A/N- Over three months? I'm a bitch. I admit it. And, if school wasn't a factor in my life, I'd give you permission to hurt me. But, I won't let you. Just because, school does come first. But, I've only got two months left!

Within that time, I am not even going to suggest I may get a chapter done. The chance is literally at a 0.000000000001%. If you see a chapter before December, you should be jumping in joy, and I will expect a present.

Anyway, I'll be super busy at the start of December too. But, getting into mid-December on, expect lots-a-love!

I'm going to be super sad if I've lost some of your readers over this long time. But, I can't do anything about that. :( And I understand. Thankyou to all that have stuck with me, though. :) I love you all more than I could describe!

Sorry for any mistakes, only quickly read over. Kind of a filler, but the last 1500ish words… they good. ;D

Read, and enjoy, possibly the last chapter for the rest of the year!

Previously-

I didn't register the fact there was still glass and blood surrounding the very first area that your eyes land when entering my apartment, before it was too late. I stepped into the door before him and tried to shut it quickly, but he was too quick.

He held the door wide open, stalked in, took but a second to access the scene before turning to where I stood, still hovering beside the doorway. He was heaving, heavy breaths seizing his shoulders. His arms hovered beside him, and I swore he was moments from ripping his clothes off and turning green.

"Tell. Me. What. Happened.

"NOW!"

Chapter 10 – Another Problem

I winced at the intensity of his words, but I wasn't going to give in. I didn't want to tell him. Besides, it really wasn't anything for him to be concerned about.

"I told you, it's nothing," I almost whispered, as I walked past his fuming body. He followed my movements with his eyes, remaining in the same position, only using a slight shuffle to rotate his body to keep me in his sight. I grabbed my bin and started to pick up the glass with my good hand.

My back was turned to him, but I could still hear his laboured breathing. Not that I needed that to be sure of his presence. I could feel his eyes boring into my back; I could feel his burning rage radiating from him in heat waves. I, myself, could barely breathe.

Trying to ignore him was futile, even though he was barely displaying a distraction. I tried focusing on the, seemingly simple, task before me. Yet, it was becoming increasingly difficult, despite the constant instruction I kept repeating in my head. Open your hand, grasp pointer and thumb finger around shard of glass, hold it there, move hand to hover over bin, release. Repeat. My immediate mind was completely occupied, only the deep part of my brain was processing everything else. However, it seemed my body was intact with that area.

Eventually, I gave up. I had barely made any progress with cleaning at all, still knelt on the ground collecting glass, and it felt like hours had passed. He was still there, and he had to leave.

I stood up and took several deep breaths before turning to him. His shoulders still heaved, and he still looked pissed beyond hell.

"Fine. See this glass here, Dimitri?" I gestured around me, watching his eyes continue to blaze, "Put two and two together." His expression didn't falter. "Fist," I balled my hand up and pointed to it. "Punch," I threw a punch in the air. "Window," I pointed to, the now, glassless frame.

"Rose," he growled. With the frequent use of the animalistic sound, it was starting to lose all its intended meaning.

So I growled back, "Dimitri." It sounded like nothing but a young child's attempt at mimicking an aggressive lion or bear's noise. I was purely embarrassed by my lame attempt to out-power him. It, instead, had an adverse effect. It began by a simple change in the intensity of his dark, hooded eyes, then to the twitching of the corner of his mouth, until he threw his head back in a belly-aching laugh.

Okay, so, my action didn't have the desired response, but, it at least it lead to the same outcome – distracting Dimitri.

I couldn't help but laugh myself a good minute into his fit. Besides, it was humorous. Although, at least five minutes through, I began to contemplate his sanity. Maybe he wasn't really laughing at my 'growl', but reacting to his earlier administration of happy pills.

Eventually, his laughing subsided, and clutching his belly, he attempted breathing through his tear-stained cheeks. I simply looked at the odd-ball with a tilt of my head.

