I've locked myself in the all too familiar tiny bathroom, sitting in the shower with my knees up to my chest, watching the blood flow freely down the drain from the slit I just cut into my arm. It hurts. Everything hurts. It doesn't matter how drunk I am right now, I still feel the pain from what he just did to me. In my intoxicated state, I count through sobs, the amount of cuts I have. Thirty-three. Thirty-three times I have unwillingly allowed Ryan to violate me, to make me want more than anything just to die so I won't have to live through this even one more time, because I just don't understand how I could. But it's what I deserve.

I know that by the number of red lines and still open wounds that run up and down and across my arms, that I've been "Ryan's Girl" for three months now, and when you're Ryan's Girl, there's no getting out. You do what he says, when he says it and you pretend that you like it. And if you tell a single soul, he'll kill you and everyone you love. Those are the rules. The dreaded rules that I must live by. And I do it because it's what I deserve.

I can barely stand on my wobbly legs as I attempt to get out of the shower. I've sat under the rushing water long enough to almost sober me up as the water ran cold, making me feel every ounce of pain. Maybe I didn't drink as much as I should have? Maybe he threw me against the wall harder than usual? Maybe he gripped onto me rougher? Maybe his movements were much more forceful than any other time? I don't know. All I know is that it hurts to move. That every part of me is screaming out in pain that I wish more than anything I didn't have to feel. But it's what I deserve.

As much as I wish to end my life, I know that I can't. Dad still needs me, and the little time that I do get to spend with him, is worth living this mess. He thinks I'm going through a rebellious stage and that's why I don't return home for days at a time, and when I do, I'm not the same little girl he raised. He thinks it's because of Mom's death and I'm fine with using that as an excuse. I'll let him think what he wants, as long as he doesn't find out what's really going on. Lying to him will only keep him safe. It will save his life.

I look at my naked body in the full length mirror that hangs on the back of the bathroom door. I don't even recognize myself anymore. The usual black bags under my bloodshot eyes are now lined with a deep redness from crying. My face, paler than ever. I look like death. I feel like death. But I am still holding onto the last few threads.

I wince, gently running my shaky fingers over the black and blue bruises spread across my bony hips. New ones covering the old yellow ones. Tears stream down my face at the sight of a new bruise on my shoulder, as big as the ones I had in the beginning. What did I do to deserve this life? To deserve what I've been given? I can't for the life of me, remember why I keep telling myself that this was my fate. All I know is that I can't go back and change whatever it is that I did, to make my life turn out a different way, but I want to. I want to take back everything bad I've ever done so that karma wouldn't do me in like it has.

As I'm making a mental promise to myself to never do another bad thing in my life, I slowly pull a t-shirt over my head, noticing a hand print on my lower back. Ryan's hand print. How can someone--anyone--think it's okay to do this to someone else? I grip onto the small counter with one hand as I hold myself up to put my underwear on, cringing in pain as I do so.

A banging on the door makes me freeze. "I know you're in there Paisley!" Hunter. It's only Hunter on the other side of the door. I slowly open it, and just as I thought, Hunter is standing there. His long frame looks taller, as he leans one arm above his head holding onto the door frame. His messy dark blonde hair falls into his face as he looks down at me with his blue bloodshot eyes. "Fuck, you were in there forever. Get out!" I know that he's on something. Otherwise he doesn't talk to me this way.

"You don't need to be an ass!" I tell him, glaring back into his eyes.

He huffs, pushing me out of the doorway. I don't wait for him to shut the door before I slowly make my way down the dark staircase to the kitchen in just my long t-shirt, trembling in pain with every step I take.

Ryan is sitting at the kitchen table, cigarette clasped between two fingers as he rests his head in his hands. When he hears me shuffle in, he looks over at me. He looks tired as I assume he's coming down from his high. I try not to make eye contact as I make my way to the cupboard to get a glass. "You're bleeding," he tells me, sounding concerned.

Before I know what's happening, he's placing me on the chair he was just sitting in, and moving to the sink to fill my glass with tap water. He puts it on the table in front of me before going through a drawer by the fridge and moving another chair to sit in front of me.

He holds up my arm to inspect my self inflicted wound before looking me in the eyes. "You got yourself good this time." I'm having a hard time deciphering what he's thinking. There are times that he is nice to me. There are times he doesn't scare me. And there are even times I think he feels bad for what he does to me. I know that there is still good in him. That he isn't all bad. Deep down in his black heart is still a small ounce of love that he says he has for me. I watch as he wraps a bandage around my arm and I flinch as he puts pressure on the new wound. "I don't know why you do this to yourself, but I happen to like to see how many times I've made you mine."

