Carrie lets us into the massive foyer, I take Blaze straight to the kitchen and ask her to get the first aid kit. We pass the living room where Brady is passed out clutching a box of McNuggets, Vixxie the same but with milkshake covering her dress and Ethan is watching some reality TV show that reruns every night.

"Sit." I tell Blaze and he sits in one of the kitchen stools, then I evaluate the fact that I'm still too short to reach his face properly even if he is on the stool, "This isn't going to work, hold on." I climb onto the other stool for balance and sit on the counter in front of him. Carrie returns handing me the first aid kit, casting Blaze a worrying look then scutters off mumbling something about ketchup on her coat.

I lean down slightly, placing my fingers on his sharp jaw so I can tilt his head up. His blue eyes follow my concentrated gaze, I swallow briskly looking at the gash on his forehead and his busted lip. They don't look too bad but they don't look too great either.

"That needs some ice," I murmur looking at the shiner on his cheek. I hop down from the counter, his hands steadying me as I reach the ground and scurry around Carrie's modern kitchen trying to find where her ice is kept.

I come up trumps wrapping some in a hand towel and place it slowly on his cheek.

"Hold that there." His hand replaces mine, it gently brushes against my skin, sparks simmering over the makeshift ice pack. I skim my fingertips over his slit eyebrow, he doesn't even flinch. "I think that's going to need some stitches- I'm sure Carries got some butterfly stitches in here." I rummage through the small box, pulling out a small bottle of hydrogen peroxide and some cotton pads.

I pour a few drops onto the gauze and gently clean the blood that's fortunately now dried but has still trickled down his face. This shit usually stings like hell but Blaze sits there calmly just watching me, his lips turning up at the edges like he's enjoying this...

"If you wanted to play nurses so bad you could have just asked Blondie." He winks with his good eyebrow and I feel my knees limp slightly on the counter accompanying the heating blush on my cheeks, I give him a light shove deflecting from my flaming face, "I'm kidding chill ... or not." I carry on dabbing at his injuries trying to be as gentle as I can. "You're a good nurse though, where'd you learn to do all this."

Besides cleaning myself up after I'd been beaten down or cleaning my mom or sister whilst they lay unconscious, "Dancers gets hundreds of injuries, it's an occupational hazard. Stress fracture one day, torn hamstring the next, it's a tough thing. Back when I used to dance all the time, I never wanted to take a break... there's always someone waiting to take your spot and if you take a day off you miss things and get bumped back down- your careers over before you've even started. I guess that's one of the reasons I was scared to start again. Dance is like a drug, once I start I can't stop and I always want to be the best, who doesn't but being away for so long I know I'm not where I was and I'll need a lot of training to catch up again." I sigh, it's a competitive and harsh Industry, cutthroat. But it's one I've craved since I could walk, "Anyway, to stop myself falling behind we'd patch ourselves up and deal with the pain, I'd superglue my cuts together, rip off my toenails and tape my sprained ankles to the inside of my pointe shoes." I giggle, remembering the pain and agony I'd go through every day to do what I love- it may seem crazy but it's worth it. "That and my mom was a nurse." After she stopped doing what she loved.

He chuckles as I finish applying the last strip of stitches to his brow.

"Did you go to a dance school then?" I nod,

"I was doing up to five different dance classes a day and I'd put it before school so my mom thought it would be best to put me into a proper dance school which could balance my academics and proper practice time."

She didn't send me to one of those boarding schools you see in the movies, it was a day school that had the same expectations and unfortunate termly prices but I loved it there and I belonged there. It was my sanctuary. I much preferred the dance teachers screaming at me about my technique than the screaming at home.

But my dad never saw it that way. My face falls, I remember vividly the arguments that would arise over my schooling.

"You alright?" Blazes hand lands on my bare thighs bringing me out of my head. I blink at his concern shadowed eyes.

"Oh-uh yeh... It should be you answering questions, not me." I chuckle nervously, trying not to look at his bruised hands that still lay on my thighs, "I still haven't got to ask you my question yet." I gulp, watching his demeanour change. He sits back in the chair slightly, looking more tensed, his eyes drift to the ceiling.

"Alright then." His throat bobs with his voice.

"Your car?" I say taking him by surprise when he sits forward rapidly and laughs... a deep laugh that rumbles through my core.

"You could ask me anything and you decided to ask me about my car?"

"I wasn't finished! I was going to say... your car isn't the usual jock type car... that sounds stereotypical but it's not a four-wheel-drive Audi or Range Rover...it's been souped up and well... not being... like... uh...rude or anything but... uh your mom drives-"

"An old, rusting Beatle? And we live in a washed-up tiny house in an utter shithole but I have a top of the range expensive car?"

"I didn't mean it like that-" I interject quickly flapping my hands, hoping he doesn't think I was trying to be rude, I don't even have a frigging car.

