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Ten minutes later I am standing just outside the lobby, shivering in my pajamas as I wait for Kartik to pick me up. I'm stunned at how easily he agreed to come get me, but I'm very grateful. I hurried past a pleading Tom ("Everything's under control now, Gemma, you can stay!") and brushed off the concerned doorman, and now I am waiting, numb from the cold and the experience.

Kartik gets out of the car when he pulls up in front of my building. He's wearing a NYU sweatshirt and blue plaid pajama bottoms. He looks adorable, but I can't concentrate on that right now.

"What happened?" he asks softly, leading me to the car. I shake my head desperately, for my throat is tight from crying. His eyes linger on my left cheek. "Gemma…"

"Just get me out of here!" I squeak. A sob racks my body, and I turn my face away from him. With a sigh, he pulls away from the curb. "I'm sorry," I whisper.

"Don't be," he says. He flicks the radio on and smooth jazz fills the car.

"Your taste in music never fails to surprise me," I say tearfully. I risk a glance at him. Kartik's profile is lit up by the orange bands of streetlights that comb over him as the car moves. A smile tugs at his beautiful lips.

"Did you expect me to listen to rap?"

"Not at all."

"Well, I do like Kanye West," he admits. "But that's not exactly rap."

"No," I say, surprising myself with a laugh. "It isn't." I'm amazed at how Kartik can make me forget everything. But now that I've acknowledged that, it all comes crashing back. My father, drunk, hitting me. It is more than just that. It is the loss of comfort and security, the knowledge that nothing will ever be the same. My father will never be the man he used to be, my daddy, who'd watch TV after work and call me his little princess.

No. Princesses don't get hit. Especially not by the kings that are supposed to be their fathers. The king of the castle is now the town drunk, and the land is under siege.

Tears well up again, and I cannot hope to stop them. One strangled whimper is all it takes for Kartik to realize.

"Gemma, what is it?" he asks, his voice laced with such sincere sympathy that I want to throw myself in his arms and cry more. I cannot throw myself into his arms, but I do sob harder.

"Do you want me to pull over?"

"No," I moan. "Just keep driving."

"Where do you want me to take you?"

I want to say home, but I have no home anymore. Home is where you feel safe and warm. I haven't felt that way since my mom died. This brings on more tears, though I can't really imagine that there could be more. Kartik pulls over next to a coffee shop and rests his hands on his thighs.

"So," he says, cocking his head towards me. "Tell me."

All I can think of his how terrible I must look, all puffy-eyed and teary. "Don't look at me," I sniffle.

An exasperated noise resounds in his throat. He lightly touches my left cheek. It stings at his touch. "Who hit you?"

I stare at my lavender Egyptian cotton covered knees and say nothing, only sniffle again in response. He reaches across me and fishes through the glove compartment for a pack of tissues. For a moment, his scent is enough to console me.

"Thanks," I mumble, taking a tissue from him. I wipe my face and blow my nose as inoffensively as possible.

"I won't tell anyone," he prompts.

"I know," I whisper. "That's why I called you."

We fall silent for a bit. I know in my heart that I can trust him, but I just can't will my mouth to form the words. My father hit me.

I study him out of the corner of my eye. Kartik looks out the window at the world around us, but there is a steady air of patience about him. He looks as if there is nowhere else he'd rather be, even though it is a Friday night. I wonder if he has a girlfriend that would be jealous if she knew he was with me. Before I can stop it, the question is out of my mouth.

"Do you have a girlfriend?"

Kartik's head snaps around fast, a look of bewilderment on his face. "No," he says, sounding kind of shocked. "I don't."

"Oh," I say, unable to ignore the feeling of relief dancing in my stomach. It is quickly stomped on by another question. I surprise myself again with my boldness. "Do you have a crush on anyone?"

He scoffs. "I'm a little too old for crushes."

His statement strikes me as odd, for even my brother has claimed to have crushes on girls, and he's nineteen. Kartik's only eighteen. I begin to wonder if Felicity's suspicion about Kartik is correct.

"Felicity and Pippa think you're gay," I blurt out.

Kartik bursts out laughing. "Yes, they would think that, wouldn't they?"

"What do you mean?"

His face develops a hard sneer. "You don't know them very well, do you?"

"I do too," I say defensively.

"They're upset because I remain the only guy they have not succeeded in hooking up with."

I frown. "Oh? Why didn't you?"

Kartik looks out the window. "I don't take kissing lightly. It has to mean something."

A warm, tingly feeling spreads throughout my chest. I had no idea Kartik was such a romantic. He is obviously embarrassed, so I cease my drilling, surprised that he even answered me.

"My father," I say quietly.

"Hm?" He fixes his brown eyes on me.

