Not dead. Here is a rare update for you.

Of course, thank you so much to Morrowsong for the review of the last chapter and your unwavering support since day one.

Heather was drifting in and out of consciousness. She could hear voices, but it was as if they were far off. Muffled and garbled. Like they were underwater. Or was she under water perhaps?

A growling bass voice reverberated in her ears. There were others also. But she thought she had heard sobbing. Were they her own sobs? The shroud of nightmares she couldn't recall loomed over her, leaving a terror in her chest. Was she drowning? Was she dead?

The voice boomed again as though it was attempting to wake the dead. Was it...No. Even in the recesses of her chaos-addled mind, she knew that. Without contemplation, her lips formed the word that was forced meekly from her hoarse throat.

"D-daddy?"

Heather's eyelids felt heavy as she fought to open them. A sliver of white light penetrated her vision. Certainly, she was dead.

Swallowing, she repeated the only name that would come to mind at present. "Daddy?" Forcing her eyes open, the blinding luminosity flooded her sight.

Sara froze momentarily. Her eyes widened before she whipped around. Letting out a cry of relief and elation, a hand flew over her mouth before she rushed to the girl's bedside. Throwing herself at the girl, she drew her youngest child into her arms as she openly sobbed over her. "Heather! Oh my God. Heather!" she choked as she kissed her and squeezed her tighter.

"Mom?" Turning towards her, Heather lethargically gazed up at the woman.

"Yes. Mommy's here! My sweet girl," Sara said between dropping kisses on her face and hair.

Heather was utterly flummoxed. What on Earth was going on and why was her mother so hysterical?

Behind them came a strained gurgling noise as a gigantic figure sank into a chair in the far corner. Heather's thoughts were still muddled and her vision foggy as she struggled to bring the scene into focus.

Attempting to adjust her position, Heather felt a tug at her hand. Gaze shifting downward she noticed an IV, the needle stuck into the back of her hand.

The world came crashing down as Heather was able to hone in on her surroundings for the first time. The florescent light glared on white walls and she became aware of the blipping sound of a heart monitor.

No. Oh, no! This wasn't right. She wasn't supposed to be here. Unless this was Hell. It may very well have been, but something told her she may not be that fortunate. Her heart sank as her mother cried tears of joy over her. She had failed. She had failed miserably. Now what was she to do?

Shifting her gaze to the figure in the corner, her chest constricted with both fear and loathing. Why in God's name was that odious man sitting in this room? Her bleary eyes narrowed with hatred for him. However, he didn't return her glower as his eyes were screwed shut. A fist was pressed against his mouth as if to prevent anything from escaping it.

When his monstrous form shuddered and he opened his eyes, Heather averted hers, but not before glimpsing a glassy reflection in them.

The giant stood to his full stature and sauntered over with an air of excitement. "I..." He stopped short before changing his tone a bit. "We thought we lost you, girl," he said with sincerity in his voice. He didn't reach out to touch her, although he wanted to. Truthfully he wanted to gather her up in his arms in much the same manner that Sara did, but the look in her eyes told him his contact would not be welcome. He tried to ignore the fact that his presence wasn't even welcome at this moment in time.

"Is everything alright in here?" A brunette nurse asked as she entered the room. The nurse paused when she saw the young girl staring back at her. "Miss Calaway, you're awake," she stated with a grin as if she knew her personally.

"She is! Oh, we're so happy," Sara sang through joyous tears.

"This is a wonderful turn of events! I'll get Dr. Landry. He'll want to check her out," the woman informed Mark and Sara before swiftly exiting the room.

Sara turned back to her daughter. "How are you feeling dear?" she asked quite anxiously.

"I..." Heather's voice which was no more than a whisper, trailed off. She was still endeavoring to process her surroundings. Instead, she inquired, "How did I get here?"

"Reves found you. You'd collapsed in the doorway of the guest room across from yours," Sara informed her, taking her hand.

