Tiana POV

The first thing I notice when I wake up is the smell. The unfortunate, nose-stinging smell of cleanliness that every person who dreads hospistals want to get away from. That I want to get away from.

The second is the noise. The noise being the insistent beeping of a heart monitor. The insistent beating of my heart. The insistent reminder that I'm alive and still living in this hellhole.

Why am I still alive?

I open my eyes to get a better sense of everything and the first things I see are watchful grey eyes watching me with surprise and wonder. Tyson. He's the one who kept me alive.

Why is he here?

"Y.. Why are you here?" I croak, my voice hoarse and my throat sore. He gives me a glass of water. I drink it.

"What do you mean?" he asks, looking at me with so much wonder, awe, sadness and guilt that, for a second, I am unable to look away.

"Why are you here? Why do you care?" I ask.

He looks like he's searching for words and I'm about to ask him again when he blurts out "I read you diary!"

I stiffen. No

"What?" I ask, a little breathless.

"I read your diary," he says slowly, hesitently.

I nod my head once, accepting this situtaion. There's nothing I can do about it anyway. But this boy in front of me now knows me better than anyone else, even my crappy parents. It's a scary thought. But there's something more important that I want to know about. Something I need to know about.

"Why am I still alive?"

Now it's Tyson's turn to stiffen.

"Look," he starts. "I know your life is shitty and, right now, it seems like the only way to end the pain is death, but I can help yo-"

"Why do you care?" I ask again, interrupting him.

He doesn't mean it, he doesn't mean it, he doesn't mean it... He doesn't

"Why do you keep asking me that?" he asks, looking hurt.

"Because I'm not used to being cared for and I don't understand why someone would care for me," I say truthfully. His eyes soften and he looks like he hates the fact that I think so low of myself. I just spoke the truth.

"I'll help you change that," he whispers.

"Why did you save me?" I ask before I can begin to start hoping. "Has it ever occurred to you that I don't want to be saved?" I ask him, my temper rising just a little.

I don't want to be alive. I don't.

"Tiana," he whispers, his voice wavering. "You don't mean that. You just-"

"No!" I exclaim. "You do not get to come here acting like you care. Like you know me. You read my diary. You know I know about the bet. So why so you care? Why did you stay?? Just call the bet off or something because I'm not gonna sleep with you. We're not gonna get a chance anyway because as soon as I'm out of here, I'm taking my own-"

"No!" he exclaims, stopping me. He looks lile he couldn't bear to hear me finish my sentance. "Look, I know you know about the bet but the truth is, bet aside, I do care about you. I don't know why...but I do. And it scares me because I've never felt this way before and yet... I'm okay with being scared. Because I like this feeling. Whatever it is. And I want to help you. I want to help make your crappy life into something you can cherish. You can get better. You'll get better. I'll make sure of it. Just...just please please don't ever do that again. Don't leave," he says, looking more than a little desperate. It softens my resolve to try escaping again.

"Please," I whisper, a soft broken thing . "Please just let me end my pain. It not going to end. I know it's not."

"You know I can't let you do that," he whispers, a single tear slipping from his eyes.

"But it's never going to end!" I exclaim. "The pain, both physical and emotional, the guilt, the torture. It's never going to end."

"How could you know that?" Tyson asks, two more tears slipping from his grey eyes.

"Because I have been waiting for things to change," I whisper. "For 9 years all I have been doing is waiting for things to get better. But it never did. And now I'm tired of waiting. I just want it to end."

"You've held on for this long, that must mean something. And it does. It means that deep down, you do want to live. You're a surviver, Kitty. And all I'm asking you to do is to be who you are. A survivor. Just please please don't give up," he says, looking at me with wide, desperate eyes.

And that's when I'm reminded of the bet.

He's acting. He has to be. He doesn't really care.

"Is this all just a game to you?" I ask, seething. "Do you give hope to hopeless girls, telling them to keep moving forward, and then drop them where they stand after you sleep with them? Because whatever it is you're doing, it's not going to work on me. If you're doing all this for a fucking bet then just leave."

"How many times do I have to tell you that I DO CARE ABOUT YOU?!" he yells, then immediately sobers up when he sees me flinch.

"I.. I do care about you. More than I'd like to admit after knowing you for such a short amout of time. I'll give Xavier the money if that's what it takes for you to believe me. But I do. I do care for you," he says softly, looking earnest.

"Do you know why tried killing myself earlier than I actually planned?" I ask softly instead of answering.

"No," he says, flinching slightly when I said "killing myself".

"Because you were giving me hope," I say, not looking at him. "You were making me believe that someone cares about me. I knew about the bet and yet I started believing you care about me. I knew it would end badly if I let it continue. You'd leave after you slept with me, if you slept with me. And then I'll be alone after knowing what it's like to feel cared for. And that would hurt so much more. So I had to do it. I had to do it before it was too late."

