I'm staring at the ceiling for the second night in a row, this time the small lamp on the bedside table lights my room slightly so the darkness doesn't overpower my restless mind. Unlike last night it's quiet in my apartment. Daisy is not crying and the only sound comes from cars that are passing by.

It's just after twelve. I know this because I'm looking at my phone every two minutes in hopes to find a distraction. I don't find it anywhere though, so I end up throwing my phone away every time.

My thoughts keep drifting to what happened. It's both because it came out of nowhere and because I have no idea what caused it. One moment we were all talking, the next Josephine storms away and shuts down completely.

When I close my eyes, I see how I found her in the restroom. I walked after her after giving Daisy to Mercy since I know Jo doesn't mind if she holds her. It's one of the many things today that showed how she's making progress.

But then I saw her on the cold tiles; her hands in front of her ears, her eyes tightly shut, and her cheeks wet while her face was shockingly pale. The toilet and the toilet seat served as proof that she's emptied her entire stomach and for a very short moment I wondered if it was the result of food poisoning.

But when I looked at her once again, I knew it couldn't be it. She was shaking. Her whole body trembled in a way that I've never seen it before which says a lot given my work.

I said her name, but only after the seventh time, she gave me a reaction. It was a bearly-there nod, she didn't open her eyes or moved her hands from her ears, but she did confirm that she'd heard me. She looked terrified, as if she was experiencing one of the worst moments in her life. And the worst part was that I wasn't able to get her out of it.

I tried to let her know I was there by putting my hand on her arm, but the moment I touched her she flinched and jumped back. She didn't even open her eyes to look who was touching her, she immediately backed away, her instinct to protect herself consuming her.

And it fucking broke my heart. It broke my heart that she didn't want me close. After the day we'd had -where she and I had made such progress- all of it seemed for nothing because when she felt unsafe, she still didn't want me to help her.

Eventually, I settled onto the floor in the door opening. And I just talked to her. I kept saying her name, using the same tone and volume every time. I didn't touch her and I didn't come close. I just let her know that I was there by talking to her. And after what felt like hours but in reality was a good twenty minutes, she finally opened her eyes.

They were bloodshot, and her lashes stacked together which made it difficult for her to keep her eyes open. Sobs controlled her breathing, and she was so pale, it took me back straight to the moment I first met her.

She looked just as scared, just as tired, and just as unhealthy. There was only one difference, and that was how I felt while seeing her like that.

The first time I saw her, instinct took over. Professionalism took the upper hand and I did everything I could to help her because that's what I'm supposed to do. Because it's my job to help people and bring them into safety.

But today, that was completely different. Today, all I wanted to do was pull her in my arms and take away every pain and fear. And because she didn't let me, I felt like shit. I felt so fucking useless.

I care for her. So fucking much. I've known it for a while but I don't think I'd realized how deep it went until today. Today, it raided me. It crashed into me, and for a short moment, it was so overwhelming that I couldn't move.

I care for her and that little girl so much, I dread the idea of them leaving. I hate the idea of them not living with me. I loathe the idea of not having them close.

And now, I fucking despise how I wasn't able to help her properly.

After I was able to convince her to get off the floor, she slowly left her thoughts and returned to the present. But it wasn't like before. She was quiet, looked ashamed, and all she wanted was Daisy. When Mercy handed her over, she cradled her against her chest and sat like that without saying anything.

I offered her water which she thankfully took, but she didn't talk to me. After thirty minutes, I begged her to tell me what she needed. And that's when she mumbled one word.

"Home."

And although the situation was fucked and I still felt like shit, that little word warmed my heart. Because I know that she hadn't called a place her home for so long. Yet there she was, the broken girl that marked me in all the ways she possibly could, calling my apartment her home.

And so we left. The ride to my place was quiet. Josephine was sitting in the back, Daisy in the car seat next to her. As always, she fell asleep the moment I started the car, and therefore the silence inside was even heavier.