Ah yes. That room. Heather had wanted to die in that room as though it were some ancient tomb, a burial chamber. Could one be so attached to a singular location? Or was it merely her own foolishness?

She had little time for her quandary as the man whom she surmised to be Dr. Landry stepped into the room. "Hi, Heather. It's great to see that you're awake," he smiled at her warmly.

The doctor was a decently attractive middle-aged man with sandy blonde hair and blue eyes. He reminded Heather of the type that women would swoon over in medical dramas. Much to her chagrin, Heather found herself blushing in spite of that ridiculous fact.

"How are you feeling?" he questioned.

Heather dropped her eyes and said nothing. She wasn't about to reply with "fine" when that was a damned lie. Additionally, she was positive that she would be hearing that inquiry ad nauseam for the foreseeable future.

"Not in a talking mood. I get it. I'm going to check you out if that's okay?" He paused and looked towards her parents for permission.

"Of course," Sara nodded.

However, Mark inhaled sharply and gave an expression that suggested he was about to blow his stack. What in the Hell? Why would they send a man to check up on his daughter? Are women doctors not a thing? At least the nurse was there and they were present as well.

The doctor performed all the menial tasks, such as checking Heather's heart rate and blood pressure. "Well, everything looks to be alright. Are you in any pain? Is there anything you need?" Landry asked.

"I...I think I need to use the restroom," Heather muttered as her body shifted in an attempt to push herself off the bed. Heather stilled after she felt a tugging at her lower half.

"Oh yes. The catheter. The nurse will need to remove that for you," the doctor stated as she nodded toward his assistant.

Heather's eyes widened and her visage flared in mortification. She found it unsettling that anyone had been observing her nether region while she had been completely unconscious, despite being certain that it was strictly clinical.

"Your muscles will be quite weak from being bed-bound for two weeks. You may require assistance," he continued.

Another stunned expression clouded Heather's visage. Had it truly been an entire two weeks since the incident? She could scarcely fathom it.

"While that's taking place, Mr. Calaway do you mind if I speak with you outside?" Landry inquired.

Mark shrugged indolently and followed the other man out of the room.

Meanwhile, the nurse pulled on a pair of gloves in order to remove the catheterization, much to Heather's mortification. She was grateful to the nurse for a least providing her with some dignity in not exposing her outright, although her mother was the only other person present in the room at the moment. Mercifully the nurse also removed the IV from Heather's hand.

Once that was complete, Heather laboriously pushed herself into an upright position forcing her legs over the edge of the bed. She realized that it may very well take a short period to regain her strength due to her idleness. Easing herself onto the floor, Heather felt the cold tiles under her bare feet. With the nurse's support, she took cautious steps toward the bathroom.

"Do you need any help, honey?" Heather's mother asked as she reached the doorway.

Heather shook her head. "I'll manage," she muttered as she stumbled into the bathroom and shut the door. Realistically Heather would have expected herself to unravel in that moment, to shatter and completely come undone whether out of gratitude to be alive or despair. Yet none of that came. She only experienced a mechanical numbness as her brain tried to compute what was happening.

Sit on the toilet and go. You need toilet paper. Wash your hands. Those were the commands that her brain had given her and she followed protocol in a robotic fashion. When her one hand passed over the tender flesh of where the IV had been she winced slightly and her heart clenched. She had sensation which meant she was alive, but it felt like a response that was inevitably physical.

Bracing the sink for support, Heather glimpsed herself in the mirror for the first time. She didn't recognize the girl staring back at her and not merely because of her physical appearance which was gaunt and gray with dead eyes. For what purpose was she standing here when she should have been long expired?

A series of knocks and her mother's words disrupted her pondering, "Heather, are you okay in there?"

"Yes. I'm fine," Heather replied as she turned towards the door. She had it on good authority that she would have little peace from here on out. Had she an ounce of strength, she would have already been out of patience. As it were, she was swiftly tiring and longed to make it back to the bed. When Heather entered the main room again she noticed that the doctor and her father had returned.

