Why hello my darlings. Things are beginning to get good aren't they? Aww aren't I a cocky prick sometimes... Just saying, when reading this chapter, go onto YouTube and listen to the song flume by Bon Iver. It goes SO well with this adorable and fluffy, yet sad and hopeless chapter. Anyway enjoy!

Samara sat on the wooden floor surrounded by darkness, except for the tiny flashlight she held in her hand that made it possible for her to still read her book.

It was once again night time, and Michael was setting up the fire for the night.

He looked over to see a shivering samara holding the tiny flashlight to read her book. Her hair was still sopping wet from the shower she just took, and she curled herself in what appeared to be a burrito of blankets.

It had been a long day of negotiating, and Michael was too tired to kick her out, yet didn't feel the need to kill her. Or didn't want the need to kill her.

It was decided she would stay until she finished what she needed to finish –which she said would take a few days.

He started up the fire as she looked up at him and smiled. They had talked all day, yet there was so much he wondered about her.

Why she was here

Where she was from

What she wanted out of staying here

He felt a tingle down his spine. This was probably the first female that came in contact with him that he hadn't killed. He felt weightless, as if his belly had dropped ten feet instantly.

Why the fuck was he acting this way?

AND WHY HASN'T HE KILLED HER YET!

She looked back down to her book leaving an awkward silence in the room, which was until a rock came flying through the window. Shattering the glass and causing Samara to shriek in terror.

Michael took the rock, about to run and catch the bastard that threw it and tear him to shreds. That was before Samara stopped him; noticing the note attached to the rock, she untied it and read the words of hate that filled the crimpled piece of paper.

It made her wonder why people hated Michael so much. She knew he's a murderer, but every town has at least ten murderers, and it's not like they get rocks thrown at their windows.

There was something Michael wasn't telling her, and she didn't know why.

she tried to calm him down, as he tried to snatch the note from my fingers. Then pushing me to the floor he stormed off and went upstairs.

Ishe read the note over and over and over again. Every word making me more anxious by the minute.

That was when she felt a tear slide down her cheek, every word breaking her soul the same way it did ten years ago. Over and over like a broken record, the madness wouldn't stop.

Witch

Devil child

Freak

A little girl of only nine, strapped to a chair in a blank white room. Question after question, day after day, no visits, no phone calls, no love.

She dropped her head as the tears poured down, knowing the exact feeling Michael had been feeling all of his life –unwanted.

She ran up the stairs slowly opening the door to Michael's old room suspecting he would be there, and to her surprise he wasn't.

She began to walk out of the room until she heard the closet door creek. As quiet as mice, she slowly stepped toward the closet door; slightly tilting it open to find a still as stone Michael crouching in the darkness. A picture in his hand.

He barely even turned to see if she was there, though he already knew that she was in the first place.

She reached over slowly and rested her hand on his, the same way he had rested his hand on hers the day before, he looked over to see her pale face right before him.

She looked at the picture noticing it was a young boy holding a baby girl, she was beautiful, she had the boys grey eyes and his dirty blonde hair.

"She's beautiful. Is she a relative of yours?"

He looked over at her in silence as she sat down beside him, nodding yes to her question. Then giggling she looked him in the eyes.

"You were cute as a little boy"

He picked up his head and looked at her in disbelief, no one had ever, not even his own relatives said anything like that before! He was suddenly overwhelmed with a feeling he couldn't describe, it started in his lower abdomen, then went up to his throat, followed by it then going from the tips of his fingers to the tips of his toes.

What the hell was going on with him?!

He tried to say thank you, but the words happened to be stuck in his throat, unable to break free as he intended. The words barely came out as a mere stutter.

"Tha" he tried once more but failed again.

She understood what he was trying to say, she could barely even speak herself. She placed her hand on his cheek, slowly removing his mask ever so gently, that he enjoyed every second of it.

A mask less Michael sat before her, his eyes a beautiful grayish blue. He felt himself drifting off, not even caring his true self was exposed.

As for Samara, her cheeks still red and swollen from her tears, she wrapped her arms around his neck; ready to embrace him with a compassionate hug. Then drifting away from reality she let her heart take over for once, instead of her mind.

They leaned closer and closer until their lips met ever so gently. He caressed her arms and lightly rubbed her scars, comforting her as she rubbed his back in return. They cuddled one another as their lips healed their hurt, the science book forgotten and shuffled across the floor.