I step out of the shower, feeling just as demoralised as I did stepping in. The dense feeling in my chest remains as I drag my eyes up to the mirror.

A sunken girl stares back at me, wrapped in a towel that does nothing to cover her shame. My wet hair is matted around me in tangles, clinging to my cheeks, which are pink from the heat of the water. I run a hand through my hair, shuddering at the memories of him gripping and pulling it as if it didn't hurt me.

The dead weight in my chest still torments me, thrashing about like a caged beast. Emotion ricochets off every ridge on my body, but I conceal it all well behind a plastic smile.

I dry off and block out my thoughts, wishing that erasing mistakes from your life was as easy as making them.

Glancing over at Slater's shirt on the sink, I instantly regret hurrying to the bathroom and forgetting a change of clothes.

The regret only lasts a moment, soon overwhelmed by a carelessness that I've never felt before. I just don't care anymore. Nothing matters. The world can throw whatever it wants at me now.

I step out, wrapped in a thick towel that falls down to mid-thigh. The chill of the air conditioning greets me first, followed by a definitely-present Slater.

"Do you feel any better?"

I glance over at him, too drained of energy to feel embarrassed after the many times he's seen me in vulnerable states over the months I've known him. The prolonged stinging in my abdomen remains, and that alone is enough to distract me from reality. Nothing matters anymore.

"No," I mumble, leaving a trail of water behind me as I walk over to my drawers to rummage for clothes.

Slater sighs and before I can grab an outfit and retreat to the safety of the bathroom, comes to stand beside me. Or rather, tower over me.

A soft grip turns my chin to face him.

For a while, he just looks at me as if he's trying to find something behind my eyes. I just return an emotionless stare, burying my hurt deep down below a thick layer of numbness. Nothing matters anymore.

"Why were you apologising yesterday?" he asks, voice gentle, as if he is afraid that any sudden noises could break me.

I dart my gaze away as soon as the query leaves his mouth. I can't tell him that I was begging for forgiveness because I knew he would blame himself if he ever found out that I did all of that for his job's sake. For his sake.

He'd destroy himself.

"Careful, Slater - it could be assumed that you actually care about me," I find myself saying as cover-up, the bitterness in my tone not going unnoticed by either of us.

I quickly walk back into the bathroom with a change of clothes, the door shutting behind me.

◈ѕlaтer нarтley◈

I watch the door close behind her.

What is going on in that head of hers? That response was clipped and abrupt. I can only wonder what she's hiding behind that thick skin of hers...

I'm almost sure I know what happened last night but until she confirms it, and that means us sitting down and actually having a conversation about it, I can't take action.

What I don't have a clue about it why she was apologising.

Did she think I'd be angry for some reason? How could anyway be angry after what she's just gone through? I can't even begin to imagine her pain.

I heave a sigh and sit back down on the end of my bed, leaning forward onto my knees to run a confused hand through my hair.

I don't even care if I'm meant to keep my distance from her and not intrude. I'm no longer seeing her as my student, but as another human in desperate need of my aid. This has gone too far. I'm jeopardising so much but I can't find it in me to prioritise anything else other than Quorra at the moment. I need answers, and I need them as soon as possible.

A few moments later, the bathroom door creaks open. The action is somewhat timid, capturing my attention as Quorra shuffles out in a pair of sweatpants that tighten around the ankles and a loose shirt.

"I, uh," I remember to inform her, "called in another off-day for myself. You also don't have any lectures today."

Instantly, she frowns, and for a moment I'm just glad that she is showing some kind of emotion.

"Couldn't you get in trouble for calling another day off considering you just had one and this one isn't for a... personal reason?" she asks, her voice faltering by the end of her sentence.

I intensify my gaze on her, "I assure you, this is personal to me, Quorra."

She doesn't reply, instead sitting down at her desk. A thick layer of discomfort settles over us. Every few seconds I'll see her bite down on her lip as if she's about to rip the flesh off, or sharply intake a breath and hitch her shoulders up slightly.

It is clear that she is hurting a lot more than what she's letting slip past her steel façade.

I can only hope that some day she'll trust me enough to show how badly she's really hurting inside.

ㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡ

● qυorra neverѕea ●

I shut my laptop angrily.

It slams closed so loud that I anticipate damage the next time I open it. But I don't even care, I'm too preoccupied with hating my situation. Hating myself.

This is stupid.

I've been holed up in this ridiculous room for hours now, wasting time away, feeling sorry for myself one second, and despising my very guts the next. I'm a mess of emotions and tears are bound to be shed at some point. I need to get out and do something. Anything.

Everything still hurts - emotionally and physically - but I'm not ready to face the situation yet. All of that hurt and betrayal is converting itself into anger.

I don't want to stop and give myself time to think, because them it will all come crashing down on me and swallow me whole. I want to be content for just one more day. One more.

I swing my legs over the side of the bed and storm over to my dresser, yanking it open and searching for a jacket.

Slater, who's been accompanying me this entire time, sits up at my unexpected action.

"Are you heading out somewhere?" he asks.

He's been on his toes about every little thing he says to me lately, as if I'm so brittle and the tiniest force could break me. It's infuriating that he seems to care so much.

"No. Yes? I don't know," I grumble in return, slamming the drawer closed once I find a jacket, "I just want to get out of here."

He nods in understanding. It's also so infuriating how he just gets everything I say. He's so faultless that's it's sickening. Why can't he do one thing wrong? I look so immature next to him.

"You're so... infuriating!" I insult spontaneously, annoyed at my limited vocabulary and growling out my frustration as I mercilessly thrust my feet into a random pair of shoes.

Slater is simply stunned for a while.