"It's great that you've come around and are up and about a little, Miss Calaway. But since we will want to continue monitoring your condition, we are going to keep you for another forty-eight hours for observation," the doctor told her as she was easing herself back onto the bed. "I've also scheduled our resident psychiatrist to come and evaluate you within that time."

Heather stiffened and she sensed her already pallid features blanch at the last portion of his statement. Her visage then morphed into a sharp glower directed at her parents. "You are Baker acting me," Heather accused, spewing venom with every word.

Really, what else could she have anticipated after an attempt on her own life? That did not mean that she wasn't experiencing the sting of betrayal, despite the fact that she should have long been immune to such sensations.

Her father looked away from her. Of course, he would bear none of the responsibility in this. How typical?

It was her mother who spoke, tears welling in her eyes. "You need help. More than we can give. What do you want us to do?" Sara sobbed.

I wanted you to not meddle in my designs. I wanted you to leave me to expire and not bring me to this God-forsaken place! Those were the words Heather wished to shout but didn't. She didn't have the strength in either physical body or spirit.

"It's a routine evaluation for a case like this," Dr. Landry attempted to reason with her.

Heather paid little mind to him.

"Also, now that she is awake, we will be moving Heather from the ICU into a regular room for the remainder of her stay," the doctor informed Mark and Sara as he tried to smother the tension.

Heather didn't wish to be relocated to another room. She didn't wish to reside here at all. Yet, once again her desire was of little consequence when compared to what everyone else deemed fitting for her.

Heather was relocated sometime after that. Thankfully she was afforded a private room (likely per her parents' request). Still, she was relieved at any rate, she didn't want to have to endure a random stranger attempting to conversate with her over matters that she was sure would be entirely trivial.

Much to her agitation her parents stayed until visiting hours were through and they were shooed away by the nurse. While that was a negative for them, Heather was positively relieved when they were made to quit her.

Reves had refused to come. Heather was uncertain whether that fact filled her with relief or despair. She didn't know whether she would have the courage to face her sister after her stunt. Her mother had told her that Reves was the one who had discovered her upstairs on the threshold of the guest bedroom. Still Heather knew that day would come and she was not prepared for it in the slightest.

The psychiatrist came the following afternoon, but before he could make an appearance, a pair of police officers in uniform stepped into the room. Heather immediately went into a panic although she endeavored not to show it. Were they there to question her about Kevin? She had remembered what she had read in the law books at the library, but she wouldn't put it past anyone to be into shady dealings. Especially if, Heaven forbid, her father had the crazy notion to put up money or some such. Heather might present as naive, but she was keener than most people gave her credit for. It didn't take a genius to pick up on the fact that many issues were swept under the rug by discreetly exchanging funds under the table. Heather purged the thoughts. Now she was the one with crazy notions.

Fortunately, to Heather's relief, they were not there to discuss Kevin. They were there on the business of her opioid use. When she explained (with great agitation on her part) that it was an isolated incident, they seemed satisfied to leave her be.

Unfortunately for her, the visit from the resident psychiatrist not thirty minutes later did little to improve her situation. Heather was wholly aware of the things she might say in order to release her from the grasp of these so-called Good Samaritans. Yet how could they not call her bluff when the damning evidence was staring them all right in the face?

Heather hadn't intended to shatter and break down in tears as the psychiatrist questioned her about her decision to end her life. Nevertheless, she refused to garner an explanation. She had no desire to discuss such things. She wanted to be free of every one of these intrusive individuals who were thwarting her goal.

What goal was that exactly? She no longer had an answer. She had sprinted headlong into death's embrace only to be yanked back a second time by the stifling jaws of life. Perhaps living out this miserable existence was the best punishment for her heinous transgressions?

Following another brief period of silence and Heather blatantly ignoring the doctor's quarries, he called Mark and Sara back into the room.

