May 16, 1974

"Please take me home."

"Victoria-"

"Please," she insisted.

She'd been on the brink of confessing the entire truth to Pascal until her protective instincts kicked in and reminded her of her own mother's reaction to the things Maxwell had done to her. She could vividly recall the revulsion on Marion's face the day she confronted her about the abuse. Victoria had just been returned to her custody after six months of being evaluated in a psychiatric hospital and the only thing Marion had said to her in response was that she shouldn't be making trouble so soon after returning home. She then proceeded to hand Victoria a list of errands to run and went on about her day as if nothing had happened. At the time, Victoria had chalked up her mother's dismissal of her claims to genuine ignorance, but not long afterward she learned her mother had known all along about Maxwell's visits to her room at night and quietly stood by as he had his way with her. She never brought it up again.

Deep down, she knew Pascal was different. He had been nothing but kind to her since they met that day at the flea market, and he was continually respecting her boundaries and giving her space without being distant. She had never met anyone so selflessly patient. After all, she had nothing to offer him. He had given her a job and helped her with her French and for what? All she'd given him in return was a slap across the face and probably a headache.

Victoria couldn't imagine what was compelling him to put up with her inexplicable outbursts and tendency to run away when things became difficult, but she was grateful to Pascal nevertheless. Even now he was complying to her wishes- walking her to her dorm because she wouldn't be able to find her way otherwise. Neither of them knew what to say to break the tension, so they both walked in silence until they finally reached the academy.

"Well, you know the rest of the way," Pascal stopped once they were standing in front of her building.

Victoria nodded. It was all she could bring herself to do. She felt embarrassed over having caused Pascal so much trouble the previous night, and guilty for having rejected him earlier despite everything he had done to show her she could trust him.

"Thank you," she managed, when she noticed him waiting for her to say something.

She knew it wasn't enough. Pascal hadn't just gone out of his way to walk her to her dorm safely, he had prevented her from being taken advantage of by the older guys at the bar, spent money on a cab to take her home, involved his mother, made her breakfast when she woke up, and refrained from poking fun at her when she had a panic attack after their argument. He deserved better than her, and Victoria couldn't understand why he didn't seem to see it.

Pascal shoved his fists into the pockets of his jeans and shrugged, "No problem."

The casual way in which he trivialized everything he had just done for her was appalling. Victoria wasn't sure whether she found this attitude endearing or infuriating. Perhaps it was both.

"I'll see you on Monday," she said before parting.

Pascal forced a smile, "Take care, Victoria."

The minute Victoria stepped into her dorm, she was immediately caught off guard and pulled into an embrace by her roommate. The girl had nearly knocked her off her feet, but somehow Victoria managed to steady herself and keep her balance.

"Mon Dieu, Vicky! Where have you been? I was so worried about you," Bernadette questioned. Her French accent was thick but easy enough to understand.

"I'm fine," Victoria assured her before pulling away.

"Why didn't you come home last night?"

Victoria knew she meant well, but Bernadette's frantic questions were doing nothing to help her headache. She had been feeling lousy all morning and the walk from Pascal's house had exhausted what little energy she'd woken up with.

"I had too much to drink," she lied.

This seemed to pique Bernadette's interest. She sat across from Victoria on her own bed and decided to prod for details.

"Je ne savais pas que vous étiez un tel party girl."

Victoria had to make a conscious effort not to roll her eyes at her roommate's ignorance. She didn't dislike the girl, but right now she was getting on her nerves.

"I'm not," she corrected, "it was a mistake."

Her irritation seemed completely lost on Bernadette, who continued her prodding.

"So where did you go?" she asked.

Victoria braced herself for the multiple questions that would ensue as a result of her answer, "I went home with a friend."

"A boy?"

"Mhm."

"What's his name?"

"Pascal," Victoria said tiredly.

Her head was still pounding from whatever it was she drank the previous night and all she wanted to do was go back to sleep.

Bernadette's mouth dropped, "Pascal LeMarchal?"

"Yes," Victoria answered hesitantly, "How did you know?"

"Il a toute une réputation avec les femmes. I have many friends who have…how do you say it? Dated him?"

Her response took Victoria by surprise. Not once since they'd met had Pascal ever struck her as the playboy type.

"I met him at the flea market almost a month ago," she explained, "he seems nice."

Bernadette smiled mischievously, "He is very charming but he'll break your heart."

"Is that what he did to your friends?" Victoria asked, her curiosity getting the better of her.

"No, they were just having fun."

The confused expression on Victoria's face indicated she'd failed to understand what she meant.

"Oh Vicky, vous êtes si innocent," the girl laughed.

It was at that moment Victoria realized what her roommate had meant. She resented the condescension but decided to ignore her pride in order to gather more information on Pascal.

"Do you think he'll try something with me? We're just friends."

Bernadette shook her head, "You're not his type."

"What exactly does that mean?" Victoria wasn't sure whether she should feel relieved or offended.

"Rien," the girl shrugged, "just that you seem very wholesome, and Pascal likes a girl who can show him a good time."

"You hardly know me," Victoria scoffed. Even if what Bernadette was saying was true, she didn't appreciate being talked down to.

"Il est simplement une observation."

"Maybe I should stop talking to him," Victoria mused.

"Pourquoi?"

"Because I don't want him to think I'm leading him on."

Bernadette shook her head, "You have nothing to worry about. Pascal knows when a girl is interested in him and when she's not. He's a good friend, even if he is a reckless lover."

Victoria carefully considered her roommate's words before responding, "He took me home last night because someone at the bar put something in my drink. I wasn't drunk like I said earlier. I blacked out and he told me everything the next morning."

A hint of a smile formed on Bernadette's lips. "That's just like him," she said sincerely.

"How so?"

"Pascal may be a player but he respects women. When a friend of mine's ex-boyfriend kept following her around last summer, Pascal told him to get lost. Said he'd break his nose if he didn't leave her alone. The guy never bothered her again."

Victoria sighed, burying her face into her hands. The reassurance she felt upon hearing her roommate attest to Pascal's good character was immediately followed by regret over not having been able to come clean to him earlier. She'd wanted to be honest with him, she really had, but for the first time in her life her self-preservation instincts had won out over her trusting nature. Now that she knew she hadn't been wrong about the kind of person he was, Victoria was determined to make it up to him. She knew she owed Pascal an apology- not for refusing to tell him about her past, but for repeatedly pushing him away and taking his compassion for granted. It didn't seem fair to her that he was frequently taking the time out to help her and getting nothing in return, so she came up with a plan.

Well, maybe 'plan' wasn't the word for it. It was more of an idea. Either way, she was going to let Pascal know that the kindness he'd showed over the past few weeks had not gone unnoticed or unappreciated- and, more importantly, she was going to tell him truth.