Uncontrollable tears streak down her face, unending, as she clutches the male shirt that hangs loose and large around her tiny frame, looking like she desperately wants to rip it off herself as she fidgets with the buttons. She quivers on the spot, feet fumbling to find a place as her eyes fill with more tears and undoubtedly blur her vision.

She physically shakes, eyes cast to the ground as a cloud of shame surrounds her. A gut-wrenching sob follows.

"I'm sorry," she cries.

My heart crumbles as I spring to my feet and quickly pull her towards me. The last of her walls crash to the ground as she sobs, hands fisting my button-up in need of a lifeline.

She continues to mumble apologies between her tears, shaking her head violently. I struggle to catch my breath, at a complete loss for words.

Sitting down on the edge of the nearest bed, I pull her closer to me, uncaring of whatever situation we have between us. What on earth is going on?

"Quorra, it's alright," I comfort, stroking her shuddering back with one hand, although there is no strength behind my words.

Still, she shakes in my arms, breaths swift and shallow as she burrows into my neck and refuses to show me her dampened face.

"Slater, please, I'm sorry," she begs for forgiveness, drowning in her despair as my heart aches with a pain I've never felt before.

Unable to comprehend her apologies, I let out a short, frustrated breath, "Quorra, for what? You haven't done a single wrong to me. You've been perfect," I swear, lost.

At that, she screams out a completely heartbroken sob, "DON'T say that! That's what he told me! I'm not! I'm not perfect! I'm the furthest thing from it!"

She balls her hands into fists as I inhale a short breath at her reaction. Before I can further process her words, a small punch hits me in the chest. I immediately stop her other hand from making contact with me, instead pulling her arms behind me to wrap us in a hug.

She convulses around me as if caught in a seizure, arms falling limply as I feel her tears soak through my shirt.

Acknowledging that every curve of her body is pressed against mine, I tense up. For a brief moment, I close my eyes.

She's wearing nothing underneath this shirt.

All of a sudden, she pulls back, still not looking at me but rather down at her lap and her legs which surround mine.

A possibility dawns on me as I reevaluate the situation and its cause. My hands clench into tight fists at my side as I inhale a deep breath and try to push aside the idea. I refocus my attention on attending to Quorra, not even wanting to think about what could have happened to her, or who.

"Off, take it off," she demands, terrified fingers fumbling to unbutton the unidentified shirt on her.

She manages to get three buttons undone before I glimpse naked skin and the valley between her breasts and quickly stop her hands, looking away and biting my tongue.

"Quorra, you aren't wearing anything else, hang on," I murmur, as she furiously swipes at the tears running down her face, leaving angry red marks where she scrubs too hard.

I turn around and grab the shirt I slept in, not wanting to move her from her current position. When I turn around, she's already ignored my words and unbuttoned two more, struggling through her watery vision as she holds back more tears. I notice blotchy red marks all across her neck and upper chest, polluting her smooth skin.

Averting my gaze, I remind myself that if she was in complete control of her mind, I'd be the last person she would want to see her like this.

Gently draping the soft shirt over her head, I blindly help her remove her previous shirt and pull mine down over her. It falls down at pools at her waist loosely as I carefully pull her arms through the holes. She falls back into my chest, defeated.

Hours pass.

Several confused, distraught, and broken-hearted hours.

Eventually, Quorra's bawling discontinues and her tears dry up, replaced with hiccups. Her trembling stops as well; she simply leans against me, weak.

I look down at my watch quietly.

4:55am.

My eyes are heavy, in need of sleep, but the worry over the girl in my arms overrides any other emotion in me. A numbness starts in my chest as I realise I can't avoid the probable reason for her state forever.

How dare he lay a finger on her.

"S-slater?" Quorra calls through a clouded voice.

I hum in response as she closes her eyes at the rumbling sound in my chest.

"Don't hate me," she pleads quietly, "Please don't."

Closing my eyes, I calm my racing heartbeat and the rush of emotions exploding in me. Why would she say that?

"I could never hate you, Quorra," I reassure, "No matter what you do, no matter how much you hurt me, and no matter how much you hurt yourself."

Her uneven hiccups fill the air for a while as I look down at her.

She feebly wraps her legs around my waist as I lift her up, walking over to her bed quietly. As I attempt to place her down on the soft covers, she clings to me tighter, "No, not alone," she mumbles in exhaustion.

I bite my lip and breathe out.

Just once, Slater. It doesn't mean anything. Look at her.

Abiding my thoughts for once, I bring her to my bed instead, placing her on the side that faces the wall. As I pull away to get changed, she refuses to co-operate.

"I need to change," I say gently, and she reluctantly lets go, curling into a ball as I pull the covers over her.

I undress and redress in a pair of trousers before rejoining her, trying not to disturb her half-asleep state as I slip into the duvet and place my head on the other end of the pillow.

You are standing next to your fucking grave, I think to myself, wishing I could send the message over to the only person I know that would do this to her.

I grip my hands into tight balls at my sides, biting down on the inside of my mouth as I try to wash away all the negativity in my mind.

Quorra, please be okay.

● qυorra neverѕea ●

The room is silent apart from my uncontrollable sobbing. Every gasp leaves me broken, as if the air itself is poisonous. Piercing, concentrated pain stabs me over and over and over and over in my stomach, screaming for attention as I clench the pillow closer to my face to muffle my crying.

An ice-cold, slender finger trails down my temple to my chin. An emotionless voice follows, "You were perfect, don't worry, sweetheart. You were perfect."

My eyes whip open.

I swallow, my raw throat protesting as pain hits me immediately. The ache inbetween my legs feels worse than yesterday, and spreads all the way across my abdomen like fire.

