A/N: Welcome back all! In honour of my 25th review for this story, I decided to give you all another chapter a little early. Enjoy!

First person – Emma, cry, hurt/comfort

I really didn't want to let him see me cry but, try as I might to stop them, I can feel the hot tears burning their way down my cheeks as I kneel at the bedside. I haven't prayed in years, and I don't know what made me turn to religion tonight. This is not the first time my parents have driven me to tears with their cruelty but this is the first time since I was twelve years old that I've found myself begging God for answers.

I can feel Will kneeling beside me and his body radiates tension. I flinch when his hand grasps my shoulder and he sighs,

"I'm so sorry Emma," he tells me and I feel more tears begin their journey down my cheeks. Now he knew my deepest, darkest, secret; my parents are hateful, awful people. The little girl inside me still longs to be loved by them unconditionally and the grown-up inside me hates that little girl. I realize that Will is still talking and trying to comfort me but I haven't heard a word, my hands still folded in prayer and my eyes squeezed shut.

"I'm going to have a bath," I whisper, ignoring the fact that I'd only gotten out of the shower a few minutes before. I needed to be alone for a while to cram these little girl insecurities back down into the box I keep hidden deep within myself. Will's hand slips from my shoulder as I rise, turning from the bed without making eye contact and heading for the bathroom. Will calls my name softly as I reach the bathroom but I pretend not to hear as I push the door shut behind me.

The bedroom is dark when I finally leave the safety and solitude of the bathroom an hour later, my thoughts gathered and my insecurity neatly tucked out of sight. I creep quietly to the bed, not wanting to wake Will and am surprised when I reach the bed to find it still perfectly made, Will nowhere in sight. I consider sliding between the sheets alone and avoiding Will for the night but I can't convince myself to do it so I leave the bedroom in search of him.

Will is sitting on the couch, illuminated by the streetlight shining through the window, with an empty glass on the coffee table in front of him.

"Will?" I whisper, "Are you coming to bed?"

Will turns to look at me and I can tell even in the washed out light that he has been crying too. He motions for me to sit beside him on the couch and reluctantly I do, sinking onto the cushion with a little space between us.

"How can you just pretend everything is normal?" he asks me. The one question I had begged God not to let Will ask and it is the first one out of his mouth. "How can you pretend they didn't say those horrible things to you? How can you forgive me for inviting them here against your wishes and inflicting that on you?"

I can do nothing but shrug. Pretending is something I do best.

"They're my parents," I tell him as though that explains everything. It explains nothing.

"I don't care if they're God, Emma! The things they said, the way they acted! Has it always been like this?"

My throat constricts as my mind offers up images and audio clips from the past, birthdays that passed by unacknowledged but for promises of gifts when I stopped with the cleaning and sanitizing and washing; the teasing and taunts my brother encouraged at school; the near physical pain of being locked in my bedroom and forbidden from bathing for days on end. When ignoring the issue didn't work my parents had tried to bribe me into being normal. Then they'd tried threatening. Finally they had just given up on me, preferring instead to focus on my perfect, normal brother.

I can feel the tears threatening again, a heavy weight in my chest and when Will pulls me into his lap I let them fall. Curled in Will's arms I feel safe, loved and, above all, normal. Will is murmuring nonsensical things into my hair and his hands are warm and strong as they rub my back. This is something I could get used to. The phone rings but neither of us moves to answer it. I realize my mistake the moment my mother's voice floods through the room.

"Hi freaky-deaky!" I stiffen in Will's arms but I can't make myself move to shut off the machine. "That boy seems nice enough, probably too good for you. This is why we were always trying to get you to be normal when you were little! If you were normal, you could probably marry that guy! Instead, he'll probably just get fed up and leave soon."

The strangled sob startles me as it makes its way out of my throat and I try to block out the sound of my mother's voice. Will slides out from beneath me and rips the answering machine from the wall. I sit on the couch, eyes wide, watching him; too stunned to be upset anymore.

"Emma," Will says to me after slamming the answering machine back onto the table, "Emma I'm not going to leave you."

That statement is too much and I start crying again because I will always wonder if she is right. If one day my issues will be too much for Will to handle and he will leave no matter what he tells me now. I hate being a weak, vulnerable child again, which is always how I feel after my parents leave, but no amount of rationality will make me believe that what my mother had said was an impossibility. Will might leave. I might always be a freak.

It might have been minutes or it might have been hours when I feel Will sliding his arms around my body, picking me up from the couch. My eyes feel swollen and sore, a product of too many tears, and I burrow deeper into Will's chest as he walks to the bedroom. After placing me gently on the bed Will disappears to the bathroom and I hear the water running. I wonder briefly if I can convincingly pretend to be asleep when he comes out.

Will is not gone for long and when he returns he does not go to his side of the bed as I expect, instead he sinks to his knees on the floor beside the bed and runs a warm, damp cloth over my face. Being taken care of is not something I am used to. Normally I am a very self-sufficient person but I feel my eyes slip closed as Will washes the tear stains from my cheeks. After a few moments I hear him return the cloth to the bathroom and when he comes back, he presses a kiss to my forehead before climbing under the sheets with me. Will wraps his arms around me and pulls me into his body,

"I'm so sorry Em," he whispers again and I shudder as I feel his lips press into the nape of my neck. He moves along my collarbone, his mouth hot and wet, and I hear myself sigh. His hands slide up beneath my nightgown, instinctively I reach to stop him and I'm surprised to find my hands pushing Will's shirt over his head instead. I can't help but stare as my fingers find their way across his chest, delighting in the feel of muscle rippling beneath skin. I barely notice when Will relieves me of my nightgown.

Will's lips close over a sensitive spot at the base of my throat and I cry out, arching my back into his roaming hands.

"Make love to me Will," I beg, my voice sounding breathy and thin, nothing like me. Will cups my face in his hands and I watch his eyes darken with desire; I'm surprised to find I'm not scared or nervous. Will kisses me hard on the mouth and his hands move with more purpose, memorizing the curves of my body. The more he touches me, the calmer and more centred I feel, an unexpected but most welcomed by-product of this adventure.

I find myself not entirely aware of my surroundings or exactly what is going on and as I come back to myself I realize both Will and I are completely naked. I gasp and Will asks,

"Doing okay Em?" and I nod, wanting nothing more than for him to continue. I can feel him, hard and ready, pressed against my thigh and I ask again,

"Please Will."

Will moves away from me and I watch, biting my lip as he rolls a condom into place. Everything seems more real now, and just a little scarier. He moves over me again but instead of entering me immediately as I expect, he starts to rain kisses over me. His movements are slow and controlled he begins to slide into me, never pausing his worship of my body, not giving me a chance to have that moment of startling and terrifying clarity that we have passed the point of no return.

It is nothing like I imagined but everything I had hoped for and I begin to move tentatively, my hips meeting Will's and I lose myself in the rhythm. The fire of arousal I've felt smouldering deep within my belly flares to life and spreads warmth to the tips of my toes. I can hear my own cries mingling with Will's voice and it all seems so far away. Will shifts his hips slightly, changing the angle and I feel a spark blaze through me. Moments more and I am lost, my hips losing the rhythm and my entire body going flaccid and weak. Will's hands slide beneath me and draw me into him a few more times before he stiffens, crying out my name in what I can only identify as ecstasy.

I may always be a freak but Will will always love me. I know that now and I cherish the thought as his hands slide over my skin, more sensitive to his touch than I've ever been. No more tears, no more sadness, just love.

Up next: angst, second person – Will, superstition