"I'm sorry," he chocked. "But what in the world was that?"

I shrugged. "I don't really know. But at least it distracted you."

He narrowed his eyes slightly, yet every other feature remained amused, creating an odd and unsettling contradictory expression to his beautiful face. "Right."

There was an uncomfortable silence that hovered between us, for what felt like too long. My mind searched for the right words to say.

"It really was nothing, Dimitri." I didn't know where this over-protective, bearing man came from, but it was really beginning to get on my nerves. I could look after myself. Yes, I often find myself making stupid decisions – current condition of right hand, exhibit A – but I didn't need anyone checking up on me all the time. I spent my entire life surrounded by Strigoi – which so happen to have everyone in the Academy on their toes the entire time; the purpose of being at the Academy in the first place. If everyone could just consider that, then they could discover I was completely capable of looking after myself.

His amused expression completely disappeared, and he ran a frustrated hand over his frustrated face with a sigh. "Rose, I did mean what I said the other day – if you do not find solace in anyone else, I really am going to have to organise some counselling sessions. We really do have some very great, professional counsellors here at Vladimir's. I can assure you – you'll be in great hands. I personally know one of the lady's. Her name is Deirdre, and-"

"Dimitri!" I wailed, my eyes shut tight and my hands covering my ears. Once I could no longer hear his rambling, I opened and removed both slowly. He was looking at me intently, an expression I couldn't decipher. "Stop, okay? I'm not going to go to any counselling. You can organise it with your little Darbra friend all you like. But does not mean I will even consider turning up."

"Deirdre," he corrected. "And you need it, Rose. I'm sure you know that, but I don't think you really know it. Not until you get help."

I turned my head away from him. I was sick of his insistency. I was not going to be getting counselling, no matter how much he declares I'm in, oh, such great need. I would much rather tell Mia all my problems before I set foot in any therapist's office. With the whole sitting in a lounge chair, them sitting at your head, clipboard in hand, while you pour out your heart and soul about your increasingly difficult life while they nod and continuously ask 'how does that make you feel?'. Not a situation I would ever willingly get myself into. Dimitri would have to knock me unconscious and drag me onto the lounge if he ever wanted me there.

He sighed. Another one of those 'I almost give up because you're so damn stubborn' sighs. But he wasn't going to be giving up. Not yet, anyway. "Rose, please. You need it, more than you could ever imagine possible."

I didn't budge.

"I can't imagine how difficult the things you are going through must be... the things you've been through. I should have really thought about it in the beginning. I was there to get you out. I saw but a glimce of what it must have been like. Yet, I didn't think... I saw, but I didn't think. Then, at the mall, it dawned on me, but I still didn't think enough. Rose, everything you've been through... God, Rose. You have your moments, but you still stand tall."

I looked over at him, "Dimitri?"

"Yes," he asked, a hint of hope in his eyes.

"I'm still not going to therapy."

He flew his hands around in exasperation. "Do you know how irritating you are? All I want to do is help you! Make it a little less horrible for you to get up every morning. I've been trying to get you help, find closure with your mother, everything! I try and I try, but nothing I ever say can get through to you, can it? All you let me do is train you. That is all. But I want to do so much more to help you. Why won't you let me, Rose? Why can't you let me in?"

I looked back at him and gave him a non-humorous, you-are-an-idiot laugh. "You can give me a million and one of those speeches, Dimitri. It won't change a thing. So, for one last time – Rose plus therapy equals no. Capiche?"

He rubbed his face, clearly annoyed, frustrated, on the verge of giving up. But, as per usual, he didn't. Looking at me one last time, he declared "Later" and walked out of my dorm.

He could believe it all he wanted; 'Later' was not going to happen. Not if I had anything to say about it.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-

It was Sunday. A long, horrid, exhausting, event-filled, injury-filled Saturday, and Sunday was finally here. Mason had told me all about the Sunday services, but I had never even thought about religion, yet alone considered the fact whether I believed in any of it. So, I choose not to attend. Although, it would've at least been something to do with my day.

