy when my eyelids began to droop. Before I knew it I was fast asleep. In my dream I was a doctor in Seattle Grace Hospital. I was running around from here to there seeing patients and checking charts. It wasn't until a man was rushed in on a gurney that my dream turned into a nightmare.

The man had a gunshot wound to the chest and there was a lot of blood. The blood had soaked through his shirt and the gloves of the EMTs. I rushed to the side of the man to get a better look, even though deep down I knew who it was. I pushed through doctors and nurses and finally reached him. He held his hand out to me, "Clarkey, you shouldn't be here. You need to go, leave me. Go… Now!"

Tears blurred my eyes. I closed them and squeezed his hand. I wiped the tears away and when I opened my eyes the scene had changed. We were on the floor of his old office, but he was still shot, and he was still dying. There was nothing I could do for him. I'm not a doctor now, I'm just a thirteen year old Clarke Griffon. I looked down at my blood stained hands and screamed.

When I woke up there were hands shaking me awake. My fist thought was that I was back home and my mother was waking me up from one of my frequent nightmares. But these hands were as small nor as gentle as hers. My eyes snapped open, my heart racing. I reached up and felt my cheeks. They were soaked with tears. I looked up to the person who had woken me up. As my eyes adjusted to the darkness he came into focus. It was the boy from next door. "How.. how did you… get in here." I was mortified that this boy was witnessing me have an episode. I couldn't even speak.

He brushed my hair out of my face and looked into my eyes, registering the fear that was undoubtedly showing. "I'm the RA on this hall. I have a key to everyone's room." His hand lingered on my cheek in an attempt to help clear the tears from my face. "Are you okay? I mean you sounded like you were having one hell of a nightmare."

I shrugged and laid my head back down on the pillow and looked up to him, "It's not uncommon. They only get this bad when I'm alone." I gestured to the empty bed across the room, "My roommate wont be here for at least another four days." I hugged the blanket to my chest and could feel my heart to start to slow.

The boy stood up straight with a contemplative look on his face. Then he shrugged out of his shirt and hoped into the bed next to me. I sat up, "What do you think you're doing?"

He pulled the blankets over himself, "Going to sleep."

I rolled my eyes, "But why are you in my bed?"

He looked at me as if the answer was obvious, "You don't need to be alone right now. Besides if I go back to my bed there's a chance you'll have another nightmare then neither of us will get any sleep." He pointed to the wall my bed was against, "That was is the only thing between your bed and mine. And let me tell you, these walls aren't very thick."

I thought about it for a while. Was he doing this to be nice, or did he have ulterior motives. I looked at the alarm clock on my bedside table and it read three thirty. I decided it was late and I didn't care. I sunk back into the bed and felt him awkwardly wrap an arm around me. He whispered, "You want to talk about it."

I shook my head, "My whole life people have treated me like this delicate thing. Easily broken at the slightest mention of her horrible past. I don't want that here, that's why I moved so far away. If I tell you now… I just don't want you to look at me any differently."

He sucked in a huge breath. He was quite for a while before finally answering. "If you don't want to talk about it, that's fine. I understand. But I have a little sister, when she would have nightmares it always helped to talk about them. The more she talked about them the less afraid she became of them. By not talking about it, you're giving it all the power. Sometimes it's better the confront your fears."

It was astonishing how heartfelt his confession was. I turned so we were facing each other, "I guess it could be worth a try." I sighed, "My dad used to be a hot shot reporter. He started investigating a story he had no business having his nose in. He ticked off the wrong people. One day he was late coming home. That wasn't unusual. There were plenty of times when he would be in the office late working on a story. I would often bring him some dinner, or coffee. I took a cab over to his office. When I got there his light was on so I took the elevator up." I closed my eyes as tears threatened to spill out.

The boy rubbed his hand up and down my back, "No don't stop. Keep going."

I nodded and opened my eyes and looked into his soft brow eyes. They were so full of protective, honest, concern. "When I opened the door to his office he had been shot. There was blood everywhere. He had pissed off the wrong people. He paid the price. An unfair price, but one he paid anyways. I watched him die…" I sniffed, "Sometimes I still see it in my dreams." His hand froze on my back before tightening around me and pulling me towards him. I put a hand on his chest, "Please don't think of me any different. Please."

He gave me a small kiss on the top of my head, "I wouldn't ever dream of it princess. We all have skeletons in out closet. Maybe one day you'll get to meet mine." A small blossom of hope spread in my heart. Maybe this boy wasn't so bad after all. Then with a start I realized I didn't even know his name.

I cleared my throat, "So now that you know my whole life story, would you mind gracing me with your name?"

He laughed, "Blake, Bellamy Blake."

I nodded and put my head on my chest and drifted off into one of the most peaceful sleeps of my life.