I take the opportunity to practically throw the door open and off its hinges and storm out like a restless child.

I make it halfway down the corridor before I hear the door shut behind me and look over my shoulder to see Slater pulling on a jacket and trying to hop into a pair of shoes.

"Quorra, hang on!"

He soon catches up to me as I struggle to contain my scattered emotions and resort to silently seething.

"You owe me a meal for today," he says as we walk downstairs.

I despise the normalcy he's trying to restore. I'm not looking for stability, I'm looking for a distraction. My hands itch to pull at my hair in frustration, but I restrain myself and direct my negative energy to my feet, which now plant themselves harder into the ground.

I quicken my pace slightly to keep up with his long strides, wishig food could take my mind off things.

We end up ordering a sandwich each at a small shop near the university and walk around the street, eating them. Even though I'm not hungry, I force myself to take a bite out of my turkey sandwich to compensate for the silence. I can't distinguish whether the gruelling sensation in my abdomen is hunger or pain from last night, but I don't want to know.

Nothing matters anymore.

I breathe in the fresh air, feeling it rush through my body and wishing it could wash out my worries. A swift breeze dances past, dusting the tips of our ears a light pink. I almost relax the pleasant feeling of the limitless outdoors, but something holds me back.

"Quorra, I have to do something about it," Slater murmurs.

Knowing what he is referencing, I quickly reequip my shield and swallow my bite of food.

"But do you?" I fire back, caught off guard when he stops walking and lightly pulls on my wrist to halt my movement too.

I look behind me to see an incredulous expression, "Did you just question whether we should take action against someone who has... abused you? In that way? Quorra-"

"No, Slater. You don't know what I went through last night. You don't know why I went through what I did. You don't even know who was involved. You don't know shit, so don't act like you do," I snap coldly, maintaining a solid gaze.

He exhales as if the last of his hope is crumbling, "Then tell me, Quorra."

I flinch even at the thought of revealing anything to him, but as soon as he tugs me towards a nearby bench, I know I have no choice. My anger dissolves like sugar into coffee, peeling back to reveal a vulnerability that I've been trying to block out. I don't want to face the truth. I'm not ready. I wanted one more day to be content with myself. I can't do this.

I sit down on the sturdy wood reluctantly, my jacket doing little to protect me from the biting cold. Losing my appetite (which was never present begin with), I place my food aside.

As I open my mouth to talk, I feel as if every muscle in my body is working against me, begging me not to tell him a thing. I can't get a single syllable out and as I realise this, I clamp my jaw shut. How am I meant to talk about the most scarring experience in my eighteen years of life as if it's nothing? I haven't even acknowledged it myself, and I don't want to.

The brisk wind whittling past does little to calm me down, but a soothing hand smoothing out the back of my fleece covering does. I tense up for a moment but soon relax into the feeling. This feels so different to his touch. Warm, welcoming...

Why can't I forget?

"Take your time, we don't have anywhere to be," Slater reassures under his breath, voice deeper than usual and barely louder than the breeze.

I search for solace in the depths of his voice and settle into it, breathing out and closing my eyes. He's not the same, I remind myself. He's nothing like him.

Fear rises to the surface above all my other emotions, forcing me to look at it face to face. It envelopes me whole, like a predator. I find myself quivering, even though my jacket wraps tightly around me.

"Early that morning, you left to meet your family," I start shakily, trying to stabilise myself, "I... had a lecture that day too. Since you weren't there, we had a substitute. In the middle of the lecture, Hannah... she slid me a note. It said that... that he had been staring at me for a while."

I feel Slater's heavy gaze fall on me.

"Grant?" he asks, hesitant but needing confirmation.

I physically recoil from his name but force out a nod. My mind sucks me into a memory where I'm screaming for him to stop and leave me alone. The feeling in my stomach worsens, as if I'm physically back in that moment. Never again. Please.

With some struggle, I manage to put to sleep the memories stirring in my head. The sensation in my abdomen doesn't leave.

"The lecture ended uneventfully. We were filing out when we bumped into him - Hannah and I. He got on our nerves for a little while," I swallow uncomfortably at my huge understatement, "and then I couldn't stand him being so rude anymore, so I asked Hannah to leave so I could deal with him alone. I gave her my room card and told her to wait for me. She argued but left after some convincing."

At some point during my storytelling, Slater had placed a hand over mine. I absent-mindedly lace my fingers through his, gripping tighter than I should as he rubs his thumb over my chilled fingers.

Tears moisten the back of my eyes but I blink them away, shaking my head as if I can forbid them from reappearing.

With a deep breath and murmur of comfort from Slater, I continue the painful story.

"Then it was just me and him. He said he just wanted to talk to me and see how I was doing. He invited me back to his room but of course I said no. I turned away but he grabbed my wrist and... threatened me. It was something too important for me to just tell him to get lost. I had to. Slater, I had to go," I dare to turn to face him, the pent-up tears finally brimming.

Slater looks back at me, a conflicting mixture of confusion and anger seimming in his dark eyes, "What was the condition?"

I ignore his deadly question, begging the memories to stay undercover as they yell to be set free. I'm too far gone now. Nothing matters anyway.

And so, I keep going.

●（=｀～'=） ●

How do you think Slater will react to the news of Quorra going through that for the sake of his job? We'll find out next chapter.

I want to thank everyone who shared their stories or even the fact that they've been through abuse in the last chapter. I am incredibly grateful and wish you all the best xx

I missing writing so much ughhhhh. There's only one more prewritten chapter now, but 32 is halfway done too so hopefully you guys won't have to wait long for the next next chapter. Thank you guys so much for your patience, I love you guys!

Over and out,
Agent Spud 🥔