On my way to breakfast, Dimitri found me and informed me that there would be no training on Sunday's and that he organised my window to be fixed – thankfully keeping the information hidden from Kirova, for now. He asked for my dorm key, and told me to keep myself busy until he came and informed me that the reconstruction was complete. How the hell I was supposed to occupy myself for the time being, he couldn't help me with.

I ate breakfast in peace. Everyone else had already risen early for breakfast and headed off to church. The people that were in the cafeteria, however, didn't stare. Not at my arms or wrist anyway. I wore a long-sleeve cardigan over my singlet to hide the scratches, and the sleeves also reached far enough that they could cover to my knuckles. At least for today, I wouldn't be explaining my condition.

I sat for a good fifteen minutes in front of my empty plate, contemplating activities to partake. Unfortunately, I still didn't know the extent of the school, and I knew no one around to ask. Eventually I decided to head to the gym and test my wrist's boundaries.

I slowly went back to my dorm to change my jeans for a comfortable pair of leggings, and headed over to the gym. However, my slowly only turned out to be twenty or so minutes, and I still had so much time to kill. I didn't think twice about the possibility of trying out the punching bag, and searched for another activity. I tried to bench press for two reps, before giving up. I couldn't get a good grip with my right hand; the knuckles throbbing with the effort. I tried multiple other contraptions, most to which I had no clue on how to use, before I completely gave up. Now the track would be getting some attention on this boring Sunday morning.

I spent some time on the track, the slightly colder Spring air an interesting contrast to my steadying warming skin. I slowly increased my speed until I was at a full throttle run. I had only planned on a jog, but the endless flood of problems that filled my mind picked up the tempo. My mother and the endless bought of anger she provided being the primary. The faster my legs pumped, the more powerful I felt, like I could fix any and everything. By the tenth lap, every muscle in my legs burned with the effort, but I couldn't stop. The intensity in my head was overpowering, that I barely felt the strain in my body. My arms were going to swing off, my legs burn into the ground. I was flying across the track in a blur. The next ten steps ahead of me were all I saw. Even then, I doubt any obstacle would have brought me to a halt.

What did stop me were my legs completely caving out, sending me flying, face-first, into the dirt-clad track. Dust filled the air; coughing slicing my burning throat with magnitudes of pain. I heaved through my dry throat; my arms like jelly left me lying on the ground. I ache to the point my mind emptied out. An unintentional outcome, but precisely what I needed. The last thing on my mind was not my mother or wrist or training or Witmoore, but the fiery pain that engulfed my entire body. Followed by an ice cold trickle down my throat.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-

When I woke, I didn't even want to attempt to move. I felt stiff, and an attempt to stretched my arm proved my assumptions – every muscle in my body ached. Clenched up. I opened my eyes to an unfamiliar room. It had similar aspects to my own dorm, yet larger, concluding I was indeed still in the academy. Yet, with who?

"You should try to stretch. It'll hurt at first, but that'll ease up."

Oh, no!

"Shutting your eyes is not going to make me vanish."

"But maybe I will."

"I am a renowned Guardian, seen as one of the very best. If you are not going to treat me like your mother, you should at least treat me with respect."

"Exactly, 'seen' as good, not proven as such."

"Rosemarie!"

"Guardian Hathaway."

Janine turned around and took several deep breaths, seemingly composing herself. "I didn't bring you here to fight-"

"Yeah, why did you bring me here in the first place?"

She whipped around, "I watched you pass out on the track."

"You were spying on me?"

"I came to run myself, and watched you over exerting yourself to the point you collapsed."

"I don't need you to look out for me."

"You collapsed! What was I supposed to do? Leave you there until someone else came along?"

"Yes, exactly."

"Rosemarie!"

"Guardian Hathaway!"

