The ride to my house passed in silence. I didn't know what to say. I never had dealt with something like this. I knew I had to say something, and I had so much to say but everytime I opened my mouth to say something I couldn't, and I just closed it again like a fish out of water.

"That's never happened before," She said, breaking the silence when we pulled into the driveway of my house. I cut the engine and looked over at her. "Dad's never hit me? or even yelled at me like that before."

"All right." I didn't know whether to believe her or not, but I knew she wasn't finished, and I trusted her.

"I just want you to know that wasn't normal for us," She explained. "I don't live in an abusive house or anything. I don't want you to think my dad is some kind of psychopath."

"I was under the impression that you didn't care what people thought," I said, still in a state of shock.

"About me. I don't care what they think about me. But my family and friends are different?. My dad isn't a psychopath. He's just having a rough time right now." She stopped, thinking for a second before she swallowed and continued. "My mom just filed for a divorce, and? and he just can't handle it."

I just looked at her. I can't believe I was so oblivious this whole time. Tears started gushing down her cheeks, and before I knew it she was sobbing. I held her hand like she had when I was down, and just waited. I didn't say anything because I didn't know what to say. Also because I had gone through this before, not this exactly, but I knew that sometimes it wasn't just enough to cover it, sometimes you just had to let it out. I learned this from the many sobbing episodes in my basement with my punching bag and loud music going. When everything got too much and I couldn't just cover it up anymore. I knew how it felt, and I've gotten through it. And that's the hardest part. So I just sat there, waiting, sitting with her.

Once she had caught her breath, I opened my door and walked around to open hers. I helped her out of the car, and led her up to the porch never letting go of my tight hold around her. Once we were inside, I offered her a drink, when she declined we went upstairs like we always did but I couldn't let go of her until she was safely in my room, with the door closed behind us. Finally locked in our own, safe, world I let her go and she sat on my bed. I sat next to her, I waited until it was all calm, and I was still a little in shock but I shook myself out of it. This time she needed me, and I can't just hide like usual.

"Are you alright?" I asked, turning to face her. "Do you need an ice pack or anything?"

"No," She said. Her words came out as a croak and I knew it all too well. My screaming matches with my punching bag didn't leave me totally unscathed.

"It doesn't hurt anymore." I reached over and brushed the hair away from her face. My fingers barely grazing her temple.

"Well," I said quietly. "At least now I know."

"Know what?"

"What you're trying to escape from."

She didn't respond.

"Why didn't you tell me that your father has a drinking problem?" I asked.

"Because it's not my place to tell," She said. "And it'll pass. He's just going through a hard time right now. He hasn't had a drink in eighteen years. Just since the divorce papers came in?. He'll get better."

"You should talk to him. When he's sober, you should tell him that it's getting out of hand."

"Yeah," She scoffed. "And make him think I'm against him, too? When my mom has just handed him the divorce papers?"

"You're not against him, Bianca."

"Tell me, Wesley, why don't you talk to your parents?" She asked. "Why don't you tell them that you're lonely? That you want them to come home? It's because you don't want to upset them, right? You don't want them to blame you for their misery? If I tell Dad he has a problem, he'll think I hate him. How can I hurt him more? He just lost everything."

I shook my head. What she said was true and I knew it but I chose to ignore it. "Not everything. He didn't lose you," I said. "At least not yet. If you don't talk to him, he'll just end up driving you away, and then he will be in far worse pain."

"Maybe."

My fingers continued to rub soothingly over her temple. "This doesn't hurt, does it?"

"Not at all. The things he said hurt way more," She murmured. "You know, I've never been called a whore in my life, and today two different people have implied that I am. What's funny is, I'm pretty sure they're right."

"That's not funny," I muttered. "You're not a whore, Bianca."

"Then, what am I?" She demanded. She pushed my hand away from her head and stood up. "What am I? I'm screwing a guy who isn't my boyfriend and lying about it to my friends? if they're even my friends anymore. I don't even think about it now, whether this is right or wrong! I'm a whore. Your grandma and my dad both think so, and they're right."

I stood up. I was suddenly so angry how could everybody be so bad? How could they do this to such a great person? Does she really think this way about herself, about me? I grabbed her by the shoulders and held her firmly, forcing her to look up at me.

"Listen to me, you are not a whore. Are you listening, Bianca? What you are is an intelligent, sassy, sarcastic, cynical, neurotic, loyal, compassionate girl. That's what you are, okay? You're not a slut or a whore or anything remotely similar. Just because you have some secrets and some screwups? doesn't mean that. You're just confused? like the rest of us."

She stared at me. "Bianca, whore is just a cheap word people use to cut each other down," I said, my voice softer. "It makes them feel better about their own mistakes. Using words like that is easier than really looking into the situation. I promise you, you're not a whore."

She pushed herself onto her tiptoes and kissed me, I mean for real. It was more than just a precursor to sex. There was no war between our mouths. Her hips rested lightly beneath mine, not pressed tightly. Our lips moved in soft, perfect harmony with each other. This time it meant something. I knew what that something was. I have known for a while. I think I just denied it to myself because it scared me. But now I knew for sure. My hands stroked gently through her hair, my thumb grazing her cheek. And it didn't feel sick or twisted or unnatural. Actually, it felt like the most natural thing in the world.

She slid off my shirt, and I pulled hers over her head. Then I laid her down on the bed. No rush. This time things were slow and earnest. This time I didn't want escape, I wanted the exact opposite, I wanted to live every moment of this. This time it was about her, about us together, about honesty and compassion and everything I never thought I would find in myself, especially towards a girl.