"This isn't English Lit." She whispers as she nervously fiddles with a loose thread of her sweater.

"I know that." I chuckle lightly.

"You don't have to sit here. I'm fine, really. I'm sure Miss Lapdog needs you more." She scoffs.

"You're right, I don't have to sit here. But I want to. Besides, Miss 'Lapdog' isn't too keen of me right now, me thinks." I say, referring to the distance Madison has taken ever since our little lunch-altercation.

"Everybody's staring."

"Ashley, I don't care that everybody's staring. I really don't." I reply truthfully.

"Spencer and Ashley, can you please leave your pesky arguments for after class." Mister Walton asks harshly, growing tired of our whispering.

"Oh, we weren't arguing." I clarify pointedly.

"Right. Then please, Spencer. Tell me what you were doing?" he asks annoyed.

"Uhm. Ashley isn't feeling too well. I think she needs some fresh air." I lie effortlessly.

I can feel her eyes practically burning a hole the size of Texas in my face.

"Well, I think Ashley is old enough to talk for herself and ask for a breather if she isn't fairing too well."

"Yeah, if you want to risk having her vomit all across the floor." I snigger.

"Alright." He sighs." Ashley, you can leave class for this hour, there isn't anything major you'll be missing. If it doesn't get any better, check with Nurse Voigt."

"I'll go with her."

"No, you'll stay. Ashley is sick, you are not." He says sternly.

"Sir, do you really want to jeopardize her health and your rep by dismissing an ill student unguarded? I mean, what if she faints in the middle of the hallways and nobody is there to take care of her?" I ask overly dramatic.

He glares at me and starts roughly massaging his temples with the tip of his fingers. This is going to be a close call.

"Just leave, please. Leave, before I grow some logic and change my mind on all of this." He sighs defeated.

Ashley and I quickly retrieve our belongings and jump from our desks, only to sprint towards the door before he could change his mind. As soon as we leave the classroom and enter the hallway Ashley tugs at my hand and leads me behind a corner, bringing us out of eye-sight of any teacher.

"What the hell was that?" she asks slightly shocked.

"Please, like you really wanted to hear another hour of Walton's yanking about math equations." I roll my eyes.

"You're right. I don't. But that little scene there wasn't necessary. We could've just skipped class the old-fashioned way, if you had told me." She states annoyed.

"And where's the fun in that." I smirk.

She rolls her eyes in disbelief before forming a smirk of her own.

"I thought you weren't a skipper."

"Well, I can't help it. Some vicious girl empoisoned my sweet persona." I say in mock innocence.

"Gee, I wonder who …"

"Let's get outta here." I urgently say while pushing her towards the exit. But she withdraws as she immediately winces and clutches her side in pain.

"Ashley, what's wrong?" I ask worriedly, taking a few steps towards her.

"N-nothing." She stutters as she carefully backs away from me.

"Ashley, just-"

"I have to go to the bathroom." She quickly rambled, as she hurriedly makes her way to the restroom.

I sigh at her sudden closeted posture towards me, but quickly follow suit. I enter the bathroom and find her huddled over a lavatory. I am momentarily taken back in time as I recall a close to same scene a few weeks ago. It seems a lifetime ago since I confronted her with the truth. Since I shakily tried to make out why on earth my archrival made a move on me in the obscurity of the night, only to firmly deny it afterwards. Since I questioned why I cared so much to find out. Since I didn't freak out like I normally would've. Since I … since I started falling for her.

I vigilantly take a few steps towards her and situate myself right behind her. She's still hunched over the sink, hiding from me. Hiding from the truth.

I gently place my hands on hers, careful not to startle her, and I instantly feel the tremor in her body.

"Ashley, what's wrong?" I ask quietly.

She keeps silent in her bent posture, not giving in to my presence yet.

"Ashley, please .." I softly plead. She leisurely lifts her head and looks up into the mirror in front of her, meeting the reflection of my concerned eyes. We gaze at each other for moments, and I can't help but wonder if one day I could erase the hollowness and soreness from those perfect features. It's in that moment that I realize that I was constantly tackling the same situation.

Ashley stuck in that deep and dark hole, helplessly all by herself. And as I reach out and I feel her hand clamp around mine, just when I'm about to pull her out, she slips. She slips back into the darkness. Back into to that agonizing fear. All alone. By herself.

She needs to be pulled out.

I need to pull her out.

I tenderly turn her around to face me, and we continue staring at each other directly in the eyes. Her eyes. My eyes. The source of all truths. You can hide as much as you want, for as long as you want. You can try, and you might even succeed. But one fine look in your eyes, and all the lies are shattered.

As I gaze in hers, and she gazes in mine, all our truths are shared. All our lies, small and large, are dispersed. Our secrets are no longer guarded. So many eyes, I've looked right through. So many eyes went by unnoticed. Letting a tale pass by, without even perceiving it.

I don't see through her, and she doesn't see through me. We see each other. We see our stories. We see our reflections. Our past. Our present. Our future.

I slowly drop myself to my knees, never losing contact with her eyes. I can feel her body tighten and relax all at the same time. I cautiously lift her sweater in agonizingly slow manner. Fearing that if I jump a couple beats I'd hurt her. And at the same time, I'm giving her the chance to walk away from this. To walk away from me.

Her breath is ragged, but she doesn't leave me.

She's trusting me.

Bruises are spread all over her. Small and large marks are draped over her stomach, her ribs, her waist. Some of them freshly put, marked by their dark blue shade. Others, already fading to a yellow and greenish tint. The different shades stand in large contrast with the pale color of her own silky skin. I hesitantly bring up my hand and mildly start tracing all of it.

The bruises, the marks, the pain, the hurt, the anguish. Her stomach slowly rises up and down, marking her inhalation. But even more so, marking both her comfort and distress.

I retreat my hand to her waist and look up to her face. She's watching me. She's looking in my eyes and reading my story. And I'm reading hers.

I bring my lips to her stomach and begin spreading the softest of kisses on every inch of her exposed skin.

"Spencer …" She whispers contently.

Every feathery kiss is followed by a sharp intake of breath and somewhere it the middle of it all, her hands bury in my hair and make my head stay in place. Afraid that I'm going to retreat too soon. After a near endless journey of my lips on her soft flesh, I draw back and press my cheek to her exposed abdomen. As I close my eyes and lose myself in the sensation of the warm skin underneath mine and her soothing inhalation, I feel her fingers loosely threading through my locks.

She's letting me in.

And I'm pulling her out.