Alexis: Thank ya!
Charmed: Fortunately, this chapter is longer. Unfortunately, all good things must come to an end.
Night: See above response. xD Thank you. I hope everything is well for you also!
Mm: Well, now you'll find out.
Ryan: We haven't talked in awhile. -sadness- Don't be confused! This chapt should less /some/ confusion.
W.S.C.: You'll find out in this chapt.
Amazon: I felt as though I should use your name, but typed that instead. Pft. Anyway! Wilson has adorable issues. It's not his fault. Don't judge him. xD I'm not very much into "fairytales" anymore. They get my hopes up and then send them crashing down. So if I write...I should keep it realistic for my own sake. It made seeense! xP
Crazy: Thank you so much. It was definitely hard to write. Sometimes I look back at it and think "a monkey could write that", but it was very much a challenge. It was hard making the emotions realistic because I have BPD and how I feel is often perceived as insane; it's great to know I could take those feelings and make them believable in 2 characters. It was fun and totally worth it though. I'm beyond glad I decided to continue this story a year ago.
CJ: I hope all of your questions get answered. I'm a LOST fan, so answering people's questions tends to be the last thing on my mind!
Sgiambra: Here's the update!
Esuedros: Yup. I'll be able to wrap this up in 2 more chapters. 3 more at the most, depending on whether the characters obey or argue with me.
Bigblusky: A lot is happening. -pokes chapter and smiles-
Miralinda: This chapter shows where Remy went. You'll find out why next chapter.
Ilessthree: I almost typed, "Ilesstree". -fail- Batman is a chowchow. His description is in whatever chapt they first got him, I think.

Thanks to Vanamo for beta-ing this chapter for me! It definitely meant a lot!

Don'tKillMe

Rebecca's POV:

You're doing it again. You know that feeling you get when you're nostalgic for people you know you're probably never going to see again? That's you, all the time. Every time you've passed her door over the past several hours, which is more times than you'd like to admit, you find yourself lost in thought about her. She's really none of your concern. The only memories you really have are that of seemingly meaningless sex.

Shaking your hair away from your face, you crank up Katy Perry's ET on your iPod to distract yourself and continue down the empty hall, stopping a few feet from your apartment door to scoop up the morning newspaper. The cover story about potholes causing traffics jams is enough for you to at least pretend you're distracted. You straighten up and fumble for your doorknob but only manage to grasp at air.

Grunting in frustration, you lift your eyes to where the handle should be but find your door wide open. "Great," you murmur, tossing the newspaper back down on the floor. Cocking your head to the side, you attempt to peer into your apartment but your hair continuously falls in front of your face. As if there hadn't been enough break-ins lately, what with whoever-the-hell getting into Remy's apartment and all that. Sighing, you grab an umbrella from beside the door and slowly make your way inside.

The kitchen and living room look empty. Sinking your front teeth nervously into the peppermint gum in your mouth, you tread toward the bedroom as silently as possible, dragging your feet across the carpeted floor. Sure, you could scare the standard person with your strong sense of self and sharp wit, but you had a feeling that didn't work quite as well on potential robbers or murderers. Then again, neither did umbrellas. You twist your sweaty palms around the handle and stop outside your bedroom door.

You're not sure whether to sigh in relief or frustration when you see the brunette standing hunched over your dresser. "Remy, what the hell are you doing? Looking for the next key to Wonderland?" you question, tossing the umbrella to the side.

"Go away," she murmurs. She has all of your apartment keys spread out across the top of the dresser, some of them even scattered on the floor.

Raising your hands so your palms are facing the ceiling, you huff in annoyed amusement. "This is my apartment," you remind her then pause. "This is my building."

"Mm." She waves her hand in the air as if she's trying to dismiss you then tosses another key off to the side.

"Remy!" you hiss, narrowing your eyes. "I had those organized!" In a few long strides, you make your way across the room and close the distance between your chest and her back then wrap your arms around her and grab her hands.

