He didn't say anything as I clung onto him as if he was going to save me from my own mind.

But he didn't push me away, he didn't make a snarky remark, he just stood there, before wrapping his arms around me. Gently, he shut the door behind him without a word. When I realized he was guiding me, I panicked, looking to him and trying to plead for him to not take me back to my room, but it just came out as sobs.

My watch was beeping frantically, likely seeing my stress levels far above average. Scott scowled, taking my hand gently and turning my watch off. There was silence, but he still didn't speak, an arm around me before stepping into the empty elevator with me. As the doors closed, he pressed the ground floor, scanning his card, before stepping back.

He looked me up and down, seeing my unbuttoned shirt, exposed bra and tear-stained face. I'm sure he assumed many things, and I know I would never hear the end of it. I felt exposed, isolated like perhaps I had done the wrong thing. Maybe he would abandon me. The old him would have made a joke, laughed at me, or worse, report me. Tell me I was responsible for what happened to me; whatever it was that happened.

He pulled me closer. For a moment, I panicked. Surely he wouldn't try anything. His eyes drifted to my chest and I felt exposed once more, humiliated. I wanted to hide and run. Regret swirling with panic.

But then he started to do up my buttons.

"It's cold outside," he said quietly, not meeting my eyes as he carefully secured each in place. As he reached the top button, he straightened my collar, fixing my jacket. He didn't stare for the sake of staring as boys usually did at billboards of actresses. He adjusted his glasses, his eyes only focused on trying to read me.

The elevator doors opened to the ground floor, and he took my hand, interlocking fingers without another word. He didn't speak, and I couldn't muster the energy to either. Not as we left the apartment buildings, not as we walked down the empty night streets, and not as we waited by the train station.

As we waited on the seat, hands intertwined, I watched with shuddered breaths as my breathing caused condensation to swirl in the air. When a train arrived, Scott helped me on, still not speaking nor giving the slightest hint of what things he was thinking. As the landscape spun past, city buildings turning into a blur, I didn't recognize where we were going. Strangely, I trusted that wherever we were going, it would be better than home.

Whatever home was anymore.

My Mother used to describe home as a place you felt safe; where when you were scared, home would be your protector. But she never told me what to do if home was the place I was scared of the most. She never prepared me for a home that I would feel suffocated in.

The train stopped at a station I didn't recognize, and he helped me up, still without a single word, his hands so much softer than Jake's. I felt sick remembering his rough hands, his rough lips, and those smells of suffocating flowers. Walking down the dark streets, it felt familiar, but I didn't recognize any of the overhanging signs. I knew, however, the moment Scott stopped in front of the only store with its light on and opened the door.

"N-no..." I mumbled, frantically pulling on his sleeve. It was Jack's store, hardware engineering. The last time I had been there I was pinned to a door and feared for my life. Had it only been yesterday? Scott turned to me with a frown.

"Trust me," he said, and even though I knew I never had wanted to return to this place, I walked inside, the interior of the room a contrast to the cold night air.

The store smelt the same as it had before, but at least there were no flowers. It was dirty, but it was better than being where I had been. I shuddered at the thought of where I would be right now if Jake hadn't stopped. Where it would have lead. Imagining made me shudder and want to crawl under blankets and hide. Scott pulled me closer as Jack rounded the corner.

"No, get out," Jack said harshly, making me wince. He glared at me with a now-familiar hatred. Him, Evan, Jake. I was just making a list of people who scared me. People who trapped me. Scott took a step forward, but Jack stood his ground, "No, get out. Don't make me yell,"

"I need to spend the night here," Scott said plainly, staring his father down. They really were similar, same messy hair, same deep green eyes. Same deep and unwavering stubbornness. He glanced back at me as if making sure I was still there, despite the fact I had attached myself to his arm, "One night. Please."

