The last two weeks have consisted of game after game. Ten games to be exact, and surprisingly, we're 10-0. We were undefeated and I had not played one inning at short yet.

It was excruciating to sit on the bench every freaking game and watch someone else play my position. I couldn't do anything about it, except sit there cheering for the team. The worst was when a ball came to short, and I had to watch in silence as Walker attempted the play.

In this ten game winning streak, there have been several times where we almost lost the game because Walker had screwed up. Bobbling the ball around, throwing it in the dirt, throwing over Miles's head, missing the ball, or just making an obvious error.

I love the kid, but he makes too many errors. One of them is going to cost a win. To say I was getting tired of waiting to be put in, is an understatement. All I want is a chance. One inning? Is that too much to ask for? I don't breath a word to Coach. Never a complaint or negative remark about Walker left my lips. My tactics are however, not working because my butt is still being sat on the pine.

Harrison has gotten some time in the outfield. He's tracked down a few fly balls, but his chances of playing second were as slim as mine to play short. The good thing was at least he was playing some.

Miles played every game at first base. No matter the game, inning, score, or team, he had his position under wraps.

Miles and I's relationship was still a little rocky. We had our good days and bad days. We fight quite a lot about, basically anything. It was growing tiresome to fight with him about anything that he scrapes up to fight about. He'll go digging around till he'll find something we can argue about.

We finished practice at five o'clock today. We don't have a game tomorrow or the day after, so Coach gave us tomorrow off. The last two weeks have been long with all the traveling and playing. I was wiped and I haven't even been really playing in the games. I have been able to hit. For the most part, the pitchers we faced would actually pitch to me. There has been one other time where someone has hit me on purpose. It was most definitely not as bad as the first time, but it did leave a nice bruise on my thigh.

Our team again almost started a full brawl with every guy ready to come running out of the dugout. I did my best to tell them to let it go. There was no reason to fight a pitcher, who obviously has the brain and maturity level of a seven year old boy.

Two other pitchers resorted to intentionally walking me. I'd much rather hit, but it is better than getting hit, I guess.

I walked by myself back to the dorms. The boys were playing a game or something after practice. I wanted to get my shower in before the fifteen of them came trooping in to the bathroom. My hair was in a loose, messy ponytail that was threaded through the ponytail hole in my hat. The sun was beginning to get closer to the horizon, but it was still summer, so we still had about two hours of sunlight.

I stretched my arms over my head and yawned. Walking in to the lobby area, I pressed the button to go up. I slouched against the railing and waited for the doors to close. I heard quick footsteps, and a hand shot through the doors as they were closing.

Probably one of the boys deciding to be done with the game.

When my eyes lazily looked up from my phone that I had pulled out, terror shot through my spine.

The dark haired boy stepped in to the elevator and watched me silently.

Not again.

"Look who it is," he drawled out. A smirk twisted up his face.

I could only bring shallow breaths in to my panicking lungs. This cannot be happening again. It was the same way as before.

I stayed silent, glaring at him. Watching him carefully for any signs of attack, I glanced down at my phone looking for a certain contact.

Ellie, no.

Mom, no.

Alyssa, no.

"You can put the phone away. We're just gonna have a little fun," he sneered.

Nick, no.

Blake, no.

Sarah, no.

I continued to look. There it is. I clicked the call button on the contact and brought the phone to my ear with shaking hands.

As the line rang, the guy started to take steps towards me. His hand was stretched out, ready to take my phone.

Please answer. Answer your phone.

"What's up, Glors?" Miles smooth voice said over the line.

"Miles, help," I squeaked.

I heard him start to talk in to the phone again, but the creep reached up and took the phone out of my hand. He slid it in to his back pocket.

"Come on. I won't hurt you."

"Stay away from me."

"Now, why would I do that?"

The elevator dinged at my floor. He was blocking the door. I need to get out of here.

I shoved him and tried to launch myself out of elevator.

An arm caught around my waist and pulled me back in, roughly.

"If we do those kinds of things, you are going to get hurt," he snapped, close to my ear.

I cried out in anguish, trying to twist away from him. In one motion, he slung me around and shoved me towards the back wall. I caught myself from going crashing in to the railing. He pushed the level three button on the control panel before turning around to face me.

"You're such a pretty girl. Why don't you just follow my instructions?"

He grabbed my arm; his fingers wrapping around tightly.

He yanked me towards him and took my chin between his thumb and index finger. He smiled, deviously down at me. His head bent down, but I turned my head away from his incoming lips. I fought with him, but he held on to me firmly. His lips found my cheek and eventually my neck. His lips were chapped and rough on my skin.

"Stop!" I pleaded. "Please, just stop."

This is not happening. I am not letting this happen again. The flashbacks of Chris pushed into my mind. I twisted around more, but his lips still tried to find my own. His hands groped at any body part he could find. He tried to stick one hand up my shirt, but I threw it away from me.

Finally, I freed one hand to weakly punch him in the stomach. It was all I could do with my shaking hands.