I turn away from him and try lying on my side. I don't need to see the pity in his eyes when he looks as me. But before I can turn away from him, he grabs my arm. I still don't look at him. He then gently cups my cheek and coaxes me to look at him. I've never felt a touch that could bring you so much comfort.

I look at him.

It's only now that I realize just how touch-starved I am.

His grey eyes didn't hold pity, but it was filled with so much saddness. And guilt. And sorrow. I had no other choice but to believe that what he said is true. There's no way anyone can act out that feeling. I know what it looks like.

I see it everyday in the mirror.

I see it everyday in my mom

"I'll help you," he says slowly, hands still on my cheek. "I'll make sure you're okay. Y-You can stay at my house-"

"No," I interupt him, flinching away from his hand. "No please. I-I can't live with anyone right now. I-I don't know. But I'm not staying at your house. Please."

He nods, as if he knew I would say this.

"We uh... We have a guest house. Maybe... maybe you can stay there?" he asks, looking at me hopefully.

"What about my dad?" I ask numbly.

"He can go live in the fucking jail," he spits out, anger leaking out of him and filling the room. To say I'm surprised by the intensity of his anger is an understatement.

"I guess we both have daddy issues," he jokes when he sees that I'm scared. I can't help it. Anger means bad things happen. Hurtful things.

"What does that mean?" I ask.

"It means that before the Bent family adopted me I was living on the streets since I was 8 because my previous family was poor and thought I was too high maintainence. After the Bent family adopted me, my adopted father hated me for reasons unknown and would always forced me to be someone I'm not. But even with the whole "fatherly hate" situation, I had the love of my mom and my little brother so I'm good," he says, smiling at me.

I smile back. He looks surprised. He gives me a bigger smile in return. Amd then I giggle.

He lools surprised, and then laughs too. "What's so funny Kitty?"

"Nothing much Piggy. It just looked like we're having a smiling contest or something. Which I would win, by the way. Because I have dimples. And you don't."

I smirk victoriously. For more reasons than winning a smiling conest. I realize that this is what it's like to be happy.

"Oh? But I'm hot. So I'll win," he says. Happiness is coming of in waves from him. I'm glad I made someone happy.

"I guess that's there," I concede.

"You're hot too you know," he says, tilting his head to the side.

"No really," I say, like it's the most obvious thing in the world.

"You really are," he says, and he looks hurt that I even think otherwise.

Suddenly I realize I never comforted him when he told me his story.

So I hug him.

Which is a little weird since I'm still in the hospital bed but all I know is that I've never felt this warm before.

"Wh..What?" he stutters.

"Your whole 'hateful dad' situtation. I just wanted to comfort you," I murmer.

"Oh.. Ye..yeah. My um... They've already divorced. And.. And we keep the houses so...yeah," he stutters.

I let go immediately.

He doesn't want to touch me. I'm too disgusting to be touched. I'm used. Damaged.

"Sorry for touching you. You probably didn't want it," I say emotionlessly.

"What made you think that?" he asks. He looks flustered.

I shrug.

"It definitely not that. It's just. I've never touched you more than just holding your hands or something. You didn't even hold on to me when I took you for a ride on the motorcycle. So this was a major upgrade," he says. I nod.

And then he hugs me.

I hate being touched. But for some reason it's okay if he does.

"I... I never thought I'd get to touch you again. To feel you again. You, you almost died, Kitty. I haven't even known you for that long and yet I know that it was one of the most scariest things I have ever witnessed. Tell me you'll never do that again. Please tell me you won't," he says desperately.

I shake my head. "I can't promise anything. So I'm not going to. But I promise I'll try," I say.

"Will you at least stop cuttting," he asks.

My eyes widen. "No... No nononono. I... I'm sorry but I need it," I say desperately

A tear falls from his face.

But he nods.

"I'll help you..." he whispers.

I shake my head again. I look out the window. He sighs.

Just then the door opens and a woman comes barreling inside. She's a mess of skin and bones and tears. She's shivering from head to toe and her chocolate brown hair, so much like mine, is messy, as if she had run a hand through in countless times. Her black eyes are frantic, desperate, and as soon as she sees me, she bolts towards me. As desperate as a starved man is for food. As she is for drugs. As I am for the feeling of being loved. I'm scared of her looking so alive.

She runs towards me, cups my face and says "Oh my baby, my pretty little Tiara."

There's only one person who calls me that. One person.

"M-Mom?"

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Ooookay... First off, sorry fr the delay.

Second, this chapter is probably pure and utter crap.

Third, OH MY GOD!! THE READS!! THE VOTES!! THE COMMENTS!! HOW DID I GET SO MANY?! This story.. Wow.. You all amAZE ME!!

Also, again, sorry for the crappy chapter, writers block sucks honestly. This chapter.. Is not the best..

*runs away from Wattpad and never returns bcoz of crappy chapter*

Also, IT'S MY MOM'S BIRTHDAY!! ON HALOWEEN!! Wish my momma a happy birthday pls!!

Vote and Comment!!

*Waves*

Bye:)