Dylan is small, even for her age, but she looks especially tiny perched on her bed, with her arms wrapped around her knees. She still hasn't noticed my presence.

"Dylan?" I greet her quietly as I slowly close the door behind me.

She looks up, surprised, sniffling and wiping her eyes on her gray sleeves. She is still baby-faced -- too young to have a mascara streaked face and bloodshot eyes because of someone who's made an effort to hurt her.

"Hi," She says, her voice muted and raspy from crying. She drops her arms to her sides, against the bed, and scoots slightly, giving me room to sit.

I don't speak as I take my place beside her, she doesn't let me, and I'm thankful for it. I know how to listen; I can sympathize; but how would I have asked her to let me? No question would seem well dignified.

"I needed another appointment today because of something that happened at school," she says, pulling her sleeves down over her hands, fidgeting as she tries to hold eye contact.

She ends up looking to pictures on her wall as she speaks, "He came into my class and started talking to a girl - she used to be my best friend. She was arguing with him about something, just playfully. They were being extra loud, no doubt on purpose. She waited until everyone had taken their seats and were quiet. Then, she said 'And if I don't, are you going to beat me?' Everyone laughed. I tried to ignore it, but I ended up leaving halfway through the class. It was humiliating."

She squeezes her eyes shut as she starts to cry again. I reach my hand to her back and start to rub circles, letting her cry without offering words.

"I'm mad at my parents for making me press charges," she finally says, "I'm mad at them because I could have just stayed quiet and been left alone. I'm mad at myself for thinking that I would rather let it go, because what about the other people who he will hurt someday? I feel like I have a responsibility now. I hate him for that; he's left me with this burden, and he doesn't even care enough to stay away from me and let me be. He wants to keep hurting me, how can someone care so little?"

I remember feeling that way -- wondering how someone could hurt another person and live without any evidence of guilt or remorse. To me, that is a burden: living without empathy or compassion. How could you feel anything? How could you love someone, or even love yourself? To be sad or hurt or angry can be painful, yes, but to feel nothing has to be much worse.

"Where did you go?" I ask, "When you left class, did you talk to anyone?"

Dylan lays back onto her bed, wiping her eyes once more and staring up at the ceiling,

"No, I wanted to be alone. I left school and didn't call my parents, or tell anyone where I was going. I think that's what worried them so much. I just wanted to walk for a while -- alone. It's so much easier to be alone sometimes, you know? I wish they could understand that and not feel so hurt by it. My mom was crying when I finally called and had them pick me up. I had walked five miles from school. I think she was afraid that I'd run away, or done something worse."

"They can't help being afraid. They love you, and they're helpless against what's happened to you. That was the hardest thing for my parents, they said. They can help you move on, but they can't make it all go away, no one can. What's happened to you is in the past, it can't be helped, but you can be. You'll be okay."

"I know I will be," she nods, "but I'm tired of waiting. I know high school isn't forever, but it's everything right now. I thought I would be okay after my appointment today. Then I realized that I have to go back tomorrow. Everyone will probably talking about how I just left randomly -- the crazy girl who lies about being abused."

I pause, pursing my lips, trying to keep tears from welling in my eyes. Dylan notices and offers a small smile.

"Don't cry, Stella. You don't even have to say anything. I just wanted to talk to you, because I know you must've had nights like these. Also, seeing you helps me remember that time might not be such a bitch. You have a job and you're in college, and you have someone in your life who is nice to you, don't you? I like thinking that could be me someday."

"It will be you. Time is sweet, more often than not. And yes, he is very nice."

"Could I meet him someday, maybe?" She looks hopefully at me.

"Of course you can," I smile, wiping my eyes.

She sighs, relaxing her shoulders. We talk for a while about how her day will go tomorrow. I give her my number, wondering if I could be any less professional. But I care about Dylan. She really is so much like I was only short while ago. Maybe letting her know me like this, more personally, is the best way to help her now.

Dylan walks with me back to the living room, looking noticeably happier. Before I leave, her father thanks me again for coming over so late. Her mother hugs me and whispers that I'm an angel, and I wonder if Dylan has told her why she asked for me in the first place.

