My head is stuck between my knees while I'm pulling my hair with my hands, trying so hard not to cry, not to scream.

It's okay. It's okay. That happened in the past. I'm here now. I'm not in that bathroom. I'm not looking at her dead body with blo... No. No, no. I shake my head that feels dizzy and I pull my hair even stronger, feeling how I'm pulling it straight from my roots.

The paramedics, my fingers covered with blood trying to dial 911, me begging mom to wake up, shaking her cold body and caressing her wet golden locks, the words of the people in orange saying sorry, she's gon... Everything just keeps spinning in my mind and I feel like I'm going crazy.

I get up, tripping over because of my dizziness and I feel an extreme urge to break something. To take something, throw it, and watch how it's going to break into tiny pieces, to watch it fall and shatter with a loud noise while I don't even flinch, so I can finally attend my heart breaking into a million pieces. As my hand catches some object that I can't see properly because of my foggy vision, blurred because of familiar tears, as I squeeze it strongly in my little fist, some voice appears in my mind before I can throw the thing and before its end comes this voice saves it from being broken for the rest of its life.

"Michael, throwing things isn't going to calm you down!"

"And what do you want? What do you want? To break things and yell around? Do you think that it's going to do you something good? To help you. It won't, Michael. It won't erase your pain. Unfortunately, it won't."

Remember? Do you remember what you told him? My consciousness asks.

I nod, putting my hand down with the object in it which coldness is making my fingers freeze, and become numb, still wrapped around it.

Now you are doing the same thing.

I am.

But you were right back then. It won't help.

Yeah, it won't.

I sit on the floor, while tears stream down my cheeks like a waterfall.

But what the hell will help?

My consciousness doesn't answer this time. It's quiet. Because it doesn't have an answer. But I need it. And no one seems to have it.

Then his face appears in front of me. His eyes with redness in them, tears pricking, as well, filling them as the green circles of his orbs disappear under the moonlight that was shining down on us that night.

But then his face with happy expression replaces it, the face with that amused grin that used to irritate me, or so I used to think like that, while my heart loved each second of it, those damn dimples on each side of his perfect lips that I could never get enough of. His curls falling on his forehead while he caresses my cheek. I stretch my hand to touch his, but the image vanishes like ashes leaving only dust spreading in front of me, mixing and disappearing with the air.

I bite my lip, but more tears fall as my chin starts to tremble. A sob escapes my mouth and I cover it with my hand which is shaking, as well. But more and more tears fall and I realized one thing just now, exactly this very second. I realized something that I tried to forget, not to think about, or to even hide, as I always do. I miss him. I miss him so much. I miss him so much that it hurts. It hurts my weak body, soul, and most importantly my broken heart that was broken not just once but twice, and each piece of it hurts.

Now we come to the beginning of my story. This is the point from where I started telling you about my life. Remember that sentence in the first draft when I said that I thought how no one could break my heart twice and how I was wrong? Yeah, now you know who that was along with my mother.

You met him. You met the boy who won my heart and to whom I surrendered it, not realizing that he'd break it without thinking twice. He broke it in front of me, pulling one side from the other, tearing both of them so they are separated. And I had to watch that process happen in front of my eyes that day when he told me he didn't love me back. I watched all pieces of my heart falling on the ground, making that famous sound when something falls on the ground and breaks. I tried to collect them before I scurried because I didn't want to cry in front of him. To cry because my love that I had a hard time realizing that was even love, and not just my loneliness playing games with me, telling me how to find someone who can comfort me and fill that void of me that my mom's departure created, didn't love me back.

But when I ran away I didn't realize one thing. One piece of my broken heart was left with him. And now I'm missing that one piece without I can't put the heart back together. The puzzle with a picture of the heart can't be completed without that one piece that stayed with Michael probably trampled and ruined completely, not being able to be reused.

I'm sitting on the floor of an abandoned house in the industrial zone where the air is dusty and full of gas while I'm desperately trying to put my broken heart as it looked once. But the picture isn't complete. And I don't know how to gain back that piece that belongs to me, which he selfishly took, leaving me no chance to be that Stella I was before him. But do I really wanna be Stella before Michael? A bad bitch who used to break every single night staying on the floor under the moonlight, waiting for the sun to rise and erase darkness from her. But neither moon nor sun succeeded in erasing her darkness. Albeit, her dark side grew when she met that boy. Their demons united and ruined them both.

