This is for a very good friend of mine who I wish I could see in person so I can give her the biggest everlasting hug in the history of the world. I love you, my sistah. Thank you so much for being there to help me through everything (everlasting hug).

I own nothing. The Almighty Larson owns it all.

9-1-1.

The simplest number in the world to dial, but Mimi couldn't do it. She had been sitting on her bed in the dark, occasionally reaching for the phone only to pull it back again, for about forty-five minutes. Twenty of those forty-five minutes had been spent crying. She didn't want to cry anymore. She wanted to put the scumbag that was the cause of her tears behind bars. She'd even rehearsed what she was going to say to the police.

"My name is Mimi Marquez and I was raped three days ago by Benjamin Coffin the third," she'd say.

If she could only dial the number.

After taking a few deep breaths, Mimi picked up the phone, dialed 9, and hung up. She mentally kicked herself for only dialing one digit. Five minutes later she tried it again, this time dialing 9-1 before hanging up. Taking the deepest breath she could, she picked up the phone, dialed the full 9-1-1, and hung up before it could even ring.

I can't do it, she thought. It's my fault anyway.

"It's my fault," she said aloud, more tears forming in her eyes. She felt that the only logical thing to do was blame herself. "If I hadn't told him I was ready and then changed my mind . . ." She shook her head, unable to finish her sentence.

She just wanted the pain to go away, but the drugs weren't helping. And suicide (though she considered it) was definitely not an option. Her family and friends would be devastated if she took her life to protect herself from facing reality. In dire need to talk to someone, she dialed the all too familiar number of a fellow dancer.

Sure, I can dial that number.

The phone rang twice before it was picked up.

"Mia?" she said into the phone. "It's Mimi. Um . . . do you think you could come over for little while. I . . . I really need to talk to someone."

Within fifteen minutes, Mimi was opening the door to let Mia into her flat. Noticing that she'd been crying, Mia pulled Mimi into a warm hug.

"What's wrong?" she asked as she sat on Mimi's couch. And just like that the truth spilled out from beginning to end. Mimi told her friend what her so-called boyfriend had done to her, how she was afraid to call the police, and how she desperately needed a friend to help her through this. Mia was her best friend, besides Angel, and she felt like she could trust her. She continued to talk about the subject of her trust until the words "it's my fault" came out of her mouth.

"Who told you it was your fault?" Mia interrupted.

"Nobody," Mimi replied, looking at the ground. "I just feel like . . . well . . . I tempted him and then I . . . I pushed him away so-"

"First things first," Mia interrupted again. "I want you to say the words 'it's not my fault' in that order."

"But . . . it is my fault," Mimi said.

"No, it's not."

"How do you know?"

"Meems, it's nobody's fault except Benny's. It's not your fault. Remember that."

"Then why does it feel like it is?"

"Maybe because you don't wanna blame Benny so you just blame yourself. It's not good to do that you know. If you blame yourself now, you'll end up blaming yourself later even though you know it's not your fault." Mimi looked away, but Mia turned her head back toward her. "You're strong, Mimi. He can't break you." Mia wiped a stray tear away that had fallen from Mimi's eye. "Say it. Say 'I'm strong and he can't break me.'"

"I'm . . . strong and . . . and he can't break me," Mimi struggled to say.

"And?" Mia looked at her expectantly.

"It's . . . not my fault."

"Good girl."

"It's not my fault."

"Exactly." Mia hugged her friend tightly for a moment. "Now you have to do something else for me. No, not for me. For yourself." The hug was broken and she picked the phone up and handed it to Mimi.

"I . . . I can't," Mimi said.

"Yes you can," Mia told her.

"I already tried before. I can't . . . I can't do it. Benny . . . he'll-"

"Don't let him break you," Mia interrupted. "You're strong, remember?"

"I'm . . . strong," Mimi repeated, nodding slightly. Mia took her hand and held it tightly while she mustered up enough courage to dial the number she'd been trying to dial for three days now.

9-1-1.

As the phone rang, Mia gave Mimi's hand a gentle squeeze as if silently telling her she'd be there no matter what.

"9-1-1, what is your emergency?" the dispatcher said on the other line. Mimi, feeling the urge to hang up again, looked to Mia who gave her hand another squeeze and mouthed, "You're strong." Mimi took a deep breath and nodded before finding her voice, all the while repeating the three words that kept her from hanging up over and over again in her head.

I am strong.

That was for you Dr. Crazyhomeschooler. Thanks so much (again) for being there when I need to talk (another everlasting hug).

Review please.