I looked at Jo through the mirror a few times to try and make contact, but not once she looked at me. Her eyes were trained on the passing houses, the rain that was pouring didn't seem to bother her. She looked drained and defeated.

When we came home, she walked to her room without saying anything. I was carrying the car seat with Daisy in it, so I followed her. Once we were in her room, I put the car seat onto the floor before taking Daisy out. I then looked at Jo, and she held out her hands, silently asking me to hand her over.

When I did, she turned to change Daisy's clothes. I mumbled that I was going to the living room in case she needed me, but she didn't even gave me as much as a nod. So I left because I felt that she needed to be alone, even though that went against everything I wanted to give her at that moment.

And now, almost two hours later, the silence is driving me crazy. My instinct is begging me to go to her room and check on them, but my common sense is telling me that it's not a good idea. I'm in constant debate with myself -with what I want and with what I think is best for her- and it's exhausting.

I sit up, pushing my pillow against the headboard before I lean my back against it. I grab my phone once again and open WhatsApp. Mercy's name is the first one I see, and when I open the conversation, I read the message that she'd send me after Josephine and I left.

It's a sweet, short message in which she lets me know that if Jo wants to talk, she can call her. I'm impressed by Mercy's devotion, and it tells me that she's closed Jo and Daisy in her heart as well.

Above the message is the picture she took from us during dinner. I haven't had the chance to look at it properly, so I click on it now so it fills my screen.

In the picture, Jo is looking at Daisy who is laying in my arms. Jo's hand is resting on Daisy's belly, and her face is covered with an endeared smile. I remember she smiled like that right after she asked Daisy if she was having fun. I know this so precisely, because I was looking at her, just like the image prooves.

I'm smiling too, a smile that shows my dimple. And I'm looking at her. Jo. My smile is pretty much identical to hers, only because I know what I thought at that exact moment, I know that endeared wouldn't be the word to describe the look in my eyes.

I move my finger and thumb over the screen, zooming in on her face. Looking at her now gives me the same feelings as when Mercy snapped that photo. It's too early to call it love, but I'm pretty sure that it's the feeling that eventually turns into love.

Fuck knows how that feeling is called. I've never felt it before, so I'm pretty clueless about shit like this. But I do know that -unlike before Josephine came into my life- it feels like an enrichment I didn't know I needed.

Before her, I didn't feel like I needed it at all. I was a twenty-three-year-old guy that enjoyed my freedom and the attention from girls during a night out. Girls that, if I felt like it, would end up in my bed for a night before I'd say goodbye. Some of them I kept in contact with, others I didn't, but they were all the same; a good time without any obligations and mostly, without any feelings.

To my left, I hear my door crack open, and immediately my head shoots up to see what's causing the noise. Since the silence was so persistent, I'm on high alert immediately.

The door opens a little further, and her blonde hair -that's on top of her head in a bun- comes into view first. Her hand is holding the door handle, and when she takes a step over the threshold, she appears completely.

My heart is beating in my chest, sudden nerves rising in my throat because she is here. On her own accord. I swallow heavily to fight the sudden dryness in my mouth, and as much as I want to, not a single word comes out.

I just stare at her with what I imagine are wide, surprised eyes. And for the first time since I found her on the floor of my mum's restroom, she looks at me too. She looks tired; her eyes are still red, and in the few hours that we are home, dark circles have found their way around her eyes. She looks at me in a way I can't completely describe; she looks unsure, but mostly I think she looks embarrassed.

"Hi," she softly says when she is standing in my room completely. The door is still open which seems to offer her a way out if she needs it, but her hands are clasped in front of her and not on the door handle, so she isn't planning on leaving just yet.

I open my mouth to return her greeting, but no sound comes out. I'm suddenly very aware of myself and her; we're both in my room, I'm wearing boxers, and she is wearing a long grey shirt with black gym shorts. My duvet is covering me, but it doesn't help because it's only covering my legs, I must've kicked it off at some point.