But I'm not here sitting with the piece of Michael's heart, as he is sitting with mine. And maybe our relationship was wrong and toxic and maybe we were never meant to work, but that doesn't matter now. I still don't regret any second I spent with him. Any.

At that moment, sitting in that old house of wood I wanted to do everything so I could be back in his strong arms, held by them, feeling protected from all the evil in the world. I'd do everything to inhale his mesmerizing scent that contained more cigarettes and alcohol smell, than cologne, but I didn't mind. There was that one thing. No matter how much my subconscious would try to tell me how I and Michael just weren't meant to be together, I still loved him.

And at that moment my silly mind made that decision that I'll try my best to make us work, even if he didn't love me. At that moment I didn't care if my feelings were returned. I just wanted to be next to him. To hug him, to kiss him, even if it was one last time. I needed to use my last time because I didn't have a chance to do so. His I don't love you back card hit my face too hard, came so out of the blue that I almost fainted, and being dizzy I couldn't think straight. I ran from him when in fact I needed to run to him, never from him. I should have never left him.

God (if he even exists) only knows what had happened to Michael and is he okay now. I remember that his father wanted to take his last name and how he panicked so much that he would go to foster care. Maybe he is in some foster family now. I don't know anything. I know shit. For fuck's sake.

See? Do you see how selfish you are Stella?

I pull my hair once more and that image of my dead mother is now replaced with Michael's and his bloodshot eyes. Even though I didn't see him when he... My sick mind begins to picture his pretty body covered with blood, his wrists...

Stop it, Stella, stop it. He is alive. He is fine... Well, that is debatable since I know shit.

I didn't even care where would he go and what would happen to him when I scurried. My feelings were hurt, my pride as well, and I just run, not thinking about him at all, but about myself. I'm so selfish. This is the millionth situation in which this world is trying to prove to me how selfish I am. I'm warned not to be selfish anymore, yet I continue doing it and not caring for other people. And again I was selfish at that moment because I was only thinking about Michael and not Myles who risked his life to run with me, nor about Chloe my best friend who brought her foster mother, who brought me clothes, and told me that I was her sister.

But, I could only think about him and only him at that moment, none of these kind people who cared about me, didn't cross my selfish mind.

Oh my God, who knows where is he even? If he's okay? Is he breaking things just how I wanted to do beforehand? Is he angry and punching the foster parents' faces, pissed that they put him there in the unknown house? I know exactly how that feels to suddenly live in the new house, surrounded by people you've never seen before, feeling scared that they can do something bad to you. Longing for your home and your family that might be gone.

And he might be alone now, facing all of this, angry and sad at the same time, because I know him, I do, I know that fear and sadness that lays underneath his mask, that resembles mine so much.

I left him alone in a situation like this. At the worst moment of his life. At the lowest point in his life. I left him, only thinking about myself and my love that isn't returned.

Fuck love! Who cares about it? I don't need it. Right? I can live without love, can't I? That is a shitty feeling, anyway. Right? Who needs it? Not me, obviously.

I storm from the room and quickly leave the small room that smells of wood and resin, trampling the grass that is not green, but black from the lack of sun, and stopped growing because of the gas that tucked into each thread of the short blanket that looks like an old one, that grew older faster and before its due, because of the circumstances. I scan the grey area looking for Myles.

"Myles? Myles!", I call, turning around and scanning the abandoned area through which not even wind is blowing, not anything is being blown, nothing, just nothing and the shivers from the empty space appear in my body, scaring the shit out of me. This surely looks like a space in which someone would kill me and leave me to die alone.

But where is Myles? Did he leave me? Did he decide to leave me, too? No, no, no. I only asked him to leave me for a short time, not forever. Why didn't I emphasize that? No, no, no. I start pulling my hair again, squeezing it in fists, so strong that my roots begin to hurt.

"Myles?", I sob, feeling my eyes beginning to water. "M-Myles?" My voice breaks and I almost fall on my knees when I hear the most angelic sound.