I would cry but it feels as if there's not one drop left to squeeze out of me.

My heart feels heavy, as if it might drop out of me at any second. A hollow feeling infects me like the plague as I bathe in the silence and sound of my guilt.

I feel like such a slut.

Worthless.

Weak.

Unwanted.

In an attempt to find a distraction, my attention is drawn to the weight above my hip. Panic rises in me but as soon as I realise that it's not him, I swallow and recollect my breathing, hatred already rising in my chest.

Hatred towards him. But more so towards myself.

I should've stopped it.

You couldn't've.

But I should have found a way.

I turn over onto my back, the events of last night washing over me. I remember every detail of it.

Of the rape.

Every second is engraved in my mind, tattooed permanently, scratched in so deep that the scar can never heal. It replays in my mind. All I can hear is his cooing in my ear as I screamed for help and sobbed through the pain. All I can hear are his guttural sounds of pleasure as he roughly forced himself onto me.

He didn't care. He didn't stop.

He kept going, as if he didn't notice the blood.

I place my hands over my eyes, trying to forget.

Why can't I forget?

It hurts, it stabs me in the chest. It's a knife that never stops plunging into my heart until I've no more blood to shed. It pools around me like a reminder of my shame.

It's my fault.

I did this to myself.

Worthless.

Weak.

Unwanted.

Abused.

"Quorra?"

The deep, husky morning voice beside me rips me from my thoughts.

I look over to my right, my blank eyes meeting a chocolate gaze. Slater simply stares at me for a moment, searching my face for any emotion. Any. I can tell his search is in vain.

Am I meant to show my weakness? I feel broken, used, and humiliated.

Humiliated that I let him do that to me. Disgusted that I let him do that to me.

"What?" I force the word out, the sharp sound cutting through the silence.

Hurt flickers in his eyes but he covers it up well with concern, "How are you feeling?"

I scoff.

"I knew it," I instantly reply, turning to face the ceiling and crossing my arms, "I knew you would treat me differently. Stop it, I-I'm still the same Quorra. Nothing's changed, just stop it!"

Sensing my fragility, Slater tenses up. With my guard built up ten times higher and thicker than it's ever been before, he knows he's on thin ice. A sort of remorse sprouts in my heart but I repress it, keeping my eyebrows furrowed and expression stern.

"Alright, we don't have to talk about it right now," he allows, voice barely there as his inner conflict resounds in every syllable, "but eventually, we do."

I bite my tongue hard, knowing that he is speaking the truth.

"I know," I mutter, trying to sit up.

Remembering my soreness a second to late, I visibly wince and freeze mid-movement. Agony tears its way through my stomach and legs as I grit my teeth, inhaling and exhaling rapidly though a tight jaw to drown out the pain.

A hand rubs my back comfortingly as the striking moment slowly fades away. I open my eyes a few seconds later, regaining normal breathing and frustrated at the involuntary tears behind my eyes. Fully aware that I'm wearing absolutely nothing under this one article of large clothing, I shrug Slater's hand away.

"I'm going to ruin him, Quorra."

It's so quiet that I barely catch it.

"What?" I ask, snapping my head to Slater without moving the rest of my aching body.

His darkened eyes meet mine, unadulterated fury hiding in their depths. Still, he talks in a calm and composed manner, "There are only so many reasons why a beautiful girl comes back to her room in nothing but a men's T-shirt, reduced to tears. I'm not letting anything happen to you again, Quorra."

I swallow back my initial emotions.

"I'm not," I whisper, looking down at my hands, "I'm not beautiful. You can't say that just because you now pity me, Slater."

Another kind of anger fills his heated gaze, almost frustration, "I despise pity, trust me. I do not pity you. I hold a lot of emotions towards you and pity is not one of them. Quorra, do you really think I would be like that? Here's one thing I feel towards you - admirance."

Taken aback by his sudden kindness, I shake my breath and release a short breath, "Stop it. You normally act so distant from me. Why are you being friendly now? I don't like it."

I purse my lips at the shakiness in my voice, irritated with myself. Once again, there I go being weak.

Pathetic.

I give a whole new meaning to the word priceless.

Slater is stunned into a silence by my words, and doesn't reply. I take the opportunity to get up. He swings his legs over the side of the bed to give me a clearer path, as I slept on the inside.

I say 'slept' but I was half-awake the whole night, shivering even though I was more than warm enough with the human radiator next to me. Weaving in and out of nightmares and reality is unpleasant, but honestly, I couldn't tell the difference last night.

Every cell in my body groans as I try and get up. My lower abdomen is the worst, feeling as if it's been ripped open by a chainsaw and stitched back together with a blunt needle and thick, fraying thread.

Slater doesn't help me get up, thankfully. I don't need anything else to add to my feeling of helplessness.

I limp across the room to the bathroom, hugging Slater's shirt to my body as it only just covers what it needs to.

Showers wash away dirt and grime like magic, but there's only so much you can do to cleanse yourself of deep, deep scars.

●（=｀～'=） ●

So... That happened. :(

I want to dedicate these few chapters to whoever has been through this kind of abuse. You've pulled through it pretty darn well, and if no-one else has told you yet, I'm pretty freaking proud of you.

I decided to update way earlier than anticipated because the last cliffhanger was horrible. Expect to wait a few days longer for the next update though. I'm starting to realise how little time I have to relax at all, let alone time to write. And even if I do get time, I split that between all my hobbies so it's a freaking juggling act :/ I really want to update every three days but I can't ughhhhh

Over and out,
Spud 🥔