I feel the air thicken as I stare at Jason, who squints against the headlights and against my gaze. Rather than gasp for the air that I need, I question him.

"Why did you come here? Why do you keep following me?" My second question sounds desperate and emotional when my voice breaks a bit, but Jason's persistence is disturbing, and I can't pretend to be an untouchable island in his company any longer.

The second that I stood from the car, Charlie wrapped his hand around my wrist. Though his hold isn't firm enough to keep me in place, I know that he isn't going to let me move alone. He sits, still halfway in the car, out of everyone's sight but mine, with his feet on the ground beside me. I think that he is watching me, but when I glance down, I see that his head is turned towards the front windshield, watching Jason. His jaw is tight, but his hand on my wrist doesn't quiver or sweat. He doesn't seem nervous or anxious, but concentrated - waiting.

Mr. and Mrs. Little stand beside their large truck which blocks the entrance to the second garage door, where my mother's car is normally parked. Mr. Little speaks firmly for Jason, "My son's tired of having to tiptoe around you all the time. My family shouldn't feel like they have to avoid all of you just because some things got blown out of -"

"Why don't you let your son speak for himself? Maybe he wouldn't have so many problems if you didn't treat him like a five year old. He isn't a child. His temper shouldn't be written off as tantrums anymore, and you sure as hell shouldn't be claiming that we 'blew things out of proportion,'" While my mom speaks in a hurried, irate voice, my father repeats her name softly and holds out his arm, beckoning her towards him, closer to the diver's side door of her car and away from Jason. She obliges without thinking and I sigh when she's out of his reach.

I don't necessarily think that Jason would hurt my mother, but God - she's short and fearless and he's stocky and irrational, and I'd rather them stay far away from one another.

"She's right. You speak for yourself," I demand, "What do you want? Why won't you just leave me alone?"

I can't see Jason's eyes; they appear only as shadows, merely black holes under his brow, but I can still see that he's squinting. His lips are pulled into a half smile - he smiles when he's nervous or boiling to anger. It's the calm before the storm, I suppose.

"He just doesn't want to feel like there is bad water under the bridge," Mrs. Little says in her meek voice.

From the corner of my eye, I see my father squeeze his eyes closed and rub at his brow in frustration, likely from Mrs. Little's blatant disregard for my request that Jason speak, and for her confusion over a very common expression.

The Littles are the textbook definition of coddle-parenting gone wrong. They also, by my family's definition, lack good sense. To them, Jason is a sweet, bright and witty young man with loads of potential, who would never think of hurting anyone or anything.

Even after Jason admitted to hitting me once, due to relentless interrogation, and the Littles said that it was because he loved me so much. He just wanted me back, and if he had to be wrongly accused of abuse, then he would suffer the consequences to make things work with me.

"I don't think that's the expression you're looking for," I dismiss Jason's mother before turning my attention back to him, "Listen, you can lie to this entire town. Tell everyone that I'm crazy and I've made everything up. They'll eventually believe you. They'll forget the evidence; they'll forget the story entirely because I'm never coming back to this town, not permanently anyway. I'll never seek you out. I don't care what happens to you. I just want you to leave me alone. And if you two want to involve yourselves," I turn back to his parents, "Then the best thing you can do is make sure that your little boy stays the hell away from me."

Mr. Little steps forward suddenly, stumbling a bit. He crosses in front of his wife and hooks his thumbs into his belt loops before puffing his chest out, trying his best to appear self-assured and sly.

"My daughter's coworker told her that you all came by the restaurant the other day to make sure she wasn't working a shift before you brought him in." He says, referring to Charlie, looking towards the open door that I stand beside as if he can see him. I know that he can't - he must've heard Charlie's voice when he begged me to stay in the car.

That explains why my parents wanted to divert us from the Gianni's, though. I was completely oblivious to the fact that Jason's sister was waitressing there now. My mom and dad wouldn't have wanted me to run into her unexpectedly, or for Charlie to be put in a strange position.

Mr. Little continues, "You should know that we're on your side, boy, and we want to warn you that she's going to do the same to you," he laughs, looking between Jason and his wife, "and it will be even easier this time. He's a boxer, right? Who isn't going to believe that he would hurt her?"

"Don't talk about him," I say quietly, even though I want to scream.

"You don't need to bring him into this. This is about your problem, right there," my dad points to Jason, "And his inability to stay away from my daughter. You need to let this all go, Jason. She just wants you to go away. We all do," my dad speaks up for me, pointing his finger at Jason and raising his eyebrows in a lecturing manner rather than yelling.

"Do you know how hard it's going to be for him to start over when it seems like someone always knows someone who knows about her?" Mr. Little takes another step towards my father as he speaks, throwing his hands in the air. His voice sounds strange tonight, familiar in a way, but still unusual. He stands close to the front of my mom's car now, just in between the headlights, so the rays no longer illuminate him.

"You still haven't said why you're here. In fact, you haven't said anything. Do you not want your parents to know that your vocabulary consists only of 'fuck' and 'bitch' when you're around me?" I raise my voice at Jason yet again. He's doing this on purpose - not speaking. He loves to watch everyone else spew venom around him, yell at him or yell for him, it keeps everyone busy and preoccupied while he gets to continue being a discretely awful person.