"Is that all you got?" he snarled. One of his hands came up and slapped me across the face. I knew he was holding back, but my hands flew up to cover the searing skin.

He again tried to kiss me roughly. I continued to push him away with all the strength I could muster.

After several more excruciating long moments, he finally decided that I wasn't worth the fight anymore. He let go of my arm and hip and shoved me backwards. I slammed into the railing, catching myself before I fell to the ground.

"When you're ready to have some real fun, come find me," he said. He pulled my phone out of his pocket and tossed it to me. I caught it and clutched it to my chest. The elevator doors slid closed and began to go to the first floor. My back slid down against the wall as I crumpled to the floor. The elevator was suddenly called and the pulley moved it down. Each floor was represented by a loud ding that made me flinch.

He didn't want Miles to catch him because he knew he wouldn't stand a chance. Coward.

It was like Chris all over again. I let out a shaking breath at the thought of the monster. I had those bruises for weeks after. I'm still afraid to go to parties because I don't want to run in to him.

My arms wrapped around my legs tightly as I waited for the elevator to reach the bottom. I just wanted to go to sleep.

My eyes remained dry as I kept the sobs from erupting. If they start, I wouldn't be able to stop crying.

The elevator finally stopped as it reached the ground floor. The doors opened to a very panicked looking Miles. His eyes bulged to almost pop out of his head when he saw me.

"Oh, God. No," he whispered as he rushed in to the elevator.

He hit the second floor button before crouching down beside me.

"Gloria," he murmured.

He didn't reach out, knowing I would move away. Physical contact was disgusting to me right now.

"What happened?"

I stared straight ahead. I felt humiliated and exposed, yet again. What was I doing to provoke them? I was in a baseball uniform for God's Sake.

"Gloria, what happened?" Miles asked again softly.

"He came back," I said, ashamed of myself for letting him do this to me.

Miles's eyes flashed and turned darker than their usual emerald-y green.

"What did he do?" he gritted out. His jaw was clenched tightly. Both of Miles's hands were squeezed in to fists, turning his knuckles white.

One of my hands was still holding on to my cheek from the impact of the guy's palm.

"He grabbed my arm, and tried kissing me. Then when I punched him, he did this." My voice was cracking with every other word that left my mouth, and with the final words, I took my hand away from my face.

Miles took a sharp breath in as he peered at my cheek. His right hand reached out towards my face and lightly placed it right under my jawline.

"He hit you?"

I simply nodded my head. I was disgusted for letting someone do this to me. But the worst part was that this wasn't the first time this has happened or even with the same person.

Miles's thumb made slow circles in my cheek. He continued to watch me as I stayed motionless in my crumpled position.

I was pathetic.

The elevator dinged for the millionth time in the last fifteen minutes. I didn't want to get up. I'd rather just stay here and sleep for a couple of years.

Miles knew I wasn't going anywhere, so without warning he scooped me up bridal style. At this point, I didn't care anymore. I buried my face in to his chest and tried to hold back the tears.

A few tears eventually did find their way out and went right in to Miles's shirt. After a few moments, he placed me down on my bed and pulled the covers up to my chin.

"I'm going to be right here, and if you wake up and I'm not here, I'm probably just talking to someone right outside the door. I'm not leaving for the rest of the night," he said, giving my shoulder a light squeeze. "I'll check on where he hit you tomorrow morning."

"Okay," I said meekly.

"Good night, Princess," he wished me quietly.

"Good night, Miles," I replied.

I buried deep in to my pillow. My breaths were still ragged, and my thoughts were scaring me. My anxiety was flaring up as I laid still. I shoved the feeling down to not think about it any longer.

My eyelids sagged as Miles turned off the overhead lights. I watched him with tired eyes as he sat on his bed and switched on his phone. My body was too tired to keep watching him as he looked down at his phone and every once in a while glanced over at me. He did care.

...

It was white. Everything was white. There were no walls or a floor or a ceiling. It was like a blank canvas. Then right in front of my eyes, Dad appeared like magic.

"Dad," I whispered to myself.

He turned his head towards me, and his face lit up in his so familiar smile.

"Hi, Red."

"Dad," I whispered again.

He was right there. I motioned for him to come over, but he stood still and continued to smile at me. It was then I saw it.

The inky black that was enveloping his feet and crawling up his legs. Dad looked down and back up at me.

"Help me, Gloria," he called.

This can't be happening again. I can't lose him.

I tried to move my arms and legs to run to him, but they were paralyzed to the spot.

"Dad! Dad!"

The black was eating him alive, but his smile was still plastered to his face. The black was the cancer, and it was going to take him away from me again. Everything below the knee was gone, like a dust it had blown away.

"Gloria, help me! Gloria!"

I couldn't save him. I couldn't save him before, and I can't save him now.

"Dad, no!" I screamed to him.

The cancer has eaten up to his waist. Why was it doing this to him? Why can't I save him?

