A/N: Again thank you for reading, favourites, and following. It is so encouraging and keeps me writing faster. You are all so awesome!

Trigger Warning: This chapter deals with the subject/aftermath of rape. There is nothing graphic, though.

Young and Innocent

"My past is everything I failed to be."
― Fernando Pessoa, The Book of Disquiet

Cambridge 2002

The moment when Molly Hooper entered flat Nr 1905 she shared with her best friend Abby Grange, she knew something was wrong; terribly wrong.

She came home from the holidays two days earlier than planned and had been sure to find her flatmate at the desk, studying like she had wanted to – being the reason why Abby had not visited her parents over the holidays.

But instead of an ambitious friend, Molly was greeted by a path of clothes, scattered on the floor leading to the bathroom. The door was slightly ajar and Molly could hear water running. The room was dark; the only light coming from the bathroom.

The normal thing would have been to call for Abby, but instinct told Molly not to do so. Instead she slowly closed the door behind her and put her small suitcase down. A chill went down her spine when she stepped into a room the darkness had rendered unfamiliar to her.

She made her way towards the bathroom door. Before opening it, she hesitated. The feeling of foreboding was even stronger now, and somehow Molly knew that whatever awaited her behind that ugly green door, would change her life forever. She took a deep breath as if going underwater and then gently pushed the door open.

The scene before Molly's eyes made her heart stop a beat: The bathroom was filled with hot steam, so that the mirror was fogged and it took a moment for Molly's eyes to adjust. Huddled in the shower was Molly's best friend Abby. The water was running over her tiny figure that was curled into a ball, as if she wanted the water to wash her away.

"Abby?" Molly breathed and rushed towards her, not caring about her friend's state of undress.

Abby did not react at all. When Molly reached the tub, her eyes widened in shock. A small, red trickle made its way from Abby's shaking body down the drain.

"My God," Molly whispered to herself, before she touched Abby's arm and said her name again in order to get her attention. This had its more or less desired effect, for Abby's head shot up into Molly's direction and Abby stared at her with wide eyes.

Abby's breathing sped up und Molly feared she might start to hyperventilate.

"Abby, it's okay. It's me," she tried to calm her down, but Abby did not seem to hear her, because she rocked back and forth and kept staring at Molly, her face pale.

Molly started to become desperate and said her friend's name again, while gently touching her shoulder, trying to calm her down. Her skin was like ice.

"Abby, come on, snap out of it."

Abby blinked two times and Molly could see her eyes slowly focussing on her. Gently Molly squeezed her shoulders again.

"I am cold and dirty," Abby whispered as if in trance. Molly could barely hear her over the running water.

"You're in shock. Come on, we need to get you out of here."

Molly reached for the faucet to turn the water off, but her friend grabbed her by the wrist. The grip was of such desperate urgency that Molly felt the sudden urge to cry.

She did not however, but tried to comfort Abby, "It's alright. I'll just turn off the water and then we'll wrap you in a towel and a warm blanket, okay?"

For Molly it seemed like forever until the grip of Abby's hand loosened slightly. Then she reached up and turned the water off. That her hair and clothes had gotten wet in the process did not bother her.

Instead she kneeled back down and helped her friend out of the tub. She wrapped her into two big towels and then they stood there, facing each other in the middle of their tiny bathroom. Abby's hands were trembling while she desperately clutched the towels around her body.

Molly was afraid that if she looked at her own hands right now she would see them shaking too, so she kept her eyes transfixed on her friend. She needed to be calm and collected. She needed to be strong for her best friend.

Molly cleared her throat, "Abby, are you hurt?"

There had been blood in the tub, but Molly had not seen any outward injuries.

When her flat mate did not react, Molly tried again, this time with more urgency in her voice, "Abby, are you hurt?"

Like in slow-motion Abby's head finally turned towards Molly and her eyes looked into hers. The intensity in her gaze bared her soul to Molly. She saw it so clearly now that she did not know how she had missed it before.

Molly had an epiphany. Suddenly all the odd behaviour of her best friend in the last few months made sense: Why she had kept mostly to herself, why her gaze had been nervous, why she had been distant, why she sometimes looked like she had been crying when she had come out of the bathroom, why she had tried to avoid her. Now everything made sense. The signs had been there all along. How could Molly not have seen it? Molly wanted to slap herself for being such a blind idiot. She was supposed to be Abby's best friend – she must have noticed it. She had let her best friend down, she had failed her. And she swore to herself that she would make it up to her. She would make it right again, whatever it took.

Molly was so absorbed and shocked by her conclusion that she had not noticed that at some point Abby had started to cry again. A sob from her brought Molly back to the present. She knew she needed to get Abby to a doctor and call the police, but somehow she felt like her mind and body had frozen; she was not able to think or move.

Molly did not know what to say. All words she came up with – they all seemed trite, cold comfort under the present circumstance. And as a wave of guilt washed over her, Molly reached forward and wrapped her best friend in an embrace. Abby clung to her as if Molly was her lifeline. Now hot tears ran down Molly's cheeks too.

Trying to find solace and forgiveness in each other's arms the two young women stood there. Together – alone.