What the hell did I do? Those are the only words that run through my mind clearly as I push through the mass of bodies clogging the stairs and hallways. New York winters are fierce, especially the nights, and even though it's only October it's obvious that most of the party has moved indoors.

Michael's cruel words also begin to come back to me, my body swaying dangerously as I squeeze down the staircase. Music pumps, people laugh like they're having a good time. I wish I was. I don't know if it's the alcohol, but my stomach starts to lurch in the worst way, and I can feel tears of humiliation pricking in my eyes again.

I'm mentally kicking myself so hard, for coming here, for drinking, for letting myself be alone with Michael, no matter how tempting it was. Luckily, I make it to the bottom of the staircase without tripping or curling up on a step to cry, and grip the wooden banister for balance. I knew Michael was an ass, I knew it, but I didn't expect him to ascend to this level. I at least thought he was human. And that he had a soul.

"Skip!" A hoarse cry rolls over the chaotic noise of the party. I look back up to the top of the stairs, and there he stands. His body language has completely changed, his eyes are sad and almost warm. They also hold a touch of red, like he's been... crying. "Skip, please come back." I scoff, feeling my tears swell even more.

"Please." He pleads, gripping the rail and inching forward. What the hell is wrong with him? Is he dumb? Does he really think I'm gonna fall for it again and come right back for another dishing of emotional pain? The memory of his words stab me again in the chest, which is enough to send some of the tears pooling in my eyes over the edge. I need to get out of here, I need to get away from him for good and stop involuntarily going back on the mental promises I make to myself.

I wish I hadn't even smelled that stupid vodka, because if I'd stayed away from it getting out of here wouldn't be such a huge problem. I seem to smash into everything as I turn and run from the staircase, my legs are controlling me now. I search the crowd for familiar faces, but it's not exactly easy. The lights are dimmed, and a cloud of cigarette smoke hangs low over the partygoers.

I run head first into Nat, right as I hear Michael call out my name again behind me somewhere, somewhere close. Panicking, I grip her forearms. She only eyeballs me, unsure of whether to allow this or push me off. "Where's Jay?" I burp, and she waves away the fumes of my alcohol consumption with a frown. "He left a while ago, looking for you. He thought you left and went back to the dorms or something." I sag, panicking even more. Jay, and his car left me at this party.

I can feel Michael approaching quickly and I've run out of ideas that'll get me out of here. Thinking quickly, I look up at her again. "Is there a tellie in here?" A tellie? Definitely the vodka talking. "Yeah, on the wall over there. Why?" I guess she doesn't seem fazed by my choice of words. I push past her without answering the question, and duck behind the table the phone is on.

I peek over the top to see Michael desperately searching for me, turning back and forth as he's jostled by fast-moving people. My throat's begun to ache and my cheeks are slick. I almost forgot I was crying. I pick up the receiver, and think to myself. What number to dial? I put in the first one that comes to my mind, but I can't put a finger on exactly who it is or where I got the number.

"What?" Will's deep and raspy voice sounds through the phone. "William?" William? I've definitely had way too much to drink. He pauses for a moment, and I sniffle. "Junior? Is that you?" "Well, um, I think so, Last time I checked." I don't know where I got his home phone number from but I kinda wish I hadn't dialed it. Panic's thrown off my vision, my stomach is still lurching and my heart races from the suspense of hiding from Michael.

"Are you alright? What's going on?" "Nothing," I sob quietly into the phone, cradling it between my head and shoulder. "What's all that noise? Where are you?" It's funny he's not asking why the hell I'm calling him at this hour on a Saturday night. "Junior? I need you to talk to me. Are you... crying?" "No." I sniff, wiping my eyes with the backs of my hands.

"Tell me what's going on. Are you ok?" He repeats almost sternly. I sigh a quivering breath. "Well, um, I'm kinda at this party, and... I drank like a whole bottle of this alcohol, and then... some things happened... I can't get home." By the time I finish, more tears are pouring down my face and my voice has significantly choked up. I want to kick myself for sounding like such a baby, but I don't have much control over my emotions right now.

"You need me." I shake my head rapidly, wondering why I thought calling someone, much less my boss, was a good idea in the first place. "Where are you?" Michael's head turns, and locks eyes with me. I swallow hard. "I gotta go." I set the phone down quickly and dive from under the table, trying to disappear with the crowd.

"Skip!" My throat lurches, and I fight down the hall until I reach a bathroom, shutting it and locking it behind me.

He bangs his fists against the door as my back slides down it slowly, calling my name. Begging me to forgive him, begging me to let him in. Telling me that he's sorry and he didn't mean a word of it. My head on my knees, I cry softly, watching mascara-stained tears drip onto the fancy marble flooring.

I sit there for a long time, and eventually his banging lets up. I hear the friction of his body sliding down, him plopping to the floor. "Skipper." He finally whispers, sticking his long fingers underneath the doorframe.

Something steels inside of my chest, something that wants me to get off the ground and stop crying, running and hiding like some bitch. I didn't think these things before I met Michael.