"I'm sorry I just barge in. I saw light coming from underneath the door and I thought that... Sorry." She turns to the door, ready to leave once again with bright red cheeks.

"No," I interrupt her, my voice hoarse but clear, and in response, she stops in her tracks. "It's okay. You didn't wake me or anything. I was awake already." I hold up my phone as if that gives my words more power, and she slowly turns her head in my direction once more.

"I... I wanted to apologize for what happened," she starts after a short silence in which she took a deep breath.

I nod and look at her, waiting for her to say more. When she doesn't, I debate on asking her since I have to know what caused her reaction. If I ask her, she might shut down once more, but if I don't, I'll keep going over what happened in hopes I find out myself, and I know that will only lead to more restless nights.

So, I take my chances and after encouraging myself mentally, I ask, "what exactly happened?"

Her hands have found the hem of her shirt, her eyes cast down as well. At first I don't think she'll answer me, but after a moment she surprises me. "It was the dessert."

I frown, not sure what was wrong with it. It smelled like it was supposed to, and it also looked good. It was just creme brulee, nothing special, but always a good choice I would say. Before I have the chance to ask her to elaborate, she does so herself.

"I want to explain, but I'm not sure where to start. If I'll tell you one thing, it will lead to another thing and I'm not sure how long it will take before everything is out. And it's late and I don't want to bother you with-"

"Hey," I interrupt her the moment I see that she is backing out. "I don't mind. I couldn't sleep anyway, and if you want to tell me anything -anything-, I'll listen." I sound fucking desperate, but that's because I am. I'm desperate for information. Anything she wants to tell me now is welcome.

She sighs and hops from one foot to her other, obviously uncomfortable. I hate seeing her uncomfortable and I never want her to feel that way in my apartment. So, I pat the spot on my bed while looking at her. "Come here," I tell her before adding, "if you want."

She looks at my hand on the bed and then at me once again before she closes the door and crawls onto my bed. First, her knee hits the mattress, en then she climbs on and moves to the spot next to me. She keeps a good distance between us, but I don't mind. I even understand it given the heaviness of what she is about to explain to me.

She surprises me by moving her legs underneath the duvet, and when she has stretched her legs out completely, she lays her hands in her lap while her eyes follow the movement of her fingers that play with the fabric. "He used to give me creme brulee," she starts, her voice timid and I can tell she is seconds away from breaking down.

I don't want this. I don't want to know if it hurts her this much to tell.

"Jo," I begin while turning slightly towards her. "You don't have to tell me."

She shakes her head. "I do. I owe you. And I want to tell you. I just don't know how."

And I don't know either. She wants to tell me, and I want to listen. But she needs to tell me on her own. I can't pull it out of her, even though I gladly want to do that.

"He used to invite men over twice a week," she says before falling silent once more.

It's just one sentence, but the hairs in my neck stand as I feel every muscle clench. Just one sentence, and I know where this is heading. And I know that I'll lose my shit. But I also know that I need to stay calm and let her talk because this is about her.

"Leonard?" I carefully ask to make sure I know who she means by 'he'.

A shiver runs through her and her hands claw in the duvet as she nods her head. "Twice a week, five men came over. And while he watched, he let all five of them do their worst to me. He watched as they forced me to do things I can't even say out loud because they are so cruel and disgusting. And when they were done and we were alone once more, he would give me creme brulee as a treat because I'd been a good girl." She throws the sentences out as fast as she can, the disgust and shame audible in her tone and visible in her expression.

For the first time in my life, I think I'm having an out of body experience. I'm boiling with rage, and in my mind, I've trashed everything around me just to lose the anger, but for some reason, my body itself doesn't move. I'm frozen, and I don't know why.

