For someone who has always been resilient and willful, I've become such an underdog. I still remember those watchwords I inked into my mind before I decided to leave Tacoma, and none of them entailed love or trouble.

Yet I got myself mired deeply in both.

I fell in love with an angel who soared with me to the stars, and then left me there alone to burn.

I thought I was stout as iron, yet here I am, being shredded like a flimsy piece of paper.

I watch the world as it races while I'm constantly being jostled to the back.

I behold the allure of colors, yet I don't stop falling into that avalanche of blues. And I wonder; will I ever reach the bottom?

"Remember the first time I saw you?" Chavez asks, and his murky, eerie tone chills my spine.

I lie still, huddled onto the indurate ground in a ball. I watch him—or rather his feet—as he wanders around my apartment like he owns it, and if it weren't for my lacking capacity to move, I would've at least tried to break those brawny legs of his.

His feet finally stop in front of me, and even in my deeply sedated state, I sense panic inside of me, but for some reason, it's so distant-flung. It exists somewhere, though I can't put my finger on it. "Well, I remember it very well. It was at Emerald. It was the first time I saw you with those brats. You were quite outstanding, if you ask me. But do you know what actually caught my attention that day?" He questions, but I still refrain from giving an answer.

Big mistake.

A normal person would at least grovel away, if they saw a strike coming. But my burdensome body doesn't move an inch when he aims at my ribs with the front of his shoe. "Answer me! Do you know what caught my attention that day?"

I howl in affliction, and it feels like the sound was forced out of my throat from the strong impact of the bash, my arms hastening to secure my midriff. I hysterically shake my head, feeling my tears spilling down my cheeks. He chuckles, and though my eyes are blurred by my tears, I perceive him crouching, his voice getting closer. I tighten my arms around myself, expecting the next blow any time. "I saw how that Evans boy kept staring at you like a prize he can't wait to obtain. And I kept trying to remember if he ever looked at my sister the same way, but I came up with no memory resembling that."

He reaches out, his fingers smoothing my hair back, before I feel them burrowing in, and I can't help but shudder, his revolting touch feeling like flyspecks of venom. I don't foresee it, and that's why I emanate another agonized yowl when he wrenches the mass of locks back, forcing me to look at him. "And I can see why. You're actually a sweet piece of ass, but too bad I don't appreciate beauty the way he does."

I don't get to fathom the meaning behind his words. His hand moves fast, landing hard on my cheek, and just before I attempt to move my hands to protect my face, he yanks my arms together, anchoring them above my head with one of his big hands. Though I expected it, I still yelp in surprise when he strikes the other cheek, my tears flowing like a stream of water.

I keep my eyes closed, and I keep praying for this to be one of those nightmares I have on those sore, caliginous nights, but the next wallop is too real. Too torturous, even for my own grievous nightmares. Frail and dreary, I find myself resorting to less dark memories, just to block him out. And I wonder: Is this how my mother felt that night?

'Are you her daughter?' The doctor asks, her pitiful smile faltering as she stares at my tear-soaked face. She's holding a chart in his hands, her fingers tightening around the edges. I can tell she's shell-shocked and unstrung.

"Do you want me to stop?" I hear Chavez chuckling with amusement, his abhorrent voice fusing with the loud beats of my heart. "I'll stop if you beg."

"Ple- please!" I find the word coming out without any further coaxing. In normal situations, I would never submit and beg, but every aching muscle in my body solicits obedience from me.

He lets out a booming horselaugh, and the sounds makes my heart convulse. "What was that?" He teases, tracing my face with the back of his free hand, before I feel that hand creeping down, until it reaches the collar of my shirt. He dips it inside, touching my cleavage, and just like that, my panic rousts my body. I inject all the energy I have left into my struggle, threshing and wrestling to get free, but still and all, his vigor overpowers mine.

And the way he effortlessly rips my shirt open with one hand vouches for that.

'It appears that she was assaulted by more than one guy. Even though she had a vast amount of drugs in her system, she still had fight in her.'

My mom was strong.

"What's the matter, kitten?" He chuckles. "So, you liked it when he had his hand up your dress in public, like some common whore, but now you don't want it?" His loud, furious voice almost disguises my sobs. "Well, too bad, because you are going to take it." With his threat delivered, his hand clamps on one of my breasts, and though I battle to wiggle away, his intentions don't budge, and neither of his hands do.

Like my brain has grown debilitated, it starts to slacken, and with the way my muscles start to lose their little warfare, I let go of my hope, my tears rolling down my already drenched face as I feel his fingers snaking around the front of my bra, ready to rip it.

But even through this moment of despond, a trace of hope lurks in, cohered into ballistic bangs against the front door. "Open the door, Chavez!" My guardian angel yells, his voice harsh and choleric. And I recognize his voice immediately.

Even a far cry in a bottomless abyss, I'd recognize his voice.

Dylan.