"Stella?" I turn around, colliding with his chocolate eyes and tiny freckles on his crook nose, and on the spot where he is supposed to have dark circles but doesn't have them. "Stella, are you okay?" His arms wrap around my waist, catching me before I can fall on the grass whose natural color look vanished, faded in the air, dispersing into the grey gas which smoke I can clearly see spreading through the grey sky. That same gas is choking not only plants, and nature that surely lacks here, but chokes people as well.

"I... I... thought that you left." My brows lower and I can bet that my face looks so sad and pathetic now with parted lips which are trembling as well as my chin is because I'm trying so hard not to cry.

"No, no. I would never leave." He removes his hand from my waist and I feel somehow strange without his touch and hands protecting me. No, Stella what bullshit are you saying?

He brushes his hands on his grey jeans that are showing his skinny legs perfectly. "I was just trying to fix the car that Klaus drove beforehand so we have by what to run if we... But we would, no one will find it." He shakes his head, when I gasp, opening my mouth, scared. "Anyway, I could never leave you." He approaches me and tilts his head, his expression so soft and vulnerable that I melt watching at it, sobbing quietly.

"Sorry my hands are dirty, I do not want to..."

I shake my head and my hands wrap around his neck before I can think straight, pulling him to me a little strongly.

What the fuck am I doing? I love Michael. Why am I hugging Myles? I warned myself to tell him that I still love Michael. And instead of doing that here, I am embracing the ginger boy who slept next to me the last two nights. But suddenly Michael's face disappears and I immediately forget why I was running to find Myles in the first place. I forgot how I should go and help the boy I love. Suddenly all of this vanishes when I looked at this ginger boy's face. His face dispersed both Michael's and my mother's bloody bodies.

Myles' hands are not hugging me back, but I can feel their presence so close to my waist, and I find myself being so sad that I can't feel them on my body, cupping my hips, keeping me protected, safe.

I shake my head once again, my hair flying to the sides. "I don't care if your hands are dirty, Myles. I'm all dirty." I pull away from the hug and look at his eyes as I catch his pupils being dilated in a second. "And you still touch me, don't you?" I tilt my head, trying to give him a weak smile.

"You are not dirty, Stella. You are not." He shakes his hand and one ginger lock falls on his forehead but before his hand can reach to remove it, I do it instead.

"I am. I am covered in mud. But you are here, next to me, not bothering to move. Not hesitating to touch me."

His hands covered in black, I suppose car oil, cup my cheek and make my lips pout slightly, while his lips just curl in a quick and short smile, but then his expression changes into a serious one.

"Do not say that. You are the best thing that happened to me, Stella. I would never walk away from you." I lift my head and notice how the space between our faces is really small and our noses are almost touching. "And you are not dirty. I know that you think that my brother made you dirty, and I know that you want to clean it so bad, but unfortunately cannot, but I assure you that I do not see any of that dirt. I do not." He smiles, cupping my cheeks stronger, yet gently. "I only see your beauty and I can never see your skin the way you do. Because it is all in your head." His finger taps my forehead and my eyes move a little more up to see the place on which he's pointing, but they quickly come back to his imperfectly perfect face.

"You are perfect. And I want you to see it. To be able to see yourself from my point of view. In which you are too perfect."

He lowers his head, and suddenly his eyes are no longer staring at mine, but at my parted lips. When I notice that I'm doing the same thing and my eyes are now focused on his thin lips covered with longer than the usual ginger beard. He cups my cheeks, squeezing them a little with his big thumbs that can cover my whole face, and moves his head closer, but before his lips can connect with mine I step back.

"Wait...", I inhale, looking at the ground trying to clean the mess in my head by blinking rapidly and shaking my head.

Michael, Myles, Michael, Myles. Their faces are changing so fast in front of me. I shake my head aggressively my head and frown, trying to get read of them.

"I'm so sorry, Stella... Oh, my God, what the hell was I thinking?", he curses and turns around, running his black dirty hand through his ginger hair that I managed to save from being cut. I see him shaking his head, his back turned at me, yet I can still see his face so clear, frowning, cursing himself for making the move for what I'm still not ready for. Or I don't think that I'll ever be.