"Well, not very fucking well," she seethes, struggling to twist her hands free. "Or did you just throw my key out?" she chokes, trying to shove you away so she isn't squeezed between you and the dresser.

"Where did that even come from?" You're not budging; you cross your arms around the front of her, keeping her pinned. There's a darkness all around her, clinging to her; her anger sends a chill up your spine. In a brief Psychology course you once took in college, you learned that anger usually came from another source - a more vulnerable feeling the beholder was afraid of showing, be it sadness or more often fear. It had been a statement you always disagreed with until you met Remy. Every negative feeling you've ever seen her have seemed to burst out in the form of anger. "If you broke into my apartment to find your key, why didn't you just break into your own apartment?"

"Because I need the spare key," she answers in a dangerously low voice, glaring down at your arms. Every muscle in her body is rigid and you can feel her breaths starting to come in short, shuddery gasps against your chest. "Get. Off."

"Well, your key is under my mattress," you answer, shaking your head and resting your chin against her shoulder, refusing to move your head even as she tries to jolt to the side. You had moved it there after the break-in, scared that someone might be able to get their hands on it. "Get off and then what? Wait for you to finish destroying yourself at your apartment then drag your pathetic, drunk ass back over here so you can try to fuck me?" The strength you're putting into this is already almost too much. Remy isn't exactly the easiest person in the world to hold still, and you have a feeling you're about to need to be an anchor for her emotionally as well.

Remy chokes on a loud laugh that shakes her entire body. "You're seriously going to try to act like you don't enjoy when I storm over here and let you have your way with me?" She tries to jerk away from you again but to no avail. "You sure enjoy whoring yourself around to whatever other girls will let you rip away all of their control!"

"Fuck you!" In one brief movement, you have her spun around and you shove her to the floor on impulse. She falls back against the nightstand with a crash then slouches down so she's supporting herself with her elbows. She digs her fingernails of her non-casted hand into the plush carpet and visibly grinds her teeth together. "I am not a whore!" Your voice goes up an octave and you swallow thickly, trying to remind yourself that you have an image to keep.

"You never denied it before, so why now?" she shoots back, her nostrils flaring. "You always love to run around in your skimpy clothing, bragging about all the girls you've brought home! If you treat them all like you treat me in-"

"Why are you acting like this?" you cut her off, scared by her words. On one hand, she's nowhere near acting like herself right now. On the other, what if this is really what she thinks of you? You already lost her once. The worst that can happen is she storms out of your apartment and never comes back, so you bulldoze through all the brick walls you'd built up. "You're the one who sleeps with all the girls, Remy!" Tears are burning your eyes, but even crushed, you refuse to let them fall. "I go out at night and I get drunk, but you never see me bringing back that many women to my apartment, do you? So maybe my clothes are a little- a lot revealing, but do you really think anyone would give me a second glance if they're not?"

Before she can answer, you turn and swipe your hand across your wall, grabbing at pictures of other women you've taken. "In case you haven't noticed, I don't look like this!" You kneel down to her level, holding up the pictures so she can see them. "The blue eyes? The straight, bleach blonde hair? I don't look like that." You toss the pictures on the floor and get to your feet again. "So maybe I let you come over here and I boss you around, but it keeps you coming back, doesn't it? Can you honestly say if I wasn't a cold-hearted bitch, you'd still come back? No. I'd be like every single one of your fucking one-night stands," you growl. "At least if you're with me, I know that you're really safe, because I'd never hurt you." You swallow and swipe at your eyes with the back of your hand. "I let you use me, so don't treat me like I'm the bad guy! I never did anything but try to give you what you want, and you left for someone who doesn't even care about you! So how about you just cut the shit and tell me why you broke into my apartment and are treating me like I did something to you! Maybe I'm a selfish bitch for letting you use me, but I am not a whore, Remy."

Breaths hitching in your chest, you actually look at her and take in her appearance for the first time. Whatever you just blurted out must have had an effect, because her eyes are wide and filled with unshed tears. All the previous anger seems to have faded into exhaustion. Her arms are quivering like they're about to give out from under her at any second and the dark circles under her eyes are suddenly the only color she seems to have left in her face. She opens her mouth as if she's about to speak then quickly shuts it again and purses her lips together so they form a straight line, even though it doesn't stop her chin from quivering.