"She's internalizing a lot at the moment, and there may be other trauma that she's not ready to speak on yet," the psychiatrist said, speaking as though Heather were absent from the conversation.

Mark's visage went pallid when the man uttered that statement and his emerald eyes shifted towards his daughter, but Heather refused to meet his gaze.

The doctor continued, "Since this is her second attempt in less than a year, I'm going to recommend a stay in an inpatient treatment facility."

"What?" Mark bellowed.

Sara followed with, "For how long?"

"At least thirty days," the doctor replied.

"What the hell kind of-" Mark started to demand but Heather suddenly cut him off.

"I am not insane!" Heather shrieked. The moment the words left her mouth she was painfully aware of just how much of a mad woman she sounded. That was the type of behavior that was going to get her locked away forever. She felt as though reality was slipping from her grip, but realized it had long since escaped her. This entire situation was insane and she was the root cause of it.

Upon her outburst, Sara rushed to her side, smoothing her hair as she cooed reassuringly.

Heather leaned into it, allowing herself to be comforted as she had when she was a little girl. She craved it, she realized. "Mom, I just want to go home," Heather pleaded through the tears that were now streaming down her cheeks.

A defeated expression clouded Sara's face and she dropped her gaze from her daughter's sullen visage. "I know, sweetheart. I know," Sara tried to assuage her, "But like I said, you need more help than we can give you," she croaked.

Sara was openly sobbing again, but Heather didn't care for her tears. In fact, she jerked away from the other woman's touch as she glowered at her in disdain. Help? Their concept of help was to lock her away. To incarcerate her as though she were some deplorable criminal.

Heather felt a well of fury sweltering inside of her. She wanted to yell and scream and tell them to fuck off and leave her alone. She clenched her tiny fists balling up the thin hospital blanket in them.

Once her anger had reached a crescendo, she felt it dissipate from her body, leaving her feeling drained and more despondent with each passing second.

Very well then. Allow them to lock her away. And why should they not? She was the cause of not only her own suffering but the suffering of those around her. As much as she reviled the very notion, the punishment was more than fitting considering Heather's transgressions.

Despair overtook Heather as she realized there was no escape. Once she was released from the hospital, she would be admitted to an even more heinous mental institution. Heather simply wished to sleep; to flee this waking nightmare.

"I'm tired now," the girl muttered as she rolled over onto her side.

Sara turned towards the doctor with alarm etched on her face.

"It will take some time to regulate her sleep," he commented nonchalantly. "It's also an unfortunate symptom of her depression," he added as Heather could hear his voice drifting away. They must have been exiting the room. Still Heather endeavored not to flinch at his last statement. She screwed her eyes shut, hoping her parents wouldn't notice her shoulders trembling from her silent sobs.

Kevin threw himself on the couch inside the shitty little apartment he was renting in Birmingham, Alabama. This is where he would have to stay for rehab for the next five or six months. He figured finding a cheap one-bedroom would do just fine. He would have even opted for a studio, but that would feel too much like staying in a damn hotel and although this place was pretty much the shits, it did come fully furnished. He was fucking sick of living out of hotels, which begged the question why he even wanted to bust his ass to get back to that dismal lifestyle?

Oh, that's right. He was still under contract for the next year and a half.

Foolishly, he had signed a two-year deal with Vince which wouldn't end until January 2004.

In truth, he was shocked he even still had a job to return to - considering everything that had gone down just weeks prior.

Kevin grabbed the remote control off of the nearby coffee table, pushing aside some empty beer cans to get to it. He couldn't think about that now. He knew it wouldn't do him a damn bit of good to sulk about it when he was here and Heather was in Texas. As many times as he told himself not to get wrapped up in thinking about her, his mind always went there. He missed his Little One so damn much, his chest sometimes ached with need for her.

He had never considered himself a depressed person, even in light of all the shit he had been through during his lifetime. But he was finding it difficult to have purpose and motivation to get back and do what he needed to do.