"My father hit me." Silence follows as if my words were a vacuum. My eyes flood with tears. As they fall, so does the avalanche of feelings I've been keeping in for so long. I tell him all about fighting with my mother before her death, how terrified I felt after my dream, the days after, my father's steady decline, his drunken outbursts, and how I feel as if I'm so lost and confused over everything. It is odd to say these things to someone I barely know. But like confession at church, I just feel better when I'm done.

"Gemma, I'm so sorry," Kartik says softly. That is it. No gushing about how wrong it is, no hugging, and no "everything will be okay". And somehow, it is enough.

He lets me sit for a bit, until my breathing is even and my sinuses are clear. "So," he says, reaching to put the car back into drive. "Where do you want to go?"

"Somewhere safe, where I can spend the night and not have to think of anything or face anyone." I laugh, knowing there is no such place.

Once again, Kartik surprises me. "Would you object to staying at my apartment?" At my shock, he quickly seeks to elaborate. "You'll be safe, you can play mindless video games, and you won't have to talk to anyone…unless you want to," he says with a small smile.

"Thanks," I say. "I'd like that."

We make our stop-and-go way from the Upper East Side to Brooklyn. When Kartik lets us in to his apartment, the TV is still on. For the first time I realize he probably lives with someone else.

"Are you sure it's okay that I stay?" I ask, standing by the door timidly.

"Sure. It's only us." He sits on the couch and beckons for me to sit with him.

"Oh. You live alone?"

"My brother used to live here too," he explains. "Now it's just me."

"But how do you afford it?" I blurt out without thinking. I blush at my rudeness.

Kartik smiles. "Think of the Rakshana as a job. They pay for school, my car, this apartment…and all I have to do in return is look out for you. It's a pretty good deal."

"Yeah," I say softly. "So…is this only because you have to?"

"What do you mean?"

I feel my brows furrow in thought. My cheek stings more than ever. I don't want to even know what it looks like. "Did you pick me up and listen to everything only because you had to?"

Kartik rubs at his knee. "No. This has nothing to do with the Order or the Rakshana. If I didn't want to listen, I wouldn't have."

"You won't tell anyone, right?" My voice sounds small and weak, and I hate myself for it.

"I won't tell a soul," he says. I know I can believe him. "Anything on TV you want to watch?"

I could tell him. Yes, I'd like to watch Family Guy. This could be a normal, friendly night, drama free from this point forward. Of course then I'd feel guilty.

"I made something move with my mind," I say so quickly that I'd be surprised if he caught a word of it.

"Come again?"

I take a deep breath and will my knees to stop shaking. "A few weeks ago, I made something move with my mind."

Kartik is skeptical. "Are you sure you weren't just imagining things?"

"I did it twice."

"I see." He plays with the drawstring of his sweatshirt. "Have you tried it since?"

I shake my head. "I was too freaked out."

He points to a Playstation controller. "Move that."

"I don't want to." I don't. I won't. What if I can't make it move? He'll think I'm a freak.

"Come on, do it."

I stare at the controller and picture it flying through the air to meet me. No sooner do I think it, it happens. Kartik's jaw drops open. "That's crazy," he says.

"I know." I say, handing it to him. "What does this power mean?"

He looks intently at his controller, studying it for any abnormalities. "You know you are one of the Order. I guess you're just coming into your power."

"Like that stupid movie about the superhero kids at the school? Sky High?"

"I guess. I never saw it." He sets the controller down on the coffee table. "Is there anything else you can do?"

I shake my head. "No. Kartik? Where were my mother and your brother going that night?"

Kartik looks at me, his eyes wide and sad. "I never knew. Amar didn't tell me."

"Oh."

And with that, we drop it. We watch Comedy Central until the very early hours of the morning, when neither of us can keep our eyes open for long.

"I'll sleep on the couch," Kartik offers. "You can have my bed."

My heart beats in a frenzy. I can't sleep in his bed! Oh God, I want to, but I can't! "That's okay," I say, my voice a few octaves too high. "I'd rather have the couch."

"You sure?"

I nod emphatically and exhale slowly as Kartik goes to get me a blanket and pillow. After we say our goodnights, I curl up and gaze out the window. With the exception of sleepovers with my friends or my sleep-away riding camp up in New Hampshire, I've never really been away from home. It's not that I'm scared here, just…out of my element. Every little sound is magnified in the dark, and I can't stop thinking that Kartik is only a few rooms away, possibly with his shirt off.

Kartik is so…confusing! Earlier today, we were ready to rip each other's heads off on the front steps of Spence, but just an hour ago we were watching Chappelle's Show like old chums. Even after I treated him horribly, he still dropped everything to come to my rescue. As much as I don't really want to, I think I'm falling for him.

Geez, Gemma. FINALLY, you dense girl! You finally get it. Ah well, let's see if Kartik gets the picture now.

I'm really sick. Like, now I have a hardcore ear infection on top of my sinus infection, which ironically affects my throat more than my sinuses. I'm not happy, so give me lots of long concrit-filled reviews and make me happy!

Is at the end of her rope!,
LunaEquus

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