"What?" you murmur, dropping your voice to an exasperated whisper. You desperately try to prevent the tears brimming your eyes from overflowing, needing to keep in charge of yourself and the situation. "Just talk."

She slides her tongue across her lips and slowly pushes herself up, leaning heavily back against the nightstand. Exhaling a shaky breath, she slowly pulls her knees up slightly then crosses her arms tightly across her chest. "It's too much." She furiously shakes her head and clamps her eyes shut, moving her hands to her face then dragging her nails down her cheeks. She sobs on an inhale then tries to hide it by thumping her elbow back against stand. "I can't…" She holds her breath as her chest attempts to heave with another cry. "I can't…be what she n-needs."

You glance up toward the ceiling and rub your face for a moment before barely managing to look at her again and watch her try to keep herself from shattering. Nothing in your life ever really trained you to deal with a situation like this. At the first sign of crying, you were usually the first one out the nearest exit. It was nowhere in your nature to be a comforter, unless it came through allowing you to be sadistic in bed. "What do you need?" The words slip out so easily. You lower yourself to your knees and hover your hands a few inches away from her, nervous to touch her.

"Nothing," she manages, shaking her head.

"Stop living in your fantasy world where you think you're a rock," you demand, trying to soften your tone. "If your needs were being met, you wouldn't be in my apartment, trying not to start bawling." So much for soft.

She scrubs hard at her face and starts tapping her foot. "I thought she'd start getting better," she mumbles, her voice cracking despite her obvious efforts to keep it level. "I thought she would-"

"I don't care about her or her needs," you tell her. It's harsh, but it's true. "I don't even know her name. I care about you. What do you need?"

"Nothing," she insists, stretching her hands out in front of her to emphasize the point. "I-I have to take care of her, but she won't eat and she can't sleep, and I don't know what I'm doing, and-"

You clench your jaw. "Who's taking care of you?" you ask, finally getting the courage to wrap your arms around her torso and pull her closer. It might be the exhaustion, but she doesn't fight it. She drops her legs and rests her hands on her lap, lulling her head against your shoulder. "Who makes sure you eat and sleep?"

She seems lost to your questions, her eyes glazing over as silent tears begin to roll. "I thought I could do it, y'know?" she chokes, every word seeming to follow some internal struggle of trying to preserve her pride. "I promised I could do it. But she's not getting better, and now I have Wilson on my back, and…and I shouldn't be sc-" She cuts herself off and turns her head, hiding her tear streaked face against your shirt and the crook of her arm. "I need out."

You can barely fathom the guilt that came with needing out of a situation like that, or the fear she has to be holding in from the incident with the gun. Leaning your head back against the stand, you rest one of your hands on the back of her head. "You can't take care of someone when you can't even take care of yourself," you mutter, a bit frustrated she would care so much about someone that she would let herself get so exhausted and thin. Then again, you let your heart be repeatedly broken to take care of her whenever she needed someone, so maybe you were a hypocrite. "You need out," you agree, staring up at the ceiling. "It would be best for her too. She'll find someone who can help her."

She nods, but barely, her shoulders shaking with repressed sobs.

You know she wanted it to be her who could help; that much was obvious. You also doubt she would have thrown herself into a serious relationship unless she really loved who this other woman was, beyond her trauma. The worst kind of heartbreak was knowing what the relationship could have been had the other person not changed. Out of all the pain and frustration Remy had gone through in her life, you've never seen her cry, so if this wasn't heartbreak then you don't know what is. "I'm sorry," you breathe, biting back tears of sympathy. You thought you would be happy if you ever got a chance with her again, but it turns out her happiness matters more than your own. Her choked back tears are tearing at your insides. You tighten your grip on her, wanting to protect her from whatever choice she makes about the situation and the consequences that would come with it. "I'm so sorry."