Kevin had never felt himself simpering over the loss of a female to this extent either. Of course, he was devastated over the end of his marriage, but they remained friends throughout the divorce process. That is, up until his ex-wife found out he had been seeing Nitro Girl, Chae. After that little revelation, she wigged out and cut nearly all contact.

Fine. Whatever. That was her choice, but he still didn't understand her. She no longer wanted to be married to him, but she didn't want him dating anyone else either.

Chae wasn't much better in the jealousy department. Anytime he had to discuss the divorce proceedings, she would turn into a green-eyed monster and accuse him of trying to get back with his wife while only using her as a piece of ass while they were on the road. That shit infuriated Kevin. He was in the middle of ending his ten-year marriage and he hadn't invested enough into this new relationship to put up with that level of crazy that early on, so he dropped her like a bad habit.

Releasing a heavy sigh, Kevin pointed the remote at the ancient boxed television and turned it on. Why the hell was he tripping down memory lane anyway? Time to zone out for a little while. It was midmorning and he had recently just dragged his sorry ass out of bed. He had a doctor's appointment later that afternoon to check on how his surgery was healing. Once the staples were removed and everything was fine on that end, he could begin physical therapy.

Once he had fully recovered from his injury he would begin training and getting back in shape to make his return. Once that happened...

The telephone rang, breaking his train of thought. "Fuck," he muttered, sifting through the pile of rubbish. He didn't enjoy living like this, but he couldn't exactly be the best housekeeper in his condition. That's why he had to hire a cleaning service to come once or twice a week.

He finally spotted the phone behind an empty bottle of Pinot Noir which he had drank in its entirety late last night before heading to bed. The phone continued to ring incessantly as he reached for it.

"Fuck," he muttered a second time. "Hold your horses. Shit," he groused at the person on the other end as if they could hear him already.

Without glancing at the caller ID Kevin smashed the answer button and brought the phone to his ear as he growled into it, "Hello?"

"Big Daddy Kev! What's up man?" the gruff voice with a southern drawl rang through the phone.

Shawn.

Kevin couldn't help himself as a goofy grin spread across his face upon hearing his dear friend's voice. "Living the dream, brother. You know, another day in paradise," Kevin hoped he sounded even a fraction as chipper as he made himself out to be.

"Sorry, I didn't call last week. It's been crazy busy. Vince has been running me and Paul ragged," Shawn spoke.

"I can imagine, now that you two are going into a high-profile feud," Kevin remarked. It made sense to pit them against each other. Shawn was the top guy for a long time. In his absence, Hunter became the top guy.

"Yeah, I've never worked with Paul in this capacity, so I'm pretty stoked," Shawn commented. "How's the old quad doing?"

"It's getting there. You know how it is. It's a process, but I'll get there. I'd love to make it back by the Rumble, but I'll have to see how shit goes," replied Kevin with an air of optimism.

"I know Paul made it in seven months. He was telling me the other day it was the hardest injury he ever had to bounce back from."

"Paul is also way younger and less battered up than me," Kevin managed to chuckle.

"True, but he is also nowhere near as stubborn as your ass. So if he can do it, you can too," Shawn teased.

"And what's wrong with being a stubborn prick? It's suited you well enough over the years."

"Also true. And I never argued that point. Now you're just being combative."

"Says the most contentious fucker this business has ever produced." Although Shawn couldn't see it, Kevin actually managed a grin along with his retort. He could feel his spirits lift just a little bit. He knew, no matter how shitty things were he could at least count on his buddies to offer some comfort in their own way.

"Old habits die hard," Shawn's response was nonplussed. "And what did we think of the other development on Raw?" Shawn questioned with outright curiosity as he shifted the conversation.