I approach Charlie's car slowly, thinking of how nights like Dylan's used to go for me. I wasn't expecting seeing her to bring back the terrible memories of my own, but it has. I start replaying scenes in my head, ripping notes that Jason and his friends would leave in my locker, getting texts and voicemails in the earliest hours of the morning during the weekends -- he would get drunk and decide that he was going to come over. He actually showed up once. I remember being so scared, waking up to the sound of the screen door being smashed repeatedly against the front door frame. He had texted and called, but I'd fallen back asleep, thinking it was just another empty threat. I ran downstairs, only to find my dad trying to push him out of the door, Jason hitting his back and head with his fists. I started crying and screaming, trying to lurch towards them. I didn't care if he hurt me anymore, but I didn't want him to hurt my dad. My mom grabbed me before I could get to them, dragging me into the kitchen, and trying to calm me down...

"Everything good now?" Charlie's deep voice brings me back. He has emerged from the car, and is now holding my door open for me, with a gentle smile on his lips. If anyone is an angel, it has to be him.

"Everything's fine, yes," I say as I reach for him, kissing his jaw before climbing into the car. He carefully closes the door and I look towards the console, where my phone sits. I laugh quietly to myself, because he's just spoken to my parents for the first time.

He climbs into the car and smiles at me, his eyes are filled with the sort of content that shows when he's been fretting and finally relaxed. I reach over and take his hand after he's started the car.

"You weren't worried, were you?"

"Of course. I worry too much, especially about you," he admits, rubbing his finger along his bottom lip.

"You don't have to worry about me. I'm not as brave as you think; I wouldn't put myself in danger. How was the phone call?" I ask, biting my lip.

"Your mom screamed."

I laugh, "Did she speak at all? Or was it screaming exclusively?"

"We talked. She's lovely. She invited me over, an indefinite date," He looks ahead as he drives, but his grin makes me curious about what she's said to him. I decide not to pry.

They can keep their special little conversation to themselves. My mom will inevitably spill everything to me over the phone later, anyways.

In our silence, my mind begins to drift back to my unpleasant memory. My mom crying to me, covering my ears and telling me not to listen. I remember collapsing to the floor in front of her, still screaming. When the door finally slammed, my mother stood again, calling for my father. I could hear sirens faintly, and I realized that my mother must have called before I'd made it downstairs. The sounds of sirens, mixed with my father's quiet voice coming from our entry hall, assuring my mother that he was alright calmed me, until I heard the sound of shattering glass...

"Stella?" Charlie squeezes my hand.

"Hmm?" I'm shaken from my trance and refocus on Charlie as he drives and passes quick, worried glances at me.

"Are you sure you're okay? What happened in there, anyway?"

I take a deep breath and exhale, attempting to relax my shoulders, "Dylan is one of Dr. Keller's patients. She had a hard day at school. She wouldn't talk to her parents, and she asked for me -- she knows that I had similar problems. Seeing her family just reminded me of... things that happened, I guess," I look down at my hands, fidgeting with the sleeves of Charlie's denim jacket that I luckily decided to slip on over the black dress and tights that I wore to work -- the night is cold.

We are approaching a four way stop, and there is no one else on the road. Charlie stops the car and pulls his hand from mine, squeezing my leg, "Do you want anything before we go home, baby? I could just drive, if you'd like."

I love how thoughtful he is.

I start to nod, because a drive sounds nice, but then I change my mind.

"Do you think... I mean, if you want to, could we go by that stream that the restaurant overlooks? Just for a little while."

"Of course we can, baby," Charlie takes my hand in his again and turns the car away from his house, towards our stream.

When we pull up to the restaurant, he tells me to wait inside.

"I know one of the bartenders. I'm going to ask her if there is a place where we can pull the car close."

"Oh, Charlie, you don't have to. We can just park here and walk down for a while," I assure him.

"Don't worry about it, I can get you closer," He smiles and climbs out of the car.

I text my mom as he enters the restaurant-turned-bar. I tell her that I'm on my way home with Charlie, I'm tired, but I'll call and explain everything tomorrow. She responds with an excited recollection of Charlie's voice.

When he returns, he has a to-go cup in his hand.

