Quinn's POV, and only his ^^"

Okay, sorry for the late update, but I've been in a rut lately and it took one horrid story with three horrid chapters and three HARSH reviews to pull me out of it. Thank goodness for brutality, so here it is. Hopefully, you all like it. The next one will be longer and for those who are reading What Would've Been, don't worry, the next chapter will be up ASAP!

Of course, thank you to SummerFeally, Armygirl and Valkerie for the reviews. You three are simply amazing~ ^_^

Breakfast Tears

I woke up to the smell of something burning. Quickly, I jumped out of bed, ran out of the room, flew down the stairs and right into the kitchen. I froze as my eyes widened at the person standing by the stove, watching the smoke rise out of the pot in shock.

"Jessica?" I said, slowly walking towards her.

Her brown eyes snapped to mine and immediately, she withdrew to the far corner of the kitchen, away from me. I paused, holding up my hands to show her that I wasn't going to hurt her, even though she hurt me the day before.

I looked away from her, back to the stove and turned it off, confused on what she was doing. Although, it seemed rather obvious she was trying to cook something. Except, what was she cooking? There was nothing in the FAYZ to cook other than bread with flour, oil and water. However, the thing in the pot was not bread; it was anything but bread.

"I was trying to make breakfast better by cooking the corn a little, make it a little warm and not so watery," a weak voice from behind mumbled. Glancing behind me, I saw Jessica stepping forward from her corner, but stopped when she noticed I was now looking at her.

"You were trying to make breakfast out of mush?" I asked, keeping my voice low so as not to scare her off; however, it was hard because I wanted to laugh at the thought of her making the mush better. Jessica simply shrugged, but kept her mouth closed and eyes on the tiled floor. With a small smile, I asked, "Why?"

She shrugged again, keeping her eyes focused on the ground. I stood there, waiting because this was one moment not worth missing; moreover, I was curious on why she was doing it in the first place. Then again, I was surprised she didn't run off screeching back to her room.

Her small voice pulled me out of my thoughts. "I-I wanted to thank you…for the gift," she finally said softly, I had to lean in a little to hear her.

"Really?" My brows furrowed a little, but the small smile still stayed on. "You were cooking as a thank you? Do you even know how to cook? I thought you lost all memories…"

"Obviously, it's still true," she uttered quietly, nodding her head over to the stove. I glanced back quickly, before returning my gaze to her.

"Well, thanks for trying. I don't think anyone can make this stuff taste any better," I chuckled, taking the pot off the stove and tossing it in the sink.

Jessica only shrugged. A silence fell over us, slightly awkward, but neither of us moved to break it.

My mind took advantage of this silence, though. I began wondering what pushed her to do this. Was it really my gift? That little thing I found after half an hour of scrounging around the living room.

It was nothing really, just a small knick-knack of sorts I grabbed from one of the shelves in the living room, a small ballerina figurine that looked a little, actually a lot like Jessica, plus a ballerina outfit. Whoever lived in this house before must've liked ballet because there were thousands of them on that shelf; although, more than half of them were broken. Yet, either way, I was sure that the rest wouldn't have been nearly as good as the one I gave her. The similarity between the figurine and the live version was uncanny.

It had to have been the gift, there was no other explanation that could've brought her downstairs to do something such as cook to say thank you. I grinned at that thought. Maybe I was more help than I had originally thought.

"Quinn?" That frail voice asked; that's when I noticed how hoarse and scratchy it had become. Turning my eyes back to those brown ones, I waited for her to continue. "I'm sorry for being difficult this past week, but you have to give me time. You don't know what I've been through, no one knows. I've been abused, mentally and physically. There are scars that no one, but me, can see. And there are scars that can never be healed." My heart dropped a little, as her voice grew softer with each word as she struggled to continue, but she did even though I had to move closer with every word she uttered. "I'll never fully recover," she sobbed faintly. "Even with time, I won't fully heal…I hear things in my head, I feel the pain in my dreams, I argue constantly with myself, but I'm losing…Quinn, I'm…I'm so-sorry I'm such a burden."

Then she fell to the floor bawling, her body racked violently with each sob.

At first, I didn't know what to do. I stood there watching her in complete shock, but then I realized I should be comforting her. Steadily, I got down to the kitchen floor and pulled her into my arms, remembering my own break down. I thought she would cringe away, but surprisingly, her fingers gripped tightly onto my shirt as she buried her face into it, still weeping.

"Shh." I wrapped my arms around her, feeling her body tremble against mine. I rubbed her back to soothe her a little.

And so, there we were, on the kitchen floor, two kids trying to heal, but failing miserably.