"You mean the one where Hell froze over?" Kevin quipped. He was sure his buddy could only be referring to the twist of Vince's arch nemesis, Eric Bishoff appearing on Raw after being announced as the new general manager. "I told that dumb fuck he wasn't going to put Vince out of business. We were sitting right there on Hulk's private jet. The only way to put Vince out of business would be to shoot him between the eyes."

Shawn laughed at his friend's dark humor. He was trying to keep a lighthearted tone to the conversation, but he was feeling just as awful as he was sure Kevin did. He would drag on the chat a little while longer. Shawn had something to tell the big man and he really dreaded having to do it.

Thankfully, Kevin kept the conversation going by adding, "Nah, it's cool to see Eric still in the business and you know Vince is a businessman first and foremost. You can fuck him and he'll still do business with you. It was so surreal to see them hug like old pals though."

"No kidding. He's going to be the Raw GM, so you'll probably get to work with him when you come back," Shawn commented.

"Unless Vinnie Mac banishes me to Smackdown," Kevin joked.

That was another new development. What they called the brand extension. A draft lottery was also taking place, which was an angle on the show, set up like a real sports draft. There would now be respective rosters and exclusive champions for both Raw and Smackdown.

While there wasn't anything inherently wrong with Smackdown, Raw just always felt like home to Kevin. It was the flagship program after all and he had been one of the men to pioneer it during its inception in 1993.

"Nope. Vince already said you're going to be on Raw with me and Paul. He wants Mark to head Smackdown," Shawn informed him.

"Well I suppose that's for the best," Kevin replied flatly, barely hiding the disdain in his voice.

Shoot. Shawn hadn't exactly intended to bring up Mark. Not yet anyway and not specifically regarding him. He knew it was a sore subject with Kev.

"Yeah," Shawn murmured and he grew quiet for a moment. Although Shawn thought it better that Kevin remained in the dark on this particular piece of gossip, he knew if he found that this had been kept from him, he would be livid. As it seemed as though their conversation would be drawing to a close soon anyway, perhaps it was best to just rip the bandage off now?

"There's something else, man," Shawn's voice had become serious and somber.

Kevin didn't like the sound of that. It wasn't too often Shawn became soberingly serious. "What else?" the big man inquired warily.

Oh, boy. This was not going to be fun. Shawn wished he didn't have to be the one to share this news, but Kid had been fired a few weeks back, Scott had been working for some indy promotion for a couple of months now and Paul barely had a grasp on the recent drama as he had been dealing with his own problems as of late.

Time to bite the bullet. Shawn was never one to hold back on anything he thought or felt. In his younger and stupider years, he would run his mouth with no qualms about what sensibilities he offended or who he pissed off. Yet, this was one of his best friends in the world and he knew the man was already having a hell of a time as it was.

"It's the girl," Shawn started.

An uncomfortable pause sat between Shawn's introduction and Kevin's inquiry: "What girl?" Kevin's tone was nonchalant – or rather attempted to be.

"Come on. You know which girl. Mark's kid. The little sister." Shawn's scowl could practically be heard through the phone. It kind of agitated him that Kev was trying to play dumb. Either way, he knew Kevin wasn't one to sugarcoat things and neither was he, so it was best to just come out with it. "Well, word floating around the locker room is that she tried to off herself a couple weeks ago."

"What!" Kevin burst out as his blood ran cold. His world began spinning on its head while his heart felt as though it was being torn from his chest. He was not expecting to hear any sort of information on the little one, least of all something as unforeseen and devastating as this! Kevin couldn't contain his terror as he probed, "How?"

"From what I heard with some old pills that Mark had lying around," Shawn continued, "If you notice he's been missing in action for a couple weeks."

After being lost in his thoughts for several moments Kevin remembered that Shawn was still on the line. "Poor kid," he mumbled with as much feigned indifference as he could muster. "That's just…Fuck! Is she.." Kevin's words fell off for a moment as he was having difficulty articulating the question, "Okay?"