"I know it's chilly anyway," he says as he climbs back into the car, "But I thought you might want a cherry coke," He hands me the drink before starting the car.

"You're too nice to me," I smile, taking a sip.

"We get to do a bit of off-roading," he smirks, "My friend says it's mostly clear though. We shouldn't have any trouble."

I tell him that his car is too nice, and that we should just walk down to the water from where we are, but he insists on driving us to the perfect clearing. When we're parked, I realize it was worth it.

We're completely alone, circled by trees. The stream flows more steeply downhill, and the water splashes more freely where we are, so the sound is perfect.

I close my eyes and breathe in deeply as I step out of the car, letting the peaceful sound fill my ears.

I thought that being here would make me want to walk alone along the water's edge, and pretend like I'm at home again. As Charlie crosses in front of the car slowly, his hands buried in his jean pockets and his face uncertain, I realize he's feared the same. He stops before he reaches me, and looks down at his feet. As I consider what it would be like to actually be home again - to walk a small creek bank alone, thinking and worrying. What was once healing and relaxing sounds very lonely now, compared to walking with him.

He runs his hand through his hair and looks up from his feet with honest blue eyes, and a smile barely touches his lips.

I grin at his endearing uncertainty, biting my bottom lip as I walk towards him and grab his hand, taking him with me towards the bank.

I tell him more than I've ever told anyone during that walk, about how things were with Jason. Between his frowns and painful glances, and even the wiping of water from his eyes, I ask frequently if he's heard enough, but he asks me to continue until I've shared every story that's been weighing on my mind for years. I feel like I've unlocked a part of myself and emptied the clutter, letting go of all that has nagged me in the back of my mind for so long.

"Thank you for listening to all of that," I tell Charlie, "My parents have never even heard this many details. I'm sorry if you -"

"Don't be sorry, baby," He says, cutting me off, "I've always wondered, I guess. Half of me needed to know, and the other half wishes that I never had to -- that these things didn't exist to tell. I'm sorry that any of that happened to you."

We hadn't wandered up the bank too far, and we're already nearing Charlie's car again. As I begin to walk towards the passenger side, Charlie suddenly grabs my waist, spinning me around and placing me on the hood of his vintage mustang.

The metal is horribly cold; only my thin, black tights shield my skin from its frigidness. Charlie stands between my legs, his arms wrapped tightly around me. He brings his face close to mine, looking back and forth between my gray eyes and my lips. I can feel that my nose and cheeks must be red with cold, and Charlie's are, too.

"Baby," He says in a whisper, "Promise me, even if we aren't together someday, you'll never let anyone treat you badly again."

I put my hands against his cheeks, and tilt my head, wondering why he's mentioned such a scary "if."

"I promise, Charlie," and I do. I don't want to think about being with anyone but him; but I also know now what it feels like to be loved, and to love someone else, and I couldn't bear to settle for anything less.

Charlie and I enter his kitchen from the garage and he immediately offers to run me a bath, knowing how tired and cold I am. I tell him thank you and he heads off towards the bathroom.

Cooper has already greeted me and he is cheerful, but calmer than usual. We walk together into the living room and I sit on the couch and stroke his head for a while, speaking softly to him. He doesn't pant in excitement like he usually does; he just stares at me with his lovable brown eyes.

I don't notice Charlie standing close by, but I look towards him when he finally speaks, "Your bath is ready, baby."

He is leaning with his elbow against the archway frame at the entrance of the hallway. His hand goes to toss his hair; while his other is in the pocket of his jeans. I think he likes watching me with Cooper.

I thank him for running a bath, and I kiss Cooper's head before pushing myself off of the sofa. I start towards the bathroom, kissing Charlie's cheek as I pass. He gently takes my arm and pulls me back to kiss my lips. I know that he wants to join me in the bath, and I want him to, too, I am just so tired and drained, and I want to get to sleep as quickly as possible.

I don't want to deny him, though, especially since he has been so sweet all night -- every night, really -- so, when his lips leave mine, I hook my fingers through his belt loops.

"Come with me?" I ask. He smiles and takes my hand, and we walk together towards the warm bath.

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I know this may seem short -- I had laptop issues last week, and I got behind on writing! My next update will be better and longer :) THANK YOU FOR READING.