I fiddle with a loose thread on my backpack, trying to avoid looking at Milan as he drives. The uncomfortable silence blanketing the car stifles me. Plus, when I get back, my mom is going to light into me for this. She'll freak if she notices I'm gone. Granted, she was fairly wasted last night, and she's probably even worse now, but I can't count on that to keep her from realizing that I didn't spend the night freezing.

The last thing I want to do is make her even more upset. She's already unstable, and I might push her into committing suicide or something. She hates it when people try to nose their way into our business. I don't like it either, but it makes her hysterical. Due to that, I avoid letting anyone know about our personal lives if possible.

Last night was necessary. You need help. You needed a place to stay.

"Is there anything I can do to help?" Milan asks.

He's already expressed a desire to help me. I want to push him away, but I also want to say yes. Embarrassment still simmers deep in my belly over my behavior last night. In my defense, I was terrified and disoriented due to the nightmare. He seemed like a safe spot. Now, I'm back to my usual fear of men. Well, to be fair, I'm afraid of almost everyone, regardless of gender. But you would be too if you could see how worthless you were to everyone. How expendable you are to them, and what a mess you make of their lives. You'd want to stay out of the way and be invisible too if that's what you thought about yourself.

"Meri, I know you're scared, and I know you want to help your mom. I understand how much you care about her. It's admirable. But your mom needs professional help."

I stiffen, staring out of the window on my side. Pressing my lips together, I refuse to speak.

"Please, let me help. Maybe we can get her help for the alcohol and drug problem? And if she's having issues mentally, we'll find her help. My mom would help us too." His knuckles are white as he grips the steering wheel tightly.

Shaking my head, I look up at his face. It's full of vulnerability and fear for me. No one has ever cared so much about me. I don't know what to do with it. Everyone around me keeps me in my place using manipulation and abusive behavior. He makes me feel both loved and worthless without any of those things. The simple fact that he cares so much makes me feel horrible. I'm not worth his love. I'm not worth even his attention.

He deserves better than me.

"You can't let her stay like this, Meri. I know you love her and feel like this is a fight solely meant for you. But it's not. You don't have to go it alone," he murmurs, keeping his focus on the road as he pulls onto the street where our high school is located.

I remain silent, mulling the offer over. Really, I'm not sure why I'm even considering it, but for the first time since this started, I actually want the help. I want to say yes to Milan. But the words won't come out.

He parks the car and unbuckles, turning to look at me. His eyes look wet in the bright winter sun. "Please..."

Biting my lip, I grab my bag, unbuckle, and get out. Then, before he can do anything, I race for the front doors of the school.

"Meri!" His forlorn shout echoes across the school yard, but I keep running.

***

"Miss Yanamari? Can you please tell me what year World War 2 started?" My history professor stares at me expectantly over his wide, horn-rimmed glasses.

I blink at him, disoriented. Ever since this morning, I've been in a daze. Nothing quite makes it through the fog blanketing my mind. Normally, history is one of my better classes. Not so much today. All I can think about is Milan's sad expression when I ran from him, my mom's drunk shouting last night, and the nightmares that lurk in my dreams.

"Miss Yanamari, if you refuse to participate, I will have to refer you to the Principal's office. I don't want to do that."

Shaking my head, I clear my throat and frown at my desk. "Could you repeat the question?" I murmur.

"What year did World War II start?" Mr. Claric repeats, speaking slowly like I'm a child.

Well, today, I kind of feel like one. "I... I don't remember," I confess, stumbling over the words.

Snickers erupt all over the room, and I hide my face behind my hair, cheeks flaming. It's not like I'm trying to be distant and out of it today. I just can't focus on anything besides my problems at home and with Milan.

Mr. Claric sighs. "Stacy, do you remember?"

I phase out again. Stacy's words ring in my ears, but I don't process any of it. Thankfully, Mr. Claric leaves me alone for the rest of class.

As I file out of the classroom at the end of the period, however, he pulls me aside. "Meri, what's wrong? You always know the answer when I call on you."

"I just blanked, I guess." My whisper is brittle and hollow. Ducking my head, I scuff a shoe along the floor. My hands clench tightly inside my pockets.

"What happened to your face?" Mr. Claric points to the bruise on my cheek.