"Please? Since when have you fucking said that?" he glanced to me, and I felt myself cower behind Scott, feeling like every movement was being examined. Scott stood firmly, squeezing my hand tightly. Finally, with a deep sigh, Jack shook his head, "You know how much trouble I'll be in? Evan was already pissed off,"

"Please Dad," Scott said again, "One night,"

"One night," Jack repeated finally, annoyed but tired, "You're fucking lucky I love you,"

I didn't know what it meant, but I trusted Scott. Jack pulled a string from the roof, and delicately, the panels on the roof seemed to unfold. It wasn't until they reached the ground that I realized they were a ladder, leading to an upstairs room. Scott nodded to Jack, before letting my hand go for a moment. I already felt lost without him, but only moments later, he helped me up.

The moment we were in the attic space, Scott flicked on a light as the ladder returned to its spot, closing into a floorboard. I looked around. It was small, with a tiny window covered in torn out book pages. Below the window, a makeshift bed. As I continued to look around, I saw maps, an old computer, and various other things. Scott moved me over to the pile of blankets next to the window.

He sat me down on the makeshift bed, adjusting his glasses. He stared at me, trying to read my expression. Staring into those eyes of his, I could only guess what he was thinking. He moved away, sitting down beside me.

And then, there was silence.

"I used to have nightmares," Scott began, unprompted, but hearing his voice was definitely welcome. It was comforting, familiar, but not in the same way as Jake. It was familiar like rereading an old book or hearing a song after years without hearing it. An unfamiliar familiarity. He took a deep breath before continuing, "My Mother was a harsh woman, unemotional. Dad always knew what to do but he would work such long hours,"

"So you would come here?" I asked, my voice shaky. Even speaking brought tears to my eyes which I wiped on my sleeve. He turned to me with a soft smile.

"Yes," he said quietly, before continuing to look around the space, and I wondered how long it had been before he had been here, dust collecting on almost everything. Looking to the window, I tried to identify what book had been used to cover it up, but quickly realized it was in another language. He turned to me, "You can stay here for the night if you would like,"

"Thank you," I said, and he nodded. I just wanted to sit here, listening to him talk. It was calming. But he stood, moving back towards the ladder and beginning to unhook it. I shook my head, standing, "Wait- wait, are you going? Please..."

"Would you like me to stay?" he asked, and I nodded, not knowing how I would be able to handle sleeping here alone. He paused, those eyes continuing to try and read me as if I was reading the pages of the book on the window. Eventually, he walked back over to me, sitting down beside me, "Do you feel comfortable telling me what happened?"

"Jake and I kissed..." I stammered, feeling my cheeks burn. He turned to me, examining my face for some sort of reaction, "Last night... and- and tonight-... we..."

"Oh," I realized what he thought, and I quickly tried to backtrack. I don't know what I had thought Scott to think, but he had jumped to a reasonable assumption. His gaze didn't wander, fixed on me, still trying to read me. He moved back slightly.

"No. It didn't- we didn't..." I shook my head, swallowing, before looking down at my feet. I was scared he would leave, that he would abandon me. I wanted nothing more than for him to stay here with me, "We almost but... he wouldn't stop-... I didn't want to- it just... he just... he wouldn't let me go... he kept going...even when I pushed him he just... didn't listen..."

I was struggling to breathe, trying to focus on not remembering, not focusing on it. All I could think of was those lips, his hands pushing me against the wall. How even when I asked he wouldn't stop. There was no response from Scott, and for a moment, I wondered if he was going to criticize me, ask me what I was making a fuss about. As I looked up to him, I was frightened by a scowl on his face.

"He is as animalistic as I presumed," he said dryly, getting up on his feet and beginning to pace the room, "I swear those two are more soulmates then anything,"

"You mean... Jessie?" I wondered for a moment if Jessie had tried something with Scott. The thought of them even kissing made me feel strange. He flinched at her name.

"Who else?" he was annoyed, clenching his jaw. Typically he was annoyed, but he seemed even more than I had seen him before. His pacing was sharp, each step deliberate, "Selfish, the both of them are. It's always about them. I was actually thinking Jake might have escaped something but it seems he's just as bad..."

