So, this is the last chapter. Just a very very short Epilogue after this and the story is completely over. I hope you like it and please please please leave a review.

Every thought is a battle. Every breath is a war, and I don't think I'm winning anymore.- Unknown

I can't I can't I can't I can't I can'tI can'tI can'tI can'tI can'tI can'tI can'tI can'tI can'tI can'tI can'tI can'tI can'tI can'tI can'tI can'tI can'tI can'tI can'tI can'tI can'tI can'tI can'tI can'tI can'tI can'tI can'tI can'tI can'tI can'tI can'tI can'tI can'tI can'tI can'tI can'tI can'tI can'tI can'tI can't can't can't can't can't can't can't can't can't can't

I can't tell you what happened, can't think it, can't stop thinking about it, can't stop, why wont it stop

pleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleaseplease

why wont it stop, please someone make it stop. please someone help me!

can't know can't know can't know can't know you can't know no one can know.

Please God, let me die

-Scotty

There voices sound above me, talking, whispering, frantic, scared, but I don't want to hear them. The water falling down on me is warm and my familiar tub surrounds me as I stare unseeingly at the pink water, gathering around my naked body before swirling down the drain. The water still has yet to turn clear and it feeling like I've been sitting here for hours.

Their voices, my friends' voices are right above me, but they don't quite acknowledge me. They are arguing, but I don't want to listen, I don't want to be here, I don't want to exist.

"We should have brought her straight to the doctors." Miley hisses at Oliver.

"She told us not to."

"Then we have to make her."

"You and I both know that we can't make Lily do anything, and frankly, I think dragging her somewhere will only traumatize her even more."

There is a tense silence. "We have to do something, Oliver, we can't just leave her like this, we can't just act like it never happened."

"Like what?!" My best friend yells. "Lily's been raped, Miley, and she hasn't moved, or talked, or even reacted since we got here, except scream whenever someone touches her. I don't know. what. to. do."

I don't want to hear, I don't want to remember, I don't want to be here. My hand reaches forward and turns the water all the way hot. They don't notice as steam drifts off it and turns my skin an angry red.

I don't feel it; I want to feel it; I want to feel anything; I want to feel nothing... I don't want to remember.

Am I a bad person if I want to die?

My friends continue talking above me. They should just leave; I'm okay. I'm not even here right now, I don't feel anything.

"Oliver, the water!" Miley gasps and lunges froward to feel it, jerking her hand out of the spray a moment later.

The stream turns off.

"Lily, are you okay?" Miley asks kneeling down next to the tub rim, I see just the tip of her hair in the corner of my vision as I watch the swirl of pink water go down the drain. "Lily?" She sniffs, and that gets my attention.

Miley's crying? I turn my head to her, meeting her watery dark storm grey cloud eyes.

"I am fine." I say and turn my eyes to Olive who stands worriedly just behind my girlfriend. "Thank you for taking me home. You can go now."

My voice sounds strange- different and far away. Like it isn't my own.

I stand from the wet tub, dripping, and pull a dry towel around myself. The back up as I step out of the shower.

"Lily?" Miley shakily asks, laying a hand on my bare shoulder. Hand. Hand. Hands. Oh God.

I jerk away, flinching, and trip over a mat and into a wall. I slide down it as hands, his hands, flash across my eyes and feel them on my skin again.

Miley and Oliver exchange helpless looks.

...

1 week later

They haven't left me alone once, since it happened; they haven't trusted me since Oliver walked in on me with a bloody wrist.

I wasn't going to kill myself, I swear, but the memories just wont stop. When I close my eyes, I feel hit weight pressing down on me, I still feel him inside me. He wont go away; why wont he go away?

Miley holds me, and rocks me, and whispers that it's going to me alright, but beneath her soft touch, are his bruising hands, under her gentle rocks, I feel him pounding into me from behind, forcing my face to the ground, and behind her comforting whispers, I hear his pleasure filled grunts and moaning of my name.

He's tainted everything that I am.

He's won.

I stare down at the digital pictures that I took after I fully realized what happened. Pictures of me standing naked in front of the mirror- pictures of my body covered in black and blue marks, hand marks, and of the bite on my neck that I'm certain will scar.

Miley and Oliver don't know about the pictures, I keep them in a shoebox under my bed, and if the did, they would take them away.

I need them, I need to remember. I don't want, God do I not want to, but I need to.

I hastily shove them back into the box and under my bed as the doorknob turns.

"Hey," Miley says walking in, a forced and obviously fake smile on her face, as she carries a steaming bowl of soup. "I have din- what are you doing on the ground?"

"Nothing." I say quickly and crawl onto my bed, wincing as my abdomen aches.

She carefully sets the bowl on a hot-pad my lap.

"Make sure you blow on it, it's still really ho-"

I spoon I bite into my mouth, burning the roof of it and my tongue, but I swallow. I don't care for the pain, I need it. It seems to be the only thing I'm good for.