"No it's okay, I know what you meant." He smiles tightly before taking a deep breath, the kitchen is silent only the odd groan from the doubled door fridge then his mouth opens and closes a few times before he finally speaks. "I used to race... street race... back in New York. I got my car from... someone... as a sort of... incentive to win money for... them... which I did. A lot of it." He looks off into the distance, he obviously doesn't like talking about it but he's trying. The strain in his veins as he tries to ignore memories of the past. His eyes look glassy and red whilst he rubs his thumb along his bloody lip.

"I did some bad things back in New York Atlas, I got involved with the wrong people." He doesn't meet my eyes but his voice catches in the back of his throat.

"Is that what you meant when you said you were trying hard not to fight?" He nods.

"Christ. Fighting was the lowest thing I did over there, if you think that's bad... I'm a much much worse person than you think. That stuff made me a bad person, I am a bad person that you shouldn't hang around." He looks down at his feet, his vulnerability is heart-wrenching. It's obvious something horrific happened, I presume that's why he moved down here- as Brady said.

"You're not a bad person Blaze and I don't think your a 'worse person'." I take on of his hands off my thigh and give it a little squeeze, his fingers are cold in mine and stay still.

"You don't know me Atlas." He leans in closer, his face only a few inches from me and pushes a strand of loose hair behind my ear. He's right I don't know him all that well but something about him is so intriguing, I can't help but feel safe around him or smile when he walks into a room.

"I might not know you but...I want to know you," I mumble, feeling hot as his hand moves back from my ear to my cheek, cupping my face lightly. I'm surprised he's not burned his hand at the temperature my cheeks are flaming.

"You don't. You won't like what you find. I scared you tonight." He shakes his head, angry with himself.

"You didn't scare me. You saved me, if you hadn't of... I don't know what would have happened..." I think back to his disgusting breath on my cheek and his hands wandering across my body... all the people that would have seen us... " A bad person would have looked the other way but you didn't. It wasn't you that scared me it was just the whole situation... I was still shaken from what... he did." He still looks crestfallen which makes my heart hurt, he holds this I don't give a crap attitude, earning the respect of several hundred people but with bloody knuckles and a split lip, he looks like a lost boy who's been through a world of pain.

"When I fell down in ballet or I couldn't get something right my momma used to say 'When you make a mistake, there are only three things you should ever do about it: admit it, learn from it, and don't repeat it," I murmur, my momma was wise beyond her years, she gave the best advice with the warmest intentions.

"Maybe my mistakes are already repeating..." He looks down at his battered knuckles and I feel guilty, the only reason he's gotten into fights recently is because of me...

"I'm sorry, it's all my fault," I murmur. His eyes crease into a frown and his hand reaches out to my face again.

"I'd do it again if I had too, no one should be touched without consent. People walked by and just watched you being harassed by the fucker. Friends don't do that." He mumbles and I swear I see the slightest bit of blush creep up onto his nose.

"So you admit we are friends?" I grin.

"Of course Butterfly, in case you hadn't noticed the only person I've ever talked to about this stuff is Brady."

"Thanks for trusting me," I squeeze his hand gently again and look at the lion tattoo darkening by the second, "You need some more ice for those hands." I say hopping off the counter again, " Don't be defined by your past, it was a lesson, not a life sentence. For the record, I like you as you are. Sure you can be a... brooding ass but you make me laugh sometimes and like tonight, you protect me and you've taught me... not to give a shit. You're a kind, caring person even if you don't want to admit it and I don't care what mistakes you've made because as you said we're friends."

I grab some more ice for his knuckles and place the damp clothe onto his hand. His less bruised hand lands on top of mine and his thumb moves across my skin creating tingles that surge up my fingers. His hair's fallen onto his face slightly so I push it back with my free hand, catching his eyes on my way back down. They're pained but he manages a small grin, "Thanks Blondie."

My eyes flutter open to the modern décor that floods the room. Slightly confused at where I am I try and sit up, not noticing two heavy burdens weighing me down.

Then I feel his breath on my neck, still minty from last night. I carefully swivel my head around, met with Blazes sleeping face. At some point in the night we must have fallen asleep and ended up with his arms... draped around my waist.

I bite my lip, he looks so peaceful when he sleeps but there's still the reminiscence of a scowl, like something is troubling him still even with his eyes shut.

Last night after I'd finished wrapping his injuries, we joined the others in Carries living room where they'd all fallen asleep to the KUWTK episode that was playing. Bits of food and drool littered the spaces around their bodies and taking another look around the room it seems no one has moved at all since last night.

I look back at Blaze's arms and decided not to move, feeling comfy and secure in his embrace. I attempt to shut my eyes and fall back asleep again but much to my protest my body is starting to feel all fuzzy and nervous so close to his espeically when I can feel his abs through his thin shirt. I look up at his face again, shades of purple and green on his cheekbone from the fight last night. I just want to reach out and run my fingers on his cheekbones, feel his skin under my fingertips.

