Just a warning, this story has a pretty graphic scene in it. If you're at all squeamish, go away. Now. No one like you anyways.

The worst part about traveling with four boys was how much they ate. I was automatically assumed to be the one to cook. And shop. And clean. Not that it really bothered me. I was confident in the kitchen. And housework came to me naturally. I often did laundry during practice. The sweet sounds of acoustic guitar and simple words sang roughly made it worth my while.

But on this particular day, I was in no mood to wait on Robert.

"Be a doll and go get me some scotch." He said drunkenly.

"Uh, first off, you know my name. I think I've been here long enough. Second of all, get your own damn scotch you lazy bastard." I had had enough of him and his arrogance.

"Excuse me?" He kinda jumped up and glared down at me. Anyone else would have flinched under his cold gaze, but I had grown used to it. He couldn't faze me.

"You heard me. I've had it with you fucking treating me like I'm your maid. I'm Craig's girlfriend. That's it!"

"That is it! You'll never be more than a girlfriend. You're nothing special." He slurred.

I knew he was drunk . . . but the words stung. I turned and stormed out of the house before anyone saw the tears coming. I had to get away from here.

"Stupid Kayte." I whispered hoarsely, and walked into the town nearby.

Lucky for me, the club was nearly empty. Trudging over to the bar I ordered a shitload of alcohol. The man next to me smiled and raised his glass. I returned the favor and tossed it back.

It burned my throat. But the sensation was comforting. Like an old friend.

Soon I was drunk.

No more than that.

Smashed.

Vision had been reduced to bursts of color and wavy outlines. And hearing had been intensified; I hadn't ever drunk like that before. My stomach lurched as I stood. The man at the bar watched me.

Slowly I stumbled out of the bar. But more time had passed than I had thought. People were flooding onto the dance floor. Bright lights flashed obnoxiously in my face.

"Hey honey." A slippery voice cooed at me from the doorway.

"Hiya." I slurred happily. Then my ears perked up. Music!

I began to dance. I was movie smoothly and quickly. Like water. Or better yet, alcohol. But it was hot. Thinking of water made me sweaty. So I took off my shirt.

Soon, people began to notice me. Guys danced closer. And I got a teeny bit more sensual with the way I moved my body.

"Hey you."

I turned and my face lit up. "You!"

We exchanged hugs as I tried to figure out how I knew him.

"So. You're pretty smashed." He grinned at me saucily. "I haven't seen a girl down that many before. Its kinda a turn on.

I giggled and turned away. My stomach hurt. "I wanna go." I announced, suddenly tired.

"Come with me sweetie."

He led me to a park bench before making me sit. "You want some fun baby?"

"No . . ." my head was beginning to clear. The sun was rising. "I think I'll just call a cab."

He grabbed my wrist.

I felt my breath catch in my throat.

"No, no, no. You're gonna come with me."

"Please let me go." I looked up at him and saw what had looked like a friendly grin, had turned into a menacing smile. He knew what he was doing.

Then he smashed his mouth onto mine. The bitter taste of lemons filled my mouth as I struggled to push him away. But he was stronger. He forced his tongue into my mouth and I bit down.

Hard.

He recoiled and howled in pain. I got up and ran.

But he was after me.

Soon he had my shirt and was dragging me to the alleyway behind the club.

I kicked and cried but no one heard me.

As I lay withering on the cold stone pavement he undid his pants and ripped off my clothes.

One punch managed to hit its mark, but it merely bounced off of him and he hit me harder than I'd ever been hit before. I heard a crunch as his hand hit my ribcage.

Sickening pain. And it only got worse.

By the time he was through with me, I was covered in blood. And couldn't move for the pain. Salty tears stung the wounds on my cheek and made it all the worse.

My dignity was gone. And so was any reason for living.

I passed out from the pain.

When I awoke I was surrounded by white. A tiny electronic beep was the only sound.

An angel sat by my side. Fast asleep. A tear on his cheek.

I tried to reach out. To wipe away it's tear, but I couldn't move.

Weeks later, I was out of the hospital with a scar and a broken arm as a reminder.

In the tour bus, Craig and me were closely embraced as he stroked my cheek and told me how scared he had been. But it didn't matter. Nothing did. Robert's drunken words rang in my ears.

What if this was all we would ever be?