Thank you Nightcrawlerlover for Beta Reading this. I do not own Alex or Degrassi or anything like that. Enjoy. And Review.

It feels kind like a hangover, getting up after a fairly bad lashing. A much different drink the night before, it is almost like a shot of pain or something of the sort. I have to keep thinking

weird analogies like this to keep my mind of the pain. I haven't actually opened my eyes yet because I don't really want to see the state of my body. It's really starting to burn, it feels l

ike I am being scorched; actually I wouldn't put it past Chad. He has used the hot iron before. I open my eyes with a sigh of relief, I have not been dragged to my mother's apartment

and I am not lying on the street corner.. Where am I? The first thought that comes to my mind is hospital, but no, this place was not lifeless it was actually kind of hopeful.

Yes, the pleasant sight does indeed take my mind off the pain; but so does the dread that is starting to fill me.

– "Ah, you have awakened."

It wasn't a gruesome kidnapper, or Chad. Instead it was Mr. S, and I was actually pleased to see him until I realized what this meant. He knows! He knows! I got to get out of here, I got

to, I got to! (That's my sub conscience going crazy.) And for the first time in a long time I heard a different voice, a bolder one. STAY HERE! HE CAN HELP YOU. HE ALREADY DID, YOU OWE

IT TO HIM. I started to retort, I didn't owe anybody anything. It does sound pretty stupid to argue with your thoughts though (that's what I think they are at least) and the look in Mr.

Simpson's eye was getting to me. No guy had ever looked at me with such compassion mustered into his facial features, even Jay (although I didn't stare at him long enough to truly

notice). His eyes seemed ablaze and unwavering, not letting me out of his gaze.

"Please don't run away." He said. I stared.

Daddy, Daddy, please don't go. I forgive you daddy for hurting me. You lost control and I understand that. Everybody loses control. You are deserting me – Please don't run away.

It felt strange hearing these own words mimicked to me, and I could not be like my father after all this wonderful man has done to help. "Thank you." I say with all the strength I could

muster, trying to fit all my gratitude and thankfulness into two little words while it pained my chest to talk.

"No, thank you." I looked up in shock, it had been so long since I have heard those two beloved words and I definitely didn't deserve them.

"I helped you because it was the right thing to do, and you just sitting there staring at me with those heartfelt tears shows more appreciation than even a thousand heartfelt words."

I didn't even know I was crying.

I tried to sit up so that Mr. Simpson could sit next to me but I couldn't. He shook his head, grabbed a random chair and pulled it next to me. It took me a couple tries to move my mouth

enough to make words come out, and when they did they where raspy, but I didn't care. "Look, Mr. Simpson. I wasn't really expecting this and I am sorry for all the trouble I have

caused you. I should probably go now and find my mother, make sure she is okay." I started to stand up but he gently pushed me back down.

"I have already contacted your mother. I am not letting you go back to that hell."

"How?" I didn't want to let Mr. Simpson talk to me that way, but I couldn't help wondering.

"I've got my secrets, just like you have got yours." He paused. "Miss Nunez, you have surprised me. I regret to say that previously to your accident I held no hope for you. Smoking and

hanging out in the ravine, ditching class, not studying. And your friends, I held no hope for them." He stuck his head down, ashamed. "It is I that should be sorry. I had no idea what you

are going through. When I found you on the street I couldn't even recognize you. I had to open your wallet to see your identification, and I found Jay's number. I called him and found

out your mother was staying with him and most of what was going on.

"At least I think so."

Here was a man, a teacher no less who had went through all this trouble to help me. I owed it to him to tell him what was really going on. "Sir, you've met my mother. She is pretty

fragile and when Chad's mad, let's just say I'd rather take the blame." Mr, Simpson sighed and whispered something like "You shouldn't have to."

"I deserve it. It's better me than my mom."

"Have you even looked at yourself? Who would deserve that?"

"I've smoked pot, I've stolen, I've had sex, I've had drugs, I've had alcohol."

"Why do you think you did those things?"

I was taken by surprise. Nobody had ever asked me that before. They had only judged me, judged me before really knowing me. First my dad, then people at school, and Chad, it just

never seemed to end. Now that I actually thought of it the only people that hadn't judged me were Jay and my crew and Mr. Simpson. I guess the reason that I did all those things were

because I needed a way to rebel. I am not my mother, I am not afraid of pain. I stole because I was hungry, I smoked because I was worried, I had sex because I thought I need

comfort and affection, and had drugs because I was already on the deep end and I drank because I needed to drown my sorrows.

"I don't know. I'm damaged goods."

"You're a teenager. Most teenagers have done some of the stuff you have done to fit in, or to seem cool."

"I don't care about fitting in though. I was hungry, I didn't want to have to fight my own demons, I needed comfort. Is there anything wrong with that?"

Mr. Simpson grasped my hand, not in a creepy old man way. He didn't know it then but it was that gesture that gave me hope, I began to talk. I told him everything. I held nothing back.

And it helped, it was like sharing my demons and they weren't enveloping me anymore. For the first time since my dad left I felt safe.