Last night- shit.

What's the time!?

I scramble around myself, finding my phone under my leg on very low battery. I click the button on and the time flashes up- 10:32 Saturday.

Shit! Shit! Shit!

I look down at the hundreds of missed calls (literally) from my dad's number and tones of vicious text messages. Tears sting my eyes, he's going to kill me. He's actually going to kill me!!

Wrapped up In the events from last night I'd completely forgotten to text him, make up some elaborate lie about being late home since 'we were really busy at the diner' but I'd fallen asleep and completely forgot to go home all together!!

Oh my god, oh my god!

The panic sets in and my hands start to shake as I try and free myself from Blazes muscley tattoed arms. He stirs beneath me and grunts a little then opens his eyes slowly.

"Uh... what.. where are we?" He squints around the room, his low gravely voice goes straight through me, goosebumps pricking up on my skin.

"Carries. I need to go home." I say still wriggling out of his arms, he's failed to notice are still around my waist, "Can you uh..." He looks at me puzzled then down to his arms.

"Oh...." He mumbles letting me free, "What's the hurry?" He looks unsuprisingly good in the morning, his dishevled hair and sleepy eyes make him look all grumpy but sexy... and don't get me started on his voice.

"I just really need to get home." I run into the kitchen searching for where I put my stuff last night. The first aid box still sits on the counter reminding me of our moment last night, my cheeks heat at the thought but are quickly put out when I hear footsteps behind me.

"Your bag's still in my car." Blaze says, running a hand through his hair, "I'll drop you back." He sighs not making eye contact with me.

"Uh, thanks." When did this get so awkward? I take a moment to study his face, he looks embarrassed and my heartaches. Being vulnerable doesn't come naturally to him and he shared parts of that with me last night now i'm running off because i 'just need to get home'. Wow now i seem like the ass. "Uh... shall we go?" I mumble feeling the urgency rushing through my veins.

"Stay for breakfast, my moms out all day and we were just going to order take out." Carrie plods into the kitchen taking me by surprise.

"I'm really sorry I can't, I've really got to get home." I bite on my lip. I can feel Blaze watching me with a contorted expression like he's trying to figure out the urgency of getting home. "Stay for breakfast. I'll walk don't worry." I tell him not wanting to ruin his morning.

"No it's good, I've got to get back anyway." He nods. We say a brief goodbye with Carrie before I'm darting out of the door towards the car. Once I'm in I pull out the duffle bag and change back into my work clothes- I'll just say it was busy so I finished late and Layla didn't let me walk home alone so I stayed at hers- convincing enough right? Well that's all i've frigging got!

I gulp, telling Blaze he can look now and start the car. He does so in silence as I sink back into the leather seat, cold against my skin. I shiver slightly, a mixture of the cold and thinking about dad.

"Do you not have a jacket?" Blaze mumbles, I shake my head- in my defence, it feels like its dropped ten degrees since last night. He leans into the footwell by my boots and pulls out his leather jacket again, he thrusts it my way and I hold it in my hands for a moment before slipping it on top of my thin cardigan.

"Thanks," I mutter taking in his minty, pinewood sent that rolls off it.

Once Blaze had dropped me off at the place he picked me up I started walking towards my house. Each step feeling heavier and heavier.

We hadn't said much in the car, mainly because I was petrified and Blaze never really says much in the mornings although he was acting a little cagey. He drove off again before I had a chance to say bye or even give him his jacket back so it still hangs off my shoulders.

I push my key into the lock with trembling hands, my breath ceasing in my lungs, slowly removing Blazes jacket, holding it tightly in my hand.

I push open the door, met with silence, immediately feeling my blood drain. It shouldn't be this quiet.

Suddenly I feel something come hurtling towards me then a sharp pain signals through my arm. I grab it feeling something warm trickling down my fingers, blood runs down my arm from where a shard of green bottle glass had pelted me.

A deep chuckle resides from the corner of the room, my dad smirks rolling his sleeves up to his elbows.

"Where the fuck have you been." He steps closer to me.

"Uh.., well it was... uh really busy last night so I didn't finish until late so I stayed with Layla," I mumble feeling dizzy, I place my hand on the wall to steady myself.

"DON'T FUCKING LIE TO ME." he lurches forward grabbing a handful of my hair and throws me against the floor.

"I'm not! I'm not!" I plead feeling the sting in my ribs as he kicks me, hard.

"Then whose jacket is that you bitch?" He snarls in my ear, driving his fist into my cheek.

"I-It's L-laylas." I weep feeling the blows of several other punches landing on my body.

"You. Disgust me. No wonder your mother's dead. Who'd want you as a daughter, she probably killed herself." He whispers before he slams my head against a sideboard.

My body weakens with every ounce of violence it receives. I'm so near unconscious I don't even know which part of my body hurts the most.

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