"No, it's okay, Myles..." I step forward, but he keeps shaking his head, still turned. I take his hand, and he turns abruptly, so quickly that I startle and step back again, dropping his big palm from mine.

"It's not. No, I shouldn't have done that, considering that you still haven't..."

There is something about the fact that he isn't using abbreviations now. And that means only one thing. He's angry. But I hate that he's angry with himself, because as he said multiply times he could never be angry with me no matter how much I fuck up, he is never angry with me, even though I am. And right now I am, too, angry that I can't just get over Michael who clearly doesn't love me, and appreciate Myles' care, and give him the chance he deserved since the beginning, not giving his brother a chance, nor Michael. I always choose the wrong one, and this one time when the right one is in front of me, I can't choose him either.

I bow my head, remembering the reason I came to him. I came to ask him to take me to Tyler so I can finally find Michael and talk to him. But his chocolate eyes, his hand catching mine so strongly, and his cute freckles on his nose, over the space close to the eyes, where I suddenly want to brush my finger over are disturbing me, making me forget about the boy who hurt me more than once, yet I don't want to acknowledge it, not any time.

But here I am thinking that I hurt him, by leaving him alone in such a hard period of his life. In a second, I'm able to forget how he pushed my limits, how he never respected my decisions, and always questioned my actions, telling me to stop doing them like that was so easy. I forgot how his hands covered in blood touched me because he wanted to coax me into telling him what hurt me so much in my past. I've never thought of that twice, I moved on that pretty quickly as if it was nothing, not mentioning it when I really needed to warn him about not doing that. And if it was any other person I would probably do that, and distance myself, not seeing them ever again. But it was him. It was Michael.

He should have known that it was the thing that tempts me, that scars me and opens my wounds which I tried so hard to sanitize, so they can heal faster, yet the process of healing is taking way longer than I thought it would take. But, that green-eyes boy always opens those wounds that don't seem to heal, and even if they do sometimes just a little, even when they slowly start healing, he always opens them and lets them bleed not caring if I am or am not scared of that red liquid streaming from my body.

I was never angry with him. I forgave him every fuckin' thing in a mere of seconds. When they asked me to try to take him from his demons I ran the fastest I can, not bothering how I looked, was I tired, what time it was, was it day or night. But he didn't appreciate any of that.

If we're being honest, I wasn't the only selfish one. Michael was being selfish the whole time. But my seventeen-year-old self who fell in love so hard for the first time in my life that I couldn't see anything straight. That I was so blind. But love is blind, isn't it? I gave my whole self to that relationship, committing myself, not realizing that I was actually sacrificing myself and ruining myself even more if that was even possible at that moment. But, yes, it was possible. I did break myself even more.

And not only while being in a relationship, but more, later when I tried to save it. I was watching it break in slow motion, and the pain in my chest would increase each time the part of us would break, so bad that it wouldn't be able to be fixed, and usually, it wouldn't. So, I jumped to catch them all, all the pieces in my hand, even though I was jumping straight into the fire, I didn't hesitate at all. I didn't think, and I burnt myself.

I believed that it could be saved. That we could be saved. That Michael and I could be saved. And I thought that I could do that by being next to him, not bothering to feel love from his side. I thought that the relationship could last even if it was one-sided. Even if the love was one-sided. I thought that my love was enough for both. Hell, then I thought that I didn't need love, but I was ao wrong, you know it, I learned it later, but now I know it, too.

I needed love. I needed so much love so I could heal properly. And I didn't need that feeling of being satisfied and not being lonely, the one Michael was giving me whenever we were together. But the poor girl was sure that was love. She didn't know how the real love looked, how it felt. How love wasn't only about feeling, loving, caring, but understanding, giving others space, solving problems together, looking for a solution, and just being there for the other one, when the solution doesn't exist, or when you just have to wait, and let the time do its job.