"She's alive. I know that much," Shawn supplied the answer he knew his friend had been looking for. "More than that I don't know. You know gossip spreads like wildfire in that locker room. Of course, no one's talking to me about any of this because I'm on Mark's shit list. Surprise, surprise," Shawn added with a mirthless chuckle. Next came an empathetic sigh. "I just feel bad for the kid. I don't think being here helped. This was no place for her at all."

"No fucking kidding," Kevin concurred. "But what do you expect when you have a bunch of fucking morons running shit up there?" Kevin growled. Anyone with a pair of brain cells could see that. Yet certainly not Vince and not Mark.

"Well, listen, brother, I have to be getting off here. Got a therapy appointment to get to soon," the big man said with insouciance. It wasn't a total lie. His appointment wasn't until a little later, but he didn't have the fortitude to carry on the conversation any longer. He couldn't think at the moment. Hell, he could barely even breathe.

"No problem, brother. Me and Paul are about to go to a signing here in Louisville. I just wanted to give ya a ring beforehand. I'll call you next week after Raw."

"Yep," Kevin wished he had more than a meager response but he was running on empty.

"Kev?"

"Yeah, buddy?"

"I love you, man. I know you don't like me saying it, but everything's gonna work out the way God intends," Shawn's words were sympathetic as he tried to sound reassuring. He knew this was affecting the big guy more than he would ever dare let on. He knew his friend was in a bad way with the girl and he had just made everything ten times worse by delivering this news. Shawn wondered if it was the right thing to do after all, but what was done, was done.

"Thanks, Shawn. I love you too, brother. Bye." The giant's normally thundering bass voice sounded dull, and robotic as he gave his buddy the best farewell he could muster.

"By-."

The end of Shawn's farewell was partially clipped off by Kevin smashing the end button and tossing the phone carelessly onto the coffee table. He had resisted the urge to fling it towards the wall in all of his frustrations.

How stupid? What a stupid, stupid girl he had fallen for! How the hell was he supposed to be able to fix things for them if she was just going to attempt to off herself like that?

As soon as the thoughts passed, Kevin was immediately contrite in his anger. As foolish as her effort had been, it was his own self he was truly furious at, not her.

He recalled the last time he had seen her weeks ago. Her terrified screams. Her desperate sobs. Her tiny hand reaching for him and like the reprehensible bastard he was, he couldn't do a damn thing to help her.

Try as he might, he had failed. He had failed her from the moment he laid eyes on her. Although he never had any ill intentions to start, he was led by his own urges and desires. How could he have expected to protect her from people like Vince or any of the other jerkoffs in the locker room? He couldn't even protect her from himself.

He had brought all of this upon her because he couldn't keep his compulsions in check. And now his Little One was paying the price for his sins. Kevin wondered to what extent Mark had tortured and terrorized her. He was absolutely livid when he dragged her out of the locker room that night. The thought of Mark hurting her caused Kevin's blood to boil, but once again he was a useless prick

Knowing he couldn't allow himself to slip further into depression Kevin shook his thoughts free of these melodramatic reflections. It wasn't going to do either of them any good. This stupid injury was nothing more than an inconvenience. Another obstacle to overcome. Once he had it out of the way, he could set about getting her back.

No, his plan hadn't changed. He still wanted her. Still needed her. He knew it made him sound like a creep, but she had quickly become his most addictive drug. He was going to get his Little One back and he was going to make things right between them. There was no other way around it. He was going to rescue her from her fucked up family and show her that life could be happy and that she was loved. He could only pray she didn't hate him and would still feel the same. Oh, and that she wouldn't do anything else so imprudent or hasty before they could be reunited.

I hope it's ok. Feels disjointed and just blah as I wrote it in bits and pieces over the last few months. I do have another chapter for you in a bit because I had to cut this one off. I hope to schedule and pass the first part of my test next month. When my sister asked what I want for Christmas, the only thing I could think of was to be done with these fucking tests so I can write again. But of course, that's all on me.