The hands on me disappear, and despite that, I still don't find the ability to move. But for once since I've stepped a foot into this apartment tonight, it doesn't matter anymore. Because regardless of everything that's happened, and with everything that's happening, I finally feel safe.

The banging doesn't last long, before I hear an earsplitting blast, before I see a figure bursting into the apartment. "Candice!" He bolts to me, but before he gets close, Chavez grabs him from the back, girthing his gigantic arm around his neck. I want to cry out, to dash to his rescue, but it feels like the world encloses me with its darkness with every second that passes.

But then Dylan surprises me when he manages to get out of Chavez's hold, before he attempts a punch, and from the grunt I hear, I know he aimed right. Everything happens in a flash then. Dylan grabs Chavez by the collar, driving him against the wall so hard that I hear the bang, but then he doesn't retain his hegemony for long, before Chavez pushes him off, taking advantage of his weakened state. He mounts him, and I see fists flying, Dylan's grunts of pain filling the room.

Then the unanticipated happens, and another figure abruptly rushes into the place, taking Chavez by surprise. And just like that, the wolf in Dylan lunges, bringing the evildoer down, before he starts to fight hammer and tongs.

With every hit, I feel the darkness haling me in, and neither the smiting nor the tugging stop. I want to yell. I want to ask for their help; for them to yank me back into the light. After all the darkness I've been sucked into, it occurs to me that I might deserve a little bit of light.

But unlike what they chronicle in fairytales, darkness wins, seizing me as its new captive.

Light.

Blinding light invades my vision, even with my eyes closed. It makes me clench my eyes shut.

Soft caresses gentle my face. The hand feels anything but soft, but the amount of comfort it seeps into me is enough to pacify my worries; enough to encourage me to open my eyes, only to be blinded some more. And the moment my eyes behold the spotless, white room, the clobbering in my head intensifies. "Close the goddamn blinds!" I bleat just as I descry my grandmother standing by my bed.

I squeeze my eyes shut, hearing some shuffling, before the light starts to abate. "It's closed, now." My grandma informs me, and I hear her footsteps coming closer to me.

Trusting her word, I ease my eyes open, one by one, sighting the old woman who's towering over me with a solicitous look on her wrinkled face, and I note that her turban is not fixed, betraying more of her hairless head, and upon seeing that, I feel a pang of guilt germinating inside of me. "My whole body hurts like a bitch." I mumble, the mere movement of my vocals making the hurting escalate.

"Watch your language, Candice!" She complains, before she moves her gaze to the door. "I'll go tell the doctor that you're awake."

"Doctor?" I query, hastily swerving my head around to survey the room, only to ascertain that it's not mine.

And then last night crystallizes in a flash. Trent calling. Chavez appearing out of nowhere. Chavez beating the daylight out of me. Chavez attempting to sexually assault me.

Dylan saving me.

Upon recalling the memories, I find myself covering my face, trying to freeze out the ugly images. "Candice?" My grandmother carefully positions her hand on my shoulder, causing me jolt. "Hey, hey, it's okay." She whispers, taking me in her arms.

"Last night!" I gasp, hot tears starting to pour down my face. I can feel the place of each hit. I can hear every venomous word he snarled at me.

"What happened?" An alarmed exclaim comes from the door, and I don't have to look to know who it is.

But I still look up, only to find Dylan rushing to me, his face full of concern. The angry bruises on his face ruin any type of consolation I was holding on. My grandma steps aside, and he enfolds me in his arms. I can't help but wince, his tight hold pressing against my own bruises. "Sorry!" He exclaims again, his hold loosening a bit. "It's all my fault." He ventilates, distraught. "It's all my fault." He keeps repeating, rocking me in his arms. "I'm here with you now. No one will come near you."

I nod, letting him hold me; letting him allay my affliction. Somehow, in spite of everything he's done to me, and in spite of every time he broke my heart, he still manages to be my salvation. "How did you know?" I ask, burying my face into his chest.

"Claire." He answers, and just like that, my agony is replaced by fury. "She called Trent."

"She's the one who sent him to me!" I cry out.

"I know." He rubs my back. "She was panicky when she called Trent. I think she was driven by her rage after the video."

"That's not an excuse for what she did to her!" I hear my grandma interjecting, her voice clipped.

"It's not, and I'm as furious as you are. But the matter is in your hands now. You can take all the legal proceedings you want."

"Oh, I will."

The room falls silent, and I don't say anything else, for once, not feeling the usual urge to hit back. For once, letting myself delight in his thawed hold, even though I have to let him go. For once, wanting to embrace today, without having to worry about tomorrow.

But I know tomorrow will come, and when it does, I have to be ready.

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Hello, folks!
Hope you're doing well :).

Please don't forget to check out Logan's book on Radish Fiction "Blue Star". Lots of suspense is awaiting you on there!

Also, I need some kickass designer for Logan's book cover, since it will be published here in about two weeks :).

Thanks!