When in fact the person who could give love to that poor was standing just a meter away. She was so blind. She wanted to hold onto that mysterious boy with tattoos and green bloodshot eyes, so much that she was scared to let him go, and really felt what love meant. In her heart that was a whole new feeling, a really strange feeling she has never felt before, and it was burning and waking up. No, it wasn't like the one she felt with Michael, because that was just being needy, and trying to fulfill the void of loneliness that she'd been feeling 24/7. No, that wasn't that, it wasn't the real love, at least not the love she thought she felt with that boy who always used to push her limits, not caring what he was saying to her in his outbursts, having that excuse of being intoxicated, and losing focus, apparently saying things he didn't mean in anger, and that poor lonely girl would always fall for that, forgiving him, even though she'd been so hurt.

But at that moment, while the ginger boy was looking at her sadly, apologizing with his big chocolate eyes in which she was drowning, but not in a good way, not in the way she almost drown in that pool, no she was relearning how to swim, again, she felt so confused. On the one side, there was Michael, the boy who won her heart after only one night, and that one-night-stand that was supposed to stay one but got her excited because she was intrigued by his big ass mystery, the biggest one she's ever seen in her life, and playing a little detective she wanted to solve it. The mystery of this boy was even bigger than her mother's departure. So, she wanted so badly to solve that puzzle, to discover his secret, thinking that maybe he could help her feel better that she has never succeeded in finding out the reason of her mother's reason to kill herself.

She loved mysteries, but at the same time, she hated them, because even though they would intrigue her, they were also, give her a headache, reminding her of the failure she did with her mom's case that faded, that it seemed it faded, yet it never did, always lingering somewhere in the back of her mind, nagging, and navigating her life from there, giving her that fear, the similar that the mysterious boy had, too.

So, the beginning of their friendship, was mostly just about that damn excitement, for both of them, actually, that constant adrenaline they would feel every time they were close to a new clue about the other one. And that burning fire inside them, that was moving them toward each other lasted only until they discovered one another's secret. That day in his bedroom in that fraternity when they gave each other a piece of them, that fire slowly started to extinguish. There was only left that feeling of being needy and longing for not being lonely, as they weren't when they would be with each other. They were just using each other every time some of them would feel those chains of loneliness wrapping around their wrists harder.

But in the process, the girl thought that was love, when in fact she was just attached to the feeling of being held in his arms, instead of arms of darkness that ended up being actually nothing other but his arms, that were actually choking her, but she didn't wanna admit that before someone else pulled her from him, before she nearly got strangled.

She even forgave him every fuckin insult, drinking, touching her with that crimson liquid she's so afraid of, breaking things, breaking her. She even forgave him the last thing, all because she felt safe in his shaky arms which longed for alcohol. But she couldn't see in her 17 young years that relationship, first of all, wasn't a relationship at all, that it was getting toxic, and that it already broke so hard, some of the pieces were lost, and that barely anything could be put back as it was once. It couldn't even be put from the roots, to make stronger, tougher ones, no it couldn't be.

Her addiction to him was toxic. That was it. He was addicted to alcohol, and she was addicted to him because he was her first. First to make her feel, first to discover her mask and take it off, looking at her face without any coverage. First to make her feel comfortable while being naked in the bed, being pleased and touched Iike no man made her feel. First love. Even if we keep saying that it wasn't love, to that naive girl it was. It was everything, and she thought that if she let go of that, let go of him, she would let go of herself, and lose herself, lose what she's been building. She already thought she lost in once when she told him what was behind those walls when she let them down for him, now she can't build again if he leaves their hostility.

It hurt to be rejected, her addictive feeling hurt to be rejected. First rejection, again that first. It hurt to find out that he wasn't addictive to her as she was to him. And it all hurt her little heart that couldn't take a that big amount of pain, especially not after her mother's death since which she longed for both love and safety, and thought she finally found it.

"Stella. Stella!", someone's voice snaps me from my thoughts. I open my eyes to see Myles kneeling, his knees buried in the mud, just where I belong, with what I'm covered, what I tried to tell him. Just then I realize that I was on my knees, as well, touching the grass without the life in it. But my hands were lifeless, too.

"I love him! I love him so fucking much! So much that it..." I touch my chest that starts moving up and down, slowly, while the air starts to vanish. No, not this again. "... that i-it h-hurts. I can't take it anymore!", I scream, crying at the same time, punching the ground with my fists hysterically.