I listen to that thing inside of me, rise off of the floor, and wipe my eyes. I'm sure I just messed my makeup even more, but with tonight's events there's no way it could've been fresh anyways.

I throw the door open to find a sitting Michael, staring up at me with big, round, and remorseful eyes. I square my shoulders, lifting my chest with faux-confidence and storm past him, my arms stiff and my fists balled at my sides. He dives up off of the floor, following after me quickly.

"Skip, stop." He says, grabbing at my wrist. I manage to slip his hold, and pick up to a run. He follows right after, his legs pumping faster than mine can. I'm not going very fast, I know, but if I did that vodka would make a reappearance all over his white carpet.

"Let me explain myself!" "Leave me alone!" I guess I never stopped crying. "Please! I didn't mean it, and you know it! You're too scared to face the truth so you're running away!" I shake my head. "No!"

I manage to push open the front door, and the bitter and cold wind whips against my skin. It actually feels good, combatting the sticky and vodka-induced heat sticking to my skin. He's beginning to tire chasing me down the driveway. "I'm just your plaything! Can't you find another girl to torture?!"

"No! I can't," He pants, doubling over with his hands on his knees. I stand a few feet away shifting from foot to foot. "You're different from any girl I've ever known!" He yells, and I stare at him. "You're more special, you're more beautiful.. you know everything about me!" "So?" I whimper.

"I... I care about you!" He calls out, and I laugh. I just throw my head back and laugh, and his face falls. He thought that would do anything. "You really think that I am naive and stupid enough to fall for that line? Do you think that would really work?" I turn and limp off a few feet, the pain growing in my chest.

"Skipper, please..." I half turn back, fresh tears working through dried ones on my cheeks. "And even if you do mean it? It's not enough."

I turn again and run crookedly down the dark street, disappearing under the dim light from the lampposts. My breathing is shallow, my throat closing up. The intensity of the situation, the bitter words, everything sticks in my throat as I clutch my neck, trying desperately to breathe through my sobs.

As I lean against a lamppost, panicking inside, the thick and unmuffled sound of a truck engine rumbles down the street. I expect it to pass, but it doesn't, a big and black four-door pickup coming to a stop near me. "Junior?" Oh god. How the hell is Will here?

I straighten up, limping away again. "Go away!" I sob, not even attempting to clean up the mess that is me right now. "Look at you, you're a wreck! What's going on?" Will yells out of the passenger window, cruising slowly along side me. "How did you even get here?" He looks away. "How did you even know where I was?"

"That doesn't matter! Come on, get in the truck." I shake my head. "Just leave!"

"You're upset, something's obviously happened, and you're alone on a Saturday night. It's not safe for you." "Just... go back to the hospital! I'm sure you're missing some surgery!" "No! Come on, Junior."

I break out into a run, which I'm sure is pretty ugly and lopsided. I hear the brakes sound on his truck, the sound of his car door opening. "Junior!" "No," I whisper in a hiss as his boots pound against the pavement after me. Why is this neighborhood so dark, so big?

His strong hand wraps completely around one of my arms. He's either got huge hands, or I've got skinny arms. Probably both things are true. His grip is tight and stops me from running. "Tell me what's going on." I fight him hard, leaning away. "Just let go! Let me go."

He puts both hands on my shoulders, just standing there and waiting for me to quit. Eventually, I tire of fighting, and my knees wobble with fatigue. I look up at him, studying the red bandanna he wears today.

"Tell me what happened." I sniff, wiping my eyes. I'm such a crybaby. "He... he tried to take advantage of me," I squeak, looking down. Will stiffens. "He tried to..." I nod hard. "And when I said no, he..." "It's ok, I get it." When you're upset, and someone asks you if you're ok, it makes it worse. It makes you cry harder. His soft and understanding voice works to that affect, and I soon start crying again.

"Oh, sweetheart," He whispers, wrapping me in his arms. His muscled, defined, and heavily tattooed attractive arms. I lean into his chest, crying into the soft cloth of his shirt. Right now, I don't care that he's my boss, I don't care that he's a grown man, I care that he's here for me, and that he smells like laundry detergent or soap, and some sort of spice.

His head rests on mine, and he waits for me to finish and pull myself together. His hair, long and soft, falls over my face a little. "Sorry," I apologize shakily. "It's fine. I can... take you back to school if you'd like." I shake my head still clutching him. "No, he'd... he's looking for me, and he'd find me there. Plus.. I'm kinda drunk and I can't show up there like this..."

"Kinda? You called me William, and I could probably get drunk off of your smell myself." I flush with embarrassment, laughing nervously. "Ok, well..." "I could... take you to my place?"

That sounds pretty good for some reason. I have no reason to trust him, I don't even know him. For all I know, going with him to his place could be more dangerous than these streets at night. I nod. "Sure."

I smile at the way he called me 'sweetheart' as he helps me into the cab of his truck.

UGGHH I hate not being able to update at much as I like it irritates me. Anyways, tell me how you feel about this one. Isn't Michael such a bipolar dick sometimes? (Not in real life because here on earth he was such a sweetie) Vote, comment, and keep reading :)