I'd figured that she was abused -both emotionally and sexually- but I never could have imagined that there were five of them. Let alone at the same time. And the fact that she is just telling me this while sitting with me on a bed, makes my respect and admiration for her even bigger than it already was.

"He... He would watch?" I ask, somehow it is the first thing that comes to mind. I'm not even sure if I want to know, but the words were out before I filtered them properly.

She nods, her gaze still frozen on her hands. "He couldn't do it himself. He tried multiple times, but he never... I don't know why. He suddenly stopped trying and let other men take over. I think it was his revenge on me for not being able to give him what he needed."

The rage is still rushing through me, but I'm also beyond confused by her last sentence. Revenge?! I'll fucking kill him, I swear to God.

"Jo," I begin, wanting to express my repentance of what happened to her even though I know words can never express it properly, but she cuts me off.

"When I saw the dessert your mom gave me, everything crashed back in. I never wanted to eat it because it made me feel disgusting, but he would force me. And if I didn't eat it still, he'd hurt me. And every time I did eat it because I was too tired and hurt to put up a fight, I almost threw up." She hiccups, tears streaming down her cheeks silently.

I can't look at her and not do anything any longer. I just can't. So without thinking it through properly and while taking every risk of her shutting down on me all over again, I reach for her and pull her against me.

And to my surprise and utter relief, she lets me. She lets me give her the comfort I know she desperately needs but doesn't dare to ask for herself. She even -after a few minutes of just laying stiff in my arms- moves against me further while her hands grip themselves to my upper arms.

Her cheek rests against my chest, and we both seem to forget that I'm not wearing a shirt, or at least we don't give it any attention. I just let her cry, and only when her cries turn into sobs, I dare to move by placing my hand on her back and moving it up and down.

When her sobs don't come as consistent anymore and her breathing seems to return to normal slightly, I break the silence. "You know you're safe here, right? I'll keep you and Daisy safe, Jo, always. I swear."

I feel her nod against my chest before she moves her head slightly so she can look up at me. "I know," she whispers, her voice hoarse and raw because of the crying. Her face is wet, and some lost strands of hair are sticking to her cheeks because of it. I move the hand that isn't on her back to her face and gently wipe the hair back. All the while, Jo's blue-grey eyes look up at me, and she never once flinches like she did do hours ago.

It makes me feel good. Finally, after a shit few hours in which I felt utterly useless, I'm doing something for her. Something that she benefits from.

While she moves her head to look up at me, our position slightly switched. Her upper body is laying across my chest, and somehow I moved onto my back. She's never been this close, and although it's inappropriate and this is about her, my body can't help but feel the effects of her being this close.

Her chin leans on my chest now, her eyes still focussed on my face. I give her a small smile, and she returns it with a very subtle one of her own. My hand is still moving up and down her back, and although once in a while a sob leaves her throat, I can feel she is relaxing against me.

And I still feel as if I should make my statement of keeping her safe more obvious. I don't know why, but I want her to feel it in every fiber of her body. I want her to know that from this moment on, nothing like anything she's experienced will ever happen to her again. I need her to know that Daisy is safe with me and that I'll always protect the two of them, no matter where they end up.

And so, I lean forward and gently kiss her forehead. I press my lips against her skin and try to make sure she hears the unspoken words. I'll protect you. You're safe here with me. I would kill him for you if that makes you feel better. You're so fucking special to me.

When my lips lose contact with her skin because I pull back, she follows me with her eyes. Her eyes that -for a split second- flicker to my lips that were on her forehead just moments ago. She visibly swallows, and for a very short moment, I let my imagination wander to the thought that asks; what if she wasn't as broken? Would she have kissed me?

I'm still processing all my thoughts when I see her lean towards me. She moves her tongue over her lower lip, and then -without warning- she awkwardly lunges forward and presses her lips on mine.

Before I have time to process what's happening and also before I have time to react to her sudden move, she pulls back again. Her eyes are wide with horror and I feel that she starts to move away from me before I see her move.