Miley's grey eyes swirl as she frowns at me and stops the next bite from making it to my mouth. Her eyes water and I regret everything. All I ever wanted since meeting Miley, was to keep her safe and happy. Now I'm the one that's always making her cry.

She takes the soup away from me without a word and blows on the next spoonful, even touching it to her lips to make sure it's not hot, before letting me eat it.

I can't seem to meet her eyes as she feeds me like a little kid- like a baby.

When I'm done, she sets the empty dish on my desk and wraps her arms around me. I have to restrain a wince and let her hold me and try to keep my breathing even as my pulse races.

"Lily," she murmurs softly, "I don't know what to do. Please talk to me, tell me how to make it better."

This is different; it's never happened before. Just soft and kind words, encouraging words like 'everything is going to be all right,' are said. How do you make it better? You don't. you stop thinking, you make yourself numb to the pain, but she cries even more when I go into that comatose state, and I don't want her sad.

"I don't want you to be sad." I whisper.

"Then tell me how I can help," she begs. "I'll do anything."

I swallow hard. I should tell her, let her in, but I can't; she can't know. But she has to. What do I do?

I sit up, pulling away from her and reach under my pillow, pulling out my Journal, the one that was assigned to the whole class by our Creative Writing teacher. I hesitate before handing it to her and I leave the room before she can say a word.

I walk down the stairs and past my unconscious mother on the couch, grabbing a still half full bottle of vodka, and out the back door to sit on the steps. It's warm as I fumble with my secret hiding place under the step, and pull out a box of cigarets. If my girlfriend is going to be reading all my most deepest and darkest thoughts, I'm going to need strong to help me not think to much.

I tilt my head back, letting the liquid fire burn my throat, before lighting on of my cancer sticks. Miley wont be too happy when she finds me in a half hour.

I let the smoke fill my lungs and the alcohol fog my mind. I don't want to remember, but do; I want to forget, but I can't; I want to die, but I wont let myself. She wont let me. Why does she stay with me? Why does Miley still care?

I am broken; I have nothing to give her now- I can't even stand it when she touches me!

I gulp in lungfuls of air, feeling as if I'm drowning, so I down the rest of the bottle and let my mind spin out and remember as I trace the still visible bruises on my arms.

I can feel the concrete under me, scraping my skin raw; I can feel his rancid breath on my neck, the spinning of my head, my pounding heart, hear my muffled screams, and feel the total and pure fear running through my icy veins.

He had taken the only thing still innocent about me, the only thing that left me pure.

And I have never hated someone some much before in my life, even more so than my father when he beat me, or my brother when he left me.

A hand touches my shoulder, and I jerk, panicking for one wild moment, before I catch sight of my girlfriend's agonized dark grey eyes (they haven't changed at all since that night). She holds my little journal tightly at her side.

"I didn't know." She says horsely and crushes me in a hug.

My breath catches. For a moment, a very delicious moment, her sent, her touch, her body, over power his. Her familiarity is comforting and I don't feel dirty.

"I will always be here," she promises, her breath fanning across my neck, nothing like his, and sends a pleasant shiver down my spine. "No matter what happen, or how much you suffer or push me away or not let me in, I will always be here. So will Oliver. So stop shutting us out and stop thinking me too weak to handle anything. I can help."

I blink, finally being able to loop my paralyzed arms around her waist and burry my head in her shoulder.

"Thank you." I slur, and then she pulls back with a terrifying glare.

"And what are you doing with these?" She hisses, seeming to have discovered my box of cigarettes. My lips twitch.

...

"Lily, you have to come back to school." I look up as Oliver walks into my bedroom and I look up from my makeup work.

"I will. Soon."

"No, Lily, you don't understand; Dylan keeps looking at Miley in a way that I don't like- we have to do something."

My hand freezes from my disinterested scribbling, and I slowly turn in my roll-y chair. My icy stare makes my best friend flinch as I rise.

"He will not touch her." I hiss.

Oliver swallows. "What do we do?"

"Go to the police- something we should have done in the first place."

"Lily, we don't have any proof! All your injuries are pretty much healed." He frowns.

I bend down and rip the shoe box from under my bed. It wasn't originally going to be used as evidence, but now I'm glad that I'm some freak that needs to remember her bad happenings.

Admitting what happened would be really demeaning to me, a forever record of how messed up I am, but he has to be put away.

If he were to touch Miley, in anyway like he had done to me, I would honestly, swear to God, kill him. If he were to touch her, I would take pleasure in torturing him and watching him bleed out slowly.

And I don't think Miley would very much like to visit me sitting in a jail cell the rest of my life.

"When did you..." My best friend tails off as he flips through the pictures, hastily skipping over the ones of my privates that aren't so private anymore

"I think I'm some sort of masochist." I say wryly. "I like to remember the pain I've been in. Any way, I think that will work, and maybe after this, I'm thinking about therapy. What do you think?"

"I think you can certainly use it." He says, placing the lid back on the box. "Come on; I'll drive."

"Can we pick up Miley...? I want her to be with me."

"Of course."

Thanks for reading guys.

-Fantasy