"He's not..." I felt a pang of guilt, remembering how easily Jake had first blamed me. It wasn't right to blame him, not when it had been me to initiate it. Scott stopped as I said, "It was my fault... I- I started it-"

"No," he snapped, his eyes burning as he adjusted his glasses again, facing me. He was glaring, but not at me. The hostility he held directed at Jake, "That's not an excuse for his behavior. You presented yourself in my door, afraid to go back to him after he didn't stop. Those two deserve each other... vermin, filth, like two rats in a sewer..."

Scott sat down on the chair across from me, pausing for a moment, seething in anger. His foot was tapping impatiently on the floor, before he stood up again, pacing. He was unable to sit still, caught in this fury. He had spoken more in the past minute then he had all day.

"Why do you hate Jessica?" I asked. There was a pause, silence in the air as he stopped pacing. He turned to me, slowly, those eyes of his pinned on me. He took a step closer, trying to read me as he adjusted his glasses. The question had caught him off guard.

"She just annoys me, that's all," he said simply. But his eyes told a different story like he was having a fight with his own mind. I couldn't read those pages stuck to the window, but I was starting to read Scott. Somehow, he must have realized this, realized that I'd seen the small slimmer of a lie. He shook his head, "Why?"

"That's not all... is it?" I asked quietly. He seemed to falter, scanning me, trying to read every movement. But from the way his body seemed to be drained of all energy, I knew I was right, I knew that there was something Scott was hiding. Something he was trying to hide from himself.

And it didn't just start with Jessie.

He looked like he was about to dismiss the question, but he didn't. His face changed into that of defeat, gently sitting down beside me. His eyes drifted around the room, looking to the small bookshelf, the world map, the old computer, before finally resting on me.

"She..." he was struggling to find the words, "hurts me... I suppose,"

The very sentence sent a shiver down my spine.

"Hurts you?" I asked. He nodded, his jaw clenched and his hands fidgeting. He tried to keep his eyes on me, but couldn't. There was too much in the very phrase that it seemed to break him. But he straightened up, facing me again.

"Yes," he was trying to remain calm, his usual collected self. But there was that deep emotion I couldn't read lying behind his façade, "She hits me... she hits me when I call her Jessica instead of Jessie. She hits me when she's had a bad day at work. She hits me when I don't look at her in whatever way she wants me to,"

He paused, and for the first time, worry clouded his eyes as he looked to me. There was a hesitation, an inner fight with himself as he debated continuing. I didn't want to interrupt, afraid I would lose this moment of vulnerability.

"She strangled me when she found out you'd kissed Jake," Scott rubbed his neck, the faint bruising around it sending spikes of guilt through me. He couldn't meet my eyes now. He stood up, facing away, "She kicked me when I didn't try to fuck her. She yelled and screamed at me for not being Jake. For not kissing her. For not being what she wanted... for not being him,"

He paused, his back to me. It was sickening, and in some way, I felt it was my fault. That had I not even been in the picture then maybe it would have all worked out; that things wouldn't have been as awful as they were.

"She would hit me then tell me how perfect Jake was, how pathetic I am..." he continued, the words a clear struggle, "That I'm not enough. Why would I? I'm weak, critical, unemotional, unloving... I'm not anything like Jake, I can't fight, I can't protect people, I can't love her. She called me a failure when she saw me after the hospital. Told me Jake wouldn't have gotten himself hurt. I can't even help anyone but myself..."

"You helped me," the words left me before I could second guess them. I regretted it, wishing I had stayed silent. Perhaps I had ruined the one chance at understanding him. But as he turned to me, I wished I had spoken sooner.

Scott was crying.

"Did I?" his voice was broken, defeated, all masks had faded. His eyes had swarmed with tears, looking as if he was going to falter any second. I stood, ignoring my own shaking legs as I moved to him, before throwing my arms around him, feeling it was the only thing I could do.

"Yeah..." my words were caught by my own tears, pulling him closer, "You really did,"