A/N Ehh yeah this chapter is a bit dark. And there a few spelling errors, ignore it. I'm like completely destroying Sara. But don't worry I'll fix her soon. Read and Review : Thanks!

Sara's eyes flickered open, at first she was unaware of where she was, the white walls, the strange smell, a sterile smell that clung to the air. She waited for her senses to kick in, but they didn't. She moved her head, and found Greg attached to her arm. He was holding it tightly, his head resting on it, as if he was sleeping. "Greg..." She croaked, her voice was sour.

Greg's head shot up, she realized he was crying, his face was tear streaked.

"Sara, oh thank god." He whispered and squeezed her hand.

"How did I-- What..." She started to say in a hoarse, weak voice.

"Flu." A nurse came in, a clipboard in her hand, her hair was blonde, it was up in a neat bun, she had a professional sounding voice, "You seem to have a terrible case of the flu, nothing we can't take care of. You can even go home tonight if you like." She said giving a masked smile, "I do have to ask you about those cuts on your arms, where did you get them?"

Crap, Sara thought, she glanced at her arms, freshly bandaged.

"I..." Sara started.

"She fell, two days ago." Greg interrupted quickly, he squeezed her hand, "We were taking a walk, and she tripped, there was glass on the sidewalk, it was pretty bad but she insisted that she didn't need a doctor." Greg lied perfectly.

"I see." The nurse said, Sara couldn't tell if the nurse believed him or not. It was silent for several moments, could she see through Greg's lie?

The nurse cleared her throat, "Well, I'll send the doctor in here to clear some thing's up with you Ms. Sidle. We do have to ask your friend here to go and get you some fresh clothes." Greg nodded, looked at Sara and whispered.

"I'll go back to my apartment and grab some for you. Be right back." He stood up and exited.

Sara lay in the hospital bed, looking out the window, her head still woozy, "Ms. Sidle." a man's deep voice spoke from the door. Sara turned her head; the doctor had dark brown, straight hair, and almost black eyes. He was handsome, along with his sweet smile, "How are you feeling? Any better?" He said quietly and approached her bed.

"Eh... Define better." She said giving him a half smile.

He sat down on the hospital bed next to her, "I had the flu a few weeks ago, I know how you feel." Sara nodded, "It feels like your head's going to explode, like you'll never feel normal again." Sara looked away, what exactly was normal? She questioned herself, "But don't worry you'll get better." He placed a hand on her arm; she pulled away immediately, feeling the pressure from the wounds.

"Do you want a drink? Water? It'll help your throat."

"Yes please." Sara said while staring out the window. She thought back at the past few days, she hadn't been normal in a long time, even before the suicide case, thing's weren't right, when was the last time she really smiled? When she really meant to smile, without forcing herself? She couldn't remember. When was the last time you felt happy? She couldn't remember that either. Would she ever feel normal?

"Your drink madam." The doctor said in a friendly voice he shut the door and handed her the drink, which she sipped. The doctor watched her closely, "Now, the flu, easy to get rid of if you have the medicine..." the doctors voice was low, in a whisper. Sara's head began to feel even woozier her head throbbed.

"Excuse me..." Sara started, "What, what did you say?" She saw the doctor's lips moving, nothing was coming out, her vision dimmed a little, she felt as if she lost consciousness, yet she still knew what was going on. She dropped the glass, it hit the ground and shattered to pieces, she couldn't hear it. She turned slowly back to the brunette doctor who had leaned over her and grabbed her wrists, holding them above her head on the pillow, he climbed on top of her and pressed a kiss against her neck, and slowly down her body, she let out a gasp. His kisses were traveling lower, she told herself to stop him, she tried to scream but her mouth didn't open. It was as if she was watching herself from above being assaulted, raped, it was like it wasn't really happening to her, as if she was watching it all from above.

She thought about the past few days more, how just a few memories had shattered what was left of her life to pieces, her life was slowly falling apart. Like a sweater and there's a lose thread, you ignore it at first thinking its nothing, but as the weeks go by, every time you wash it, the thread gets longer until one day you decide to pull it, but it just starts to unravel the sweater, making it worse, little by little. The doctor, slipped the shirt over her head, careful not to rip it, he wasn't going to leave any evidence behind, none but the victim. He knew when he saw the cuts on her arms, on her arm that she didn't care whether or not her life was ended, or not. She was the perfect victim, she'd probably end up killing herself anyway, it's not like he cared.

Sara laid there a while after still unable to move, still unable to do anything. Suddenly the silence broke; sound flooded her ears, her head. She shook herself and forced herself to get up, as soon as she did Greg walked into the room. She looked around wide-eyed, her shirt was back on, it was like it didn't happen. "Sara? What's wrong?" Greg's voice asked nervously, he saw the distress etched into her face.