She points on her heart with her shaky finger, while tears stream down her dirty cheeks from the car oil, merging with them and making her face smudged.

The moment she stepped back I knew that she was thinking about him. And I am so angry with myself that I had approached her so close that my lips were millimeters from hers. I was so ready to kiss her when obviously she wasn't. Why I didn't think of that.

Why do I only think of my needs? I need to kiss her lips so much. I have imagined that so many times, in so many places, her lips tasting like all tastes on this world. But it's all I can do- imagine. And why the hell did I think that I could finally experience what my mind was thinking so much of? I'm so angry that I want to facepalm myself for not being softer with her, gentler. I push her limits exactly like Michael. Maybe there is no difference between us.

I am so angry with what he did to her, yet here I am doing the same. What the hell is happening with me? What is this feeling that is pushing me to touch her, that gives me pain if I don't feel her under my fingers? That ruins my day and makes my chest a painful and opened wound if a day passes and my hands don't touch her perfect skin and gorgeous face? It's something I've never experienced before. Not even with Emily. I didn't have this urge to touch her every time, every moment, every second. I didn't feel that pain in my chest telling me to touch her and spreading through it if I don't do it. It's a completely unknown feeling to me and I don't know how to stop it.

But, I have to, because I don't make her happy. If I don't stop I will be the same as Michael and I do not want to resemble a person who hurt her so bad. She loves that person, my mind adds. No matter what he does, she will love him. Even if he doesn't love her back she will still love him the same with whole her heart. But she doesn't love you no matter what you do. No, no!

This is the demon who is trying to turn me on the side of the evil just how he got my brother. No, that will not happen. If she loves him, I do not care. I will love her still the same. I will wait for her even if that will last forever. And even if it's in vain, I will still wait. I do not care. As long as she needs to be happy and not cry like she is doing now.

"I know! I know!"

I bite my lip not to call her baby, while I wrap my arms around her, pulling her in a hug, and she buries her head in my chest, her little hands squeezing my old black shirt that must be stinking on sweat since I have been repairing the car for half an hour while she was being inside probably crying. She is always crying. I just want to wipe her tears and not ever see them falling from her emerald eyes. I want to see them shine while she is smiling widely, but that is so rare and happens almost never.

This reminds me of the night when I ran to her and hit her by the car almost killing her. The night when her small world broke all over again. The night she was so broken, trembling so much that she ended up having a fever, while she cried so hard telling me how he didn't say the words back. The special three words which make us all soft, stopping the attempt of the devil to make us join him. But when there is no one to tell you those words then you join there, his side, side of evil. On the side of the people who did not have anyone to tell them how loved they are. So, they became the devil's slaves in order not to feel lonely anymore, trying to make everyone else suffer like they once did, or still are.

"Shh, shh..." I comfort her, my lips brushing her hair that smells something between chlorine and grass.

Oh, that must be the grass on which blanket we are currently sitting. I do not know how to comfort a person whose love is not returned. I cannot comfort even myself when it comes to this. I just try to bury it somewhere down and forget about it, focusing on her happiness. But I cannot advise her to do so. It is so cruel to tell her to step aside and watch Michael from afar as I watched her with him.

"I-I need to s-see him... Please..." She lifts her head, sniffling, her nose a little bit red, while she searches for my eyes. "Please, Myles... I-I need to see him... Who knows where he is now. Maybe he is somewhere alone, drinking, and needs someone to be next to him and console him."

There is something about her still caring for him, after everything he's done to her. After he touched her with blood, knowing very well that she is terrified of it. I have never forgiven him that, to be honest. But, this just explains how pure she is. How kind her broken heart is, still caring for the person who broke it. But she knows how he feels because the feeling she is dealing with resembles the one she has been experiencing her whole life almost. They understand each other so well, yet they keep breaking one another.

It is so odd how the persons who are supposed to be the ones who understand one another have a capacity of breaking each other more than persons who do not comprehend them. But I guess that is just the power of that sentence that says the opposites attract. Guess the people who said it was more than right.

"Please, Myles. I have to call Tyler... H-he knows for sure where is Michael... I beg you."