"Look, I wanted to talk to you."

"But I don't want to listen."

"You will listen!"

"I will leave!"

"You are in no position to go anywhere."

I began sitting up, wincing as every muscle protested. "I'm going to sure as hell try," I contradicted, gently bringing my legs over the bed. When I thought it was bad, standing up proved a whole other challenge.

"You're going to hurt yourself." She sounded worried.

"Already hurt enough, Janine, can't get much worse than this."

I limped, stumbled, hobbled to the door, leaving my 'worried' 'mother' behind as though I was heading out to a mine-scattered warzone.

I wasn't exactly sure where I was, taking me longer to find my way out of this dorm. I figured it was the visitor's dorm, yet, I was quickly proved wrong.

"Rose?"

I inched myself around just enough to see Dimitri standing in a doorway to my right and, to make matters worse, shirtless.

I stared for a moment too long. "Hey-ey Dimitri," I mumbled, before hobbling around to continue 'walking'. I hissed; attempting to move too fast.

He quickly crossed the hall, placing one hand under my right elbow, and – heart-halting – the other on my waist; shifting some of my weight to his own.

"Dimitri…" I began to protest, lightly shifting my right arm.

"You are in no position to walk – if that's what you call this – all the way to your room."

"I'm fine," I growled.

"It's on the other side of campus. Do you even know where you are right now?"

I stared ahead.

"That's what I thought. C'mon." He started leading me towards the door. I assumed his room. Alone, with Dimitri, in his room when he's wearing no shirt…

Inside, his dorm was a considerable size bigger than mine. He had an extra room – I presumed the bedroom – and his dorm also included a small kitchen within the main area. Whereas my entire dorm consisted only of a bedroom and a small bathroom.

Dimitri, slowly, sat me down on the couch. He bent down in front and began removing my running shoes. "You're in training gear."

I nodded.

"Why are you over this side of the school then?" he asked, looking up at me. I ignored his question as I looked down where he untied my laces. "Rose…"

"I know what you're going to say." I could still see his eyes on me, but I refused to look back.

"What am I going to say?"

"That I need counselling. That you keep finding me in these positions, harmed, and I won't tell you why. That I'm a danger to myself; I'm self-inflicting; suicidal. I need help." There was a pause as he finished removed my shoes.

"Are you?"

I looked up at him; his mask was on, stoic Guardian, avoid of emotion – almost. "No… I mean, I don't mean to be. I just…"

A long pause passed, my heart hammering against my sore chest muscles – hurting.

"Let's talk about it some other time," he suggested. I simply nodded in reply. "Now, what exactly are your injuries?"

I attempted an almost laugh, leading to a cough against my muscles. "Just about every possible muscle in my body is strained. Even my pecs hurt."

He glanced at my 'pecs' for a moment, only just long enough for me to notice, before he continued looking down until he reached my shoes. To keep occupied while he composed himself, he picked them up and placed them at the door. I re-noticed he was shirtless…

"I'm gonna go…" I stood up, proving I was going anything but. "On the other hand," I winced, sitting back down, "this couch is really comfortable."

"I'll give you a massage."

Yes, PLEASE! Oil me up and rub me 'round! "Ah, what?"

"I mean, I, ah, could give you a massage, if you want. It'll loosen your muscles. If you want."

The thought of Dimitri's hands all over me, his large, yet graceful fingers unknotting the kinks in my back… It was almost too much. Almost.

I could only nod.

He nodded in response. Seemingly lost for a moment, before he slowly walked over. He stopped in front of me, "Turn around. Sideways on the couch." I nodded, obeying, turning to face the left of the couch. He climbed on behind me, stretching his left leg out – catching it between the back of the couch and me. Originally too focused on his chest, I noticed the black jeans that covered his legs. At least I didn't have his bare leg protruding my side.