"I... take me home?" She said quietly, she wasn't going to tell him, she wasn't going to file charges, what would it do anyway? He'd tell everyone that she'd cut herself, use it against her. She knew what happened in sexual assault cases, they turned the victim into the suspect. He'll say it was consensual, that she cut herself that she was asking for it. What would she do then? She'd have to go to court be on the stand as a witness, possibly lose her job. No. She wasn't going to tell. She felt dirty as it was, like there was dirt under her skin that she couldn't wipe away.

"I'll drive you." Greg whispered.

When she got home, she ran to Greg's shower, turned on the hot water and let it wash over her. Greg didn't want to leave her alone. Afraid of what she might do, afraid that she couldn't take care of herself. So he brought her back to his home. For the first time in his life he felt needed, he needed to help her.

Sara stood in the shower, the steaming hot water scorched her skin, she took the soap and scrubbed, scrubbed until her skin was raw, she had to get him off her. She had to get all the dirt, the memory, her messy past off of her. She began to cry, the water and the tears fell down the drain, how could I let this happen? How? She asked herself over and over, why did she just let him do that to her? Why did she just let herself cut?

Sara stepped out of the shower; coldness covered her, as the heat left her body. She stared into the foggy mirror at her reflection; she had dark circles under her eyes. How could she let this happen? She asked herself again. How could she let her world fall apart around her? How? How? Sara grabbed Greg's razor and pulled at the blades, cutting her fingertips, she pulled them free. How could she just let her mother kill her dad? How could she just let her foster parents yell at her the way she did? Why was she so stupid? Why couldn't she defend herself?

Sara opened the door a crack, blue light from the television flickered through, along with the strong smell of cigarette smoke that filled her nose. She pressed her face against the crack and peered through. Her mom was sitting on the living room couch, her back facing away from Sara, but she could hear hysterical laughter, through her mom's sobs, she was laughing after all of that, after killing her husband, after murdering him. Her mother moved her arm towards the coffee table, and flicked the cigarette ashes into a cup. Sara could see her arm. Her eyes widened. Her mother's arm was covered in crimson red blood. It wasn't her blood.

"Sara?" She heard Greg's voice from behind the bathroom door but she couldn't move. Greg stood outside the door, and could not hear her reply; she was in there way too long. She tried to open the door but it was locked. He looked around the house quickly and spotted a pin, he grabbed it and stuck it in the hole in the doorknob. He heard it unlock with a satisfying click. Greg entered the bathroom, then he saw it. Blood. Smearing the white porcelain bathtub, pooling underneath Sara on the floor, the blood on her towel. She sat against the bathtub; arms outstretched resting on her legs in front of her. "Sara. Oh, my god."

Sara remembered the time she had to visit the mental hospital to see her mom. They had to watch her for a while, to see if she was all right. The grown ups had told her, but she knew better, they were checking if she was insane. Retarded. Sara knew her enough to know she wasn't.

She had walked down the white hallways aligned with doors with different numbers on them. The nurse had stopped at door 13 and turned to Sara, "There's a red button by the door if you need any help." Sara didn't understand at that time why she would need help; she was just seeing her mother. "I'll be right outside the door." Sara nodded and the nurse let her in. The room was pitch back except for the pale moonlight that was escaping through the bar window. Sara's mother sat at the end of her bed looking at the ground, her hair covered her face. "M-Mommy?" Sara said in a small voice. Her mom's face shot up, it was blank, no emotion. "Mommy?" Sara repeated.
Her mother shot up, and walked close to Sara, Sara backed up so she was against the wall, "How dare you come here, you son of a bitch. You don't care. I don't want to see your ugly face." Her words stung Sara, "Get out." she said quietly. Sara froze she couldn't move. "Get Out!"

Greg was in the hospital again, staring at Sara's pale face, as she slept. He held her hand once again, IV in her left arm. He felt guilty, he was forced to watch as her world fell apart, and it was like he couldn't do anything. He was supposed to be there for her, help her, comfort her, but it seemed like whatever he did... nothing helped. He heard footsteps behind him, "She tripped huh?" The nurse said in a soft voice. Greg felt his eyes water up, he should have told the truth, it might have made a difference, "Ms. Sidle will be okay, maybe you should go home and get some rest." She suggested.

But Greg shook his head, "I'm not leaving her alone anymore."

I got this chapters idea from the book called "The Tenth Circle" Very good book. Read it. Next chapter up tomorrow or monday.