I look away from him, disgusted with his liking for it being this way. "Let's go to bed."

"I'll be there in a minute," I say, finally taking a sip of my water. He kisses my cheek as he gets up from his chair. I know not to move away from him. I know not to look scared, no matter how hard my heart is pounding and I want to scream and cry. I know this, because I'm not allowed to, even in the quietness of this very kitchen we occupy alone. He plays off of weakness. My weakness is his strength. And I must look strong on the outside even though I'm fighting with every nerve inside of me.

"Don't be long. I'll be waiting for you."

I walk over to the sink to get more water when I hear his footsteps walk up the stairs to his room. Hunched over in pain with my elbows resting on the counter and my hands over my face, tears trying to escape. My whole body shakes as I try to keep my sobs from coming out. I hate my life. I want to go home and never come back. I don't want to sleep in the arms of the one who hurts me the most. But I have no control over my life anymore. I have no say in anything.

I feel warm hands on my skin under my t-shirt, arms wrapping around me to touch my stomach. I know it isn't Ryan. This touch is much too cautious for it to be him. They're hands that have never touched me before. I can tell because their touch doesn't frighten me as much as most would, but I still don't want to turn around to see who it is. I don't dare to move. I don't dare to breathe as goosebumps rise on the back of my neck. The hands grip me tighter to spin me around, wincing in pain as they do so. I am now face to face with Hunter, who's looking at me through his barely open eyes.

He most likely just did some more drugs in the bathroom because he surely didn't look this messed up when he kicked me out of there. "What are you doing?" I ask, my eyes widening at the realization of what he has in mind.

"What Ryan doesn't know wont hurt him," he tells me. He sounds so sure of himself for someone who looks as messed up as he does right now.

"Are you fucking stupid?" I whisper yell, looking to the doorway where Ryan disappeared from not long ago.

"Come on Paisley," he insists, lifting my shirt higher, revealing my mostly naked body. "He wont ever know."

I try to get away from him, but he has me trapped against the counter. Hunter has been one person I felt like I could trust in this house. He was the person who attended school with me every day, which I'm sure was because he had to watch to make sure I was following all of Ryan's rules. But he was the closest thing I had to what I would call a friend. He made me laugh at times I wanted to just cry. He made this situation for me as calming as he possibly could, even though he never had to and probably shouldn't have. And here he was, ruining that. "Ryan finds out everything!"

"You're right, Ryan does find out everything." I turn to see Ryan standing in the kitchen doorway. A gun pointed at the two of us. My body stiffens at the sight as Hunter moves away from me, putting his hands up in front of him, clearly stating he's not touching me anymore.

Ryan starts walking further into the kitchen, with his gun still pointed at Hunter. "What the fuck do you think you're doing touching my girl?" he questions angrily. The look on his face clearly shows how pissed off he is. His grey eyes are dark and scary, but I know he wont shoot. Or at least I hope he wont.

"He's fucked up, Ryan," I yell. "Put the gun down!"

"I don't care how fucked up he is! He knows the rules!" he shouts back. "Don't you Hunter? Or have you forgotten? Do you need me to remind you of those rules?"

"He doesn't!" I stand in front of Hunter. I don't know why I feel the need to do this. I'm just the girl he uses. Hunter's been his friend for years. Out of the two of us, he'd kill me before even thinking of shooting Hunter.

"How many times has this happened?" Ryan now has the gun pointed at me, but I don't dare show weakness. "Does he make you feel good, Paisley?"

"I never did anything to her," Hunter finally speaks up, walking out from behind me."Look man, it was all a misunderstanding. She's right. I'm fucked up. I thought she was Ivy."

"Don't fucking lie to me!" Ryan yells through gritted teeth. "I swear to fucking God, if I find out this isn't the first time, I--will--fucking kill you! Paisley is mine! You don't get her unless I fucking say so!"

Ryan grabs me harshly, bringing my back to his chest, holding me tightly to him, feeling the gun now pressed against my temple. I start to shake, not being able to hide my weakness anymore. Not with a gun pointed at my head.

I don't want to die. I don't want to die. Not like this.

Someone is shaking me. I can feel the sweat dripping from my forehead and my heart racing. My breathing is heavy, not knowing what's real and where I am in the darkness. I shift myself away from whoever is next to me, falling off the bed with a loud thump as my body reaches the floor.