"Take off your jumper." After doing so, leaving only a spaghetti strapped singlet, he shifted some more, seemingly finding it difficult to get comfortable. He began at my shoulders, laying his large palms upon them. My breath hitched. His slender fingers fell down my collarbone, gracing along my skin.

"Rose," he whispered into my ear, moving my hair over my left shoulder. I mumbled a response. "This may work better if you breathe."

I nodded, taking several deep breathes in until I found a proper rhythm. Once it seemed normal, he began by slowly circling his thumbs into my shoulder blades. He was slow, but firm. It hurt, but just enough. I felt my muscles contract with his movements, slowly easing up. I released a small, shaky moan.

He chuckled, "Am I being too rough?"

I shook my head, "mmmhmmm…"

He laughed again, "Good. Tell me if I am."

I nodded, as he began increasing his pressure and speed, and rotating between working his fingers into the top of my pecs and his thumbs in my shoulder blades. He knew how to give a good massage, that was a given. As I became more relaxed, I began slowly easing back; leaning against his chest. I was so tranquil, I barely realised. He laughed, "This may be easier if you were lying down." I could only manage a mumble in response. Another laugh, "Come with me."

He grabbed my hand and led me towards the door I presumed was his bedroom. I was correct. The bed was unmade, but he quickly corrected it, and instructed me to lie on my stomach. I did so, hesitantly, more aware than I was on the couch. He stood next to the bed, and began, once again, on my shoulders. A moment later, he deemed them loose enough, and moved on. His hands glided down, above the small in my back, and back up. His fingers gripped around my sides as he worked his thumbs up and down my back. I was well aware every time they closed in around my breasts, where he lifted his fingers from my skin, only using his thumbs in my back.

Once satisfied, he moved onto my lower back. I nearly gasped when he lifted the hem of my shirt. He eased it up to my bra-line, gracing the skin so gently, leaving chilly goose bumps in his path. His fingers massaged small circles into my bare skin, leaving my breath an erratic mess. Controlling it was harder than I thought. Occasionally he used his thumbs, the skin on my sides begging him to touch them more.

"Move over," he instructed. After doing so, he climbed onto the bed. He knelt by my feet, leaning forward, he ghosted his fingers along the edge of my leggings, bringing his hands down over my hips and down to my calves. He began on them, plunging hard thumbs into the muscle. He was very rough here, but my calves eased up quickly, and he moved higher up.

He rubbed the back of my thighs first, this time with his knuckles. He slowly worked them around the side, caressing circles while rotating around my legs. I gasped, loudly, when he gripped my thighs with his hands.

His fingers wrapped around the outside, while his thumbs danced in between my legs. I didn't… I couldn't pay attention to the way his hands moved here. I was too distracted by the way he touched me.

Almost hyperventilating, I flipped around, grasping his wrists. "Stop," I ordered with quick shaky breaths.

He stared at me for a moment, slow heaving breathing. He moved up, his legs straddling my body as he hovered above me. His hands were on either side of my face. Trapping me in. He slowly lent down until his face was a breath from mine, his lips a swift movement from mine. One arm rested on his elbow, while the other came down to grace along the top of my shirt, over my breasts. His forceful eyes moved from mine, until they fixated on my lips. Open lips, erecting small tiny breaths.

"Dimitri…" I whispered, a want, need, in my voice.

This broke him from… whatever trance he was in. He stood up. A few moments passed until he spoke. "Does that feel better?" he asked.

I nodded, "Yes… I'll go now."

I began to walk past him, but he gripped my bicep. I looked at him over my shoulder. He was looking at my lips again, before he closed his eyes. "Yes, you should go."

I gave him a couple of seconds, but he didn't move. "Dimitri?"

"Roza," he hummed.

My breath hitched at the nickname, but I only let myself be distracted for a moment. "I can't leave if you're holding onto me."

"Sorry." He released my arm. I didn't stop for a single moment. Not until I got back to my dorm, closed the door, and collapsed onto the floor.

Time to welcome another problem.