"Oh, that..." I laugh shakily. "I tripped..." My cheeks feel like brimstone by now. "I hit my face on the floor when I did."

Mr. Claric eyes the bruise, clearly not buying the lie.

Tremors shimmy through my body, and I resist the urge to add more details in a misguided attempt to convince him. "Can I go? I'll be fine."

He looks at me for a long moment, owlish eyes blinking behind his thick glasses. "Yes, yes... Of course."

Smiling weakly, I head out the door. That was a really close call. I didn't know the bruise was that visible. If I had, I would've tried to cover it. I forgot about asking for sunglasses, so the evidence of my beating is clear to everyone. Sighing, I shuffle towards the cafeteria. I'll just have to deal with it.

***

Milan slides into the seat across from me. Memories of yesterday hit me like a freight train. It didn't end well last time he came over here.

"You should go," I mutter.

"No. I don't care what those jerks think." He waves a dismissive hand at the popular crowd.

I glance over at them. They're staring at us and giving Milan disgusted looks. How can he not care? Doesn't he want to be with the popular crowd? I mean, everyone here does. Not you. My inner voice whispers. Well, maybe not me. But I'm an outcast in every circle, and I don't want to be around anyone else who will hurt me or get hurt because of me. That's pretty much everyone.

"I'm just going to get you hurt," I blurt out before I can reconsider the words.

"Maybe," he says, shrugging. "But sometimes living hurts. Sometimes bad things happen. I'm not going to spend my whole life afraid of the future and possibilities. That's not living."

I bite my lip and look at the table.

"Anyway, you forgot your lunch." He pushes a Tupperware container over to me. "I already heated it up."

Unsure what else to do, I take it and the fork he offers with a soft smile. "Thank you." Against my better judgment, I guess he can stay.

We sit in silence, eating our leftovers. The quiet isn't awkward. I don't feel a need to fill the void, and he clearly doesn't either. So we just enjoy the camaraderie that's between us. Maybe I'm wrong to keep pushing him away.

"You know, you kind of give a lot of mixed signals," Milan finally says.

I look up at him, blushing. I do?

"I mean, one minute you act like you hate me or are terrified of me. The next, you're acting like we're best friends." He shrugs. "Which is it?"

"Uh... I... I don't know... We aren't best friends, and I'm kind of scared of you, so I guess both." I push the eggs around in the container.

"I see." He goes quiet again and sets the fork down with exaggerated care.

It makes me feel guilty. Maybe I should've just told him we were friends or that I'm still making up my mind. But the truth is, I'm just confused. I have no clue what I think about him. While I don't trust him, I feel like maybe I should. At the same time, I'm also terrified of him because my experiences with men have never been good. Not true. There was Scott.

Scott... He was my mom's boyfriend for about a month. At first, I thought he might be half way decent. And actually, he was. But he was naïve. He never really caught on to what my mom does to me, and he never understood what my mom needed. He was gentle enough, but my mom wasn't good for him, and he wasn't good for her. She hated his complacency. When he left, every hope I had was shattered. The illusion I'd held prior to their breakup was that he'd figure out what was going on and help me with the problem.

That was before I realized that the problem was both my doing and my responsibility. I've always known it was my fault, but I didn't always understand that the responsibility for finding a solution would lie solely on my shoulders. The day Scott left the house with a final goodbye blew that illusion up in my face. Since then, I've refused to let anyone help or know what's going on.

Until Milan, that is.

"Probably not what you wanted to hear, is it?"

He sighs. "No, but I expected it." Picking the fork back up, he picks up a bite of egg and shovels it into his mouth. Clearly, he doesn't want to talk at the moment.

The guilty feeling drops into the pit of my stomach and settles there, heavy. "Well, I have to go." I push the Tupperware container back to him and smile. "Thanks for the food and everything."

"No problem."

I get up and start to walk off.

"Wait. Meri..."

Turning back, I look at him expectantly.

"If you ever need help again, feel free to call. You've got my number." He smiles sadly, like he doesn't believe I'll call.

Well, I probably won't. But for his sake, I say, "Sure. Thanks."

This time he just nods.

Feeling empty, I turn and walk off. He doesn't call me back.