Her fists squeeze my shirt tightly and I glance at them briefly then focus on her wet eyes with natural lashes. Her face is so beautiful without all that dark and heavy makeup she used to wear. I could never understand why was she using it anyway when she has a face like this. And no makeup can make it more beautiful.

"Okay. Okay. We will call him, I promise." Her face immediately enlightens and her lips curl in a small smile. "But I do not have a phone. I threw it away when we were in the car with Klaus and Jimmy so they cannot track us down."

"Oh, yes." Her smile disappears as fast as it showed up, and the grip on my shirt loosens, while she glances at the green blanket underneath our knees which is making them bruised. But, I do not care about little bruises. I have been having them my whole life. And this time I am not talking about the ones on my back, tummy, or anywhere on my body. Not talking about the physical one at all.

"I will find the phone, okay?" I lift her chin so that she looks at me. "Do not worry. I promise you will see him really soon."

I help her get up, while I swallow the bitter dumpling that formed when I almost said his name. I try to wipe the black ink from her cheeks, but end up smudging it more.

Dear diary, please do not start. Of course, I have to help her. I cannot tell her, no you shouldn't see him. How can you forbid someone who is in pain and in love with some person to see them? I am not the one who should open her eyes. Or am I?

Maybe I should wait a little bit.

Do I let her break a little more? My mind asks or that is you, my diary. I do not know what to do if I am being honest. But when she tilts her head, hair falling on her face, and looks at me like that with her eyes watering and tears coming from them, I know I can't say no.

"Can you stay here while I go and find a phone?"

She nods quickly probably not being able to wait anymore to see him.

And no, I am not jealous. I am concerned. Very concerned about her well-being.

"But, Stella?"

"Mhm?" She lifts her head, tugging the strand of her hair behind her ear, looking so sweet and vulnerable at the same time like an innocent dear on the road.

"Don't you think that we should first let Chloe know where you are?", I ask the question that has been on my mind since we had left the hospital, but she was so happy about starting our new life that I did not want to bring anything up to disturb that happiness. Like, I said her happiness is such a rare, but delightful sight. "She must be worried."

"Yeah..." She bows her head. "You must be right. Well, I guess we should call her first, and then I can just go to Tyler's house."

"You sure? I can take you now", I suggest, knowing how impatient she must be to see him. I know how it feels when you want to see one person you love when you are worried about them. Trust me, I experienced it so many times, with so many different persons.

"Yeah, call her. I mean when you find a phone." She waves her hand through the air. "I do not want her to be worried about me. I didn't think of her at all. I'm so selfish", she mumbles and wipes her tears.

"Okay, there is a phone a little far away, Klaus told me about it. Do you want to come with me or should I go alone?"

"Um... I want to stay here if that's o-okay."

"Of course it is. Come on wash your face and I will call her and go pick her up and bring her here, okay?" I cup her cheek and touch her nose without realizing what the hell I have done.

I seriously need to work on my gestures and stop touching her. But how can I when she is so perfect? Even now with a dirty face and dried tears on her cheeks, she looks so effortlessly beautiful. God, it is going to be so hard not to touch her. But I will do it because she needs time. But the time for what?

To forget him? To heal her wounds or time to come back to him? Will she really come back to him? Do I want her to go back with him?

Yes. If that is what makes her happy then.... yes, I do. But I still do not think that is the best idea, considering Michael's way with her, his behavior, and addiction. But let's go step by step, shall we? First I will call Chloe, maybe she could give me some advice. In the end, she is a girl. She knows how to handle these types of situations, doesn't she?

"Are you going to be okay? What is she... what if they c-c-catch you?", she asks scared, stammering.

"They will not, I promise you, b... Stella. Okay, trust me, I am coming back with your best friend, I promise. I give you my word. You try to relax, wash your face and even take a nap if you like."

I move my hands from her shoulders when she mumbles a simple okay, wiping her nose, sniffling, and turns on her heel to go back to the small wooden house and I watch her as she enters it. In front of the door, she turns over her shoulder and waves at me shortly, mouthing:

"Take care."

I nod at her, smiling and turn on my heel, to find that phone, call her best friend and ask her to help Stella somehow. Since I cannot.