I continued to scream out to him to do something, but he only called out to me like I hadn't said anything.

It was to his shoulders now. I was going to lose him in mere seconds.

"Gloria," it was a new voice. I shivered at the very way he said my name. A gravely low tone that sent tingles through my body.

Chris.

He stepped out from behind my dad and started towards me. He was wearing the very same thing he had worn on the night of the party. The black jeans and crimson colored shirt that clung to his chest and biceps. His black hair was mused up the way it always was.

I was shaking. Everything was happening again.

There are few things in this world I'm scared of. Chris had made the short list on the night of the party.

"Gloria," Chris called again. A smirk twisted his face in to an ugly snarl.

"Stay away from me," I yelled at him. My legs were planted to the ground, not going anywhere.

I could still hear Dad from I was.

"Gloria! Gloria, help me!"

Chris was suddenly right in front of me, towering over me, menacingly.

"Please, no!" I screamed over and over.

"This'll be fun, Glor. Just you and me," he said. It was like that night at the party was on repeat. His finger traced my jaw with a calloused finger.

"No! Don't touch me!" I screamed in horror. Not again. I'm not letting this happen again.

"Gloria, help me! Gloria!"

Gloria!

Gloria!

Gloria!

"Princess, wake up!"

It was then that my eyelids snapped open to total darkness. I was sitting straight up, and I could feel the sweat dripping down my back and over my forehead.

"Gloria."

I screamed at the voice. Who was there?

A light flickered on beside me, casting shadows over the whole room. My head snapped to see who had turned on the lamp.

It was then that my eyes met the emerald eyes that were staring at me worriedly.

"Gloria," he whispered softly.

Miles.

My breaths were coming in short pants as I tried to get my breath back.

"Gloria," Miles said again, his hand reaching up to my face.

I flinched away, whimpering. His face fell.

"It's okay. It's just me," he coaxed. His eyes held still a sense of hurt from my reaction to him trying to comfort me.

His hand found my own instead. My hand slipped in to his quite easily with such a size different. I gripped it tightly nevertheless, not wanting to let go. It was at that moment that the tears started to roll down my face.

"It's alright. It was just a dream," Miles reassured me, trying to calm me down. He probably thinks I'm psychotic for having nightmares this bad. I basically had a panic attack in my sleep.

The tears flowed down in heavy streams, which were leaving wet stains on my shirt. I couldn't stop them.

It was just a dream. That was it. Just a silly dream that I've had too many times to count. Before the night at the party with Chris, the dream was only about Dad calling out to me to help him. I had that dream for three straight months every night. It was the same thing over and over again. I could never save him from the cancer that would slowly eat him alive as I watched, paralyzed to the spot.

Then the night after Chris raped me, it returned with him in the dream terrorizing me. The dream comes around when I go to bed stressed out or having anxiety. One of the bottles in my medication bag is my anxiety pills, which usually calms me down. I should have taken them before I went to bed last night. Unfortunately, that didn't cross my mind in the slightest. The dream was one of the main reasons I went to therapy after Dad died.

At the thought of Dad being taken away from me again, a sob made its way out of my lips. The tears were running faster down my face and the panting became more ragged.

"Gloria, you have to calm down, so you don't hyperventilate," Miles warned, squeezing my hand.

I tried to slow the breathing that was rapidly exiting my lungs. I was still freaking out on the inside and couldn't relax.

In a split second, I was lifted up and Miles sat down on my bed. He placed me in his lap, facing him. I was acting like a child. It was pathetic. What was I doing?

My legs were straddling his waist, tightly coiled around him. Miles's hands were on my hips keeping me sitting up. It was comforting to have someone this close to me, steadying me, but I looked so weak to him right now.

"I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere," Miles whispered. His voice was low and soft as his head dipped to be close to my ear. His breaths were warm against ear. I shuddered at the proximity that we were at, but Miles held me tighter, thinking it was another episode.

I nodded and looked up at his face. His eyes were searching mine. I kept my face blank and stared back. One of his hands left my side to go to my face.

I probably looked like a mess with my red streaky face and blood shot eyes.

Miles's thumb gently wiped away the tears that were sliding down my cheeks. His hands were cool on my hot, sticky skin. After pushing away the streams that had been trailing down my skin, Miles didn't take his hands away. He softly made circles in to the skin on my cheek. My breathing had returned to normal, but my heart rate was pounding even harder than before.

"I won't let him or anyone else hurt you ever again... I promise," he said more to himself than me.

My body was exhausted and leaned forward in to Miles's. He tensed slightly as I ended up with my face yet again buried in his shirt. I breathed in his spice cologne. It was relaxing to have something familiar at the moment.

After several seconds, Miles's arms snaked around my waist and pulled me closer to him.

"Thank you," I mumbled in to his shirt.

In response, Miles kissed my forehead, which caught me by surprise. However, I didn't move an inch when he held his lips to my skin for a long moment.

"You need to sleep," he said out of the blue. His lips brushed against my temple as he spoke.