"Oh my God, Paise!" Harry. It's just Harry. He turns the light on next to my bed revealing that it is in fact him and that what I've just experienced was just another nightmare. "You alright?"

I can't get to him fast enough. I scramble from the floor back onto the bed and I instantly wrap my arms around his shoulders as I sit sideways on his lap for him to hold me like the baby I quite feel like I am in this moment. But I don't care. I just need to be close to him. I need to feel that I am with him and not anywhere close to where my dreams have taken me yet again.

It's been the same every night for the last week. Horrible memories invading my sleep. I don't know why they're resurfacing. I thought I was getting better. I thought I was forgetting. But clearly, my subconscious has been taken over by Ryan, making me remember the horrors I once lived. The dreams are so vivid. Every little detail is just as I remember it to be. I can even hear the thoughts in my head, feel how much pain I was in, feel the touch of someone else, exactly how I felt it then, as if I'm living it all over again. The fear in me takes over, but with Harry here, beside me, waking me each time a new nightmare possesses my mind, I have him to help calm me and bring me back to reality. He soothes me until I'm not afraid anymore and I can breathe regularly again.

"You're safe," he whispers. "I'm here with you, love. I've got you." He kisses the top of my head as I take deep breaths, feeling him glide his hand gently up and down my arm. "Everything is going to be alright, I promise. There's nothing to be afraid of."

My nightmares this week haven't just taken a toll on me, they have also interrupted Harry's sleep. I try to convince him to sleep in his own room so that I wont wake him, but he insists on being with me until they go away again. The bags under his eyes aren't as prominent as mine, but they're visible, and he's been having to eat more bananas and drink extra green tea during classes just to stay awake. But he wont leave my side for a good night of sleep, and as awful as I feel about it, I'm happy he wants to stay with me. I don't know what I'd do without him now, and I don't want to think about it.

I wont tell him what my nightmares are made of, and he doesn't push for me to try to explain. He is quite literally more amazing to me every time I realize just how tolerant he has been with me for everything I've put him through, without even questioning why certain things happen or why things are the way they are.

When I look up at him, he looks back with his usual sympathetic stare that I've seen every night this week. "I'm sorry," I say quietly, ashamed that this has happened again.

"Please don't apologize for having bad dreams," he says as his finger pushes my chin up so I will look him in the eyes. "I'm here to protect you from those monsters. Nothing will ever hurt you as long as I'm with you. Okay?"

My eyes flick back and forth between his as he waits for me to respond. Why couldn't he be there when the monsters were real? Why couldn't he be there to protect me then, so I wouldn't have ever had to live the way I did? Why couldn't I have found him sooner?

"Just trust me, Paisley," he says when I stay quiet. "And everything will be alright. Okay?"

I nod, giving him a small smile. "Okay."

He places me back down on the bed and lets me get comfortable facing away from him as he puts the blanket over top of my body before shutting the light off. He squeezes his body as close to me as he can get, wrapping his arm tightly around me the way he always does when we go to sleep.

"I just want to tell your subconscious that I know kung fu and I am not afraid to karate chop the shit out of those monsters!" He jokes.

"You don't know kung fu, Harry!" I laugh.

"No, but don't tell your subconscious that! It needs to be afraid of my imaginary incredible karate chopping skills! Plus, if it's your dreams, I could know kung fu! I could be some crazy awesome monk who whips around super awesome swords and fights off bad guys! Oh, please make me that awesome!"

"Go to sleep Harry!" I roll my eyes even though he can't see. "You're clearly sleep deprived."

"Tell me I can do kung fu in your dreams first!"

"Babe--if that's what you really want, you can do kung fu in my dreams!"

"Thank you!--Wait--Did you just call me Babe?"

"You're so annoying! Go to sleep!"

I can feel him smile against my neck, as he intertwines his fingers with mine, holding me tighter to him. I've never felt safer with anyone, than I do when I'm with him. I know that if he could invade my dreams and fight off the bad guys for me, he would. That he would rip them from my memories so they wouldn't ever be able to remind me they were there to begin with. And I know that even when I'm not dreaming and he is next to me, that he would do anything to protect me from the bad people in the world if he had to.

"Babe--I like it. It's nice."

"Goodnight, Harry!"

"Goodnight, love."

**

A/N: More insight into her past! Tell me, do you like to read about what happened to her?

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