That's the real reason why he keeps coming back to bother me: he'll never let me be because I'm the only one who's ever exposed him for who he is.

"They came to help me -" Jason starts, feigning an innocent tone, but his mother cuts him off.

"Watch your mouth, young lady. My son would never use that sort of language. Whore," Mrs. Little whispers the last word and I roll my eyes and huff laughter. They used to love calling me that to anyone who asked them questions or defended me.

"Quiet," Mr. Little waves his hand at his wife, silencing her. She was being rude, sure, but I know that he doesn't quiet her for courtesy's sake.

"They came to help me," Jason's voice raises to its normal, abrupt tone so that no one will speak over him, "I knew your parents wouldn't let me speak to you, and I want to. I knew he wouldn't either." Jason nods towards the car where he, like his father, knows Charlie sits, still holding onto my arm.

"Well of course we wouldn't -" my mother starts.

I look down at Charlie, "You've been mentioned twice. They're begging to see you."

"I'm here for you," he whispers, "I don't want them to try to start something, though."

"You're really gong to talk to him and ignore us, girl?" Mr. Little snaps at me amidst my mother's reprimand. Then, he starts around the front of the car, and comes towards me.

"Dad," I call, backing up. As I call for my father, Charlie stands from the car. I take a step back and in an instant, he stands immediately in front of me, covering my view. I hear my father's feet moving quickly, running to our side of the car and I hear my mother scream.

"Woah, Claude," I hear Mr. Little's voice, and I finally realize it's strange familiarity - he's been drinking. I rarely spent time at the Little home when I was with Jason, but the short while that I did spend there was enough for me to learn of Mr. Little's drinking problem, despite his wife's attempts to hide it.

"I'm not going to touch anyone. I just wanted to get a better look at the lovely couple. Come here, Stella, sweetie."

I peer around Charlie, feeling ridiculous. I was doing so well to not seem afraid - to not feel afraid, even. I'm horrified when I see Jason behind my father and his own, far too close to Charlie for the goodness of my sanity.

Charlie notices my movement behind him and he turns towards me and whispers, "Stella, sit down in the car. I promise I won't do anything stupid, and I won't let him near you."

I nearly climb back into the car just to appease him, and to thank him for being so calm amidst the craziness that I've brought onto everyone, but I know I couldn't stay sitting, not when Jason is so close.

"I'm okay here," I tell him, taking one step to bring me closer to his side, but I'm still shielded mostly by his body.

"You all need to leave, now," my dad says firmly, "We've already said she's not talking to you, Jason. If the closure you're seeking is her permission to move on, then that's exactly what we've all been trying to give you, got it? It's you who keeps popping up, and it needs to stop. If it doesn't, we're going to have to take measures that will make it even more difficult for you and anyone else to forget what you've done to her."

"Such a diplomat, aren't you, Claude?" Mr. Little turns sloppily towards my dad, "If you really believed that my son hurt your precious daughter, why didn't you do more, hmm? Why let the police handle it? He was only a teenager. You could've quietly handled things yourself - been a man about it. And you -" He looks back to Charlie with lazy eyes, "Why were you hiding in the car? I'll tell you why," He starts to back away as he speaks, and I begin to relax, thinking that he might actually be making a his farewell statement, "You both know that girl is a lying slut, and she probably deserved whatever my son-"

My parents' and Charlie's yells fill my ears at the same time, and I wince towards the ground at the sound, taking a step back, away from Charlie. At the same time, he moves forward away from me, and I scream when I can finally make out the scene in front of me.

Mr. Little stumbles away from my father, whose hands are outstretched from shoving him, and he repeats his demand that they leave. Mr. Little gains his balance and rears his arm back, his fist balled, before thrusting it towards my dad. Charlie catches his punching arm before he can make contact with my father, twisting the drunken man around with only one hand and throwing him onto the hood of my mother's car, as if he were arresting him. Charlie grabs his other arm and holds them both together behind his back, near Mr. Little's shoulder blades, so that he can keep the now crying man pinned to the car.

Everyone is suddenly silent, until I hear something between a sob and a yell coming from Jason. I was far too distracted to notice, but Jason must've lurched at Charlie, and my father now holds him by the arms, though he is not as immobile as his father. He struggles against my dad, leaning towards Charlie and screaming.

"Let him go, brute! We'll leave, fuck!"

"I'm not going to hurt him," Charlie says, somehow with ease, "Stop flailing, now."

Like a trained circus animal, Jason stops. My father loosens his hold on his arms, but doesn't release him completely.

Charlie keeps the crying and pleading Mr. Little pressed with his cheek to the car hood without a struggle, his attention now on Jason, "You're not going to bother her anymore," he says it quietly, but with more intent than can be reduced to words, "She might be okay with you lying about your wrongs, but I'm not. Don't even speak her name again, okay?"

Jason is shaking, and I see tears streaming down his face. How is it that Charlie is able to get a reaction like this? Sure, he's strong - he's just restrained a grown man with minimal effort - but shakes and tears from someone known for violence and heartlessness? Charlie isn't that frightening.

"You don't speak of her either," Charlie says, jostling Mr. Little slightly.

"Damn it - I won't. Please! You're going to break my wrists!"

"Are you ready to leave now?" Charlie asks, pulling Mr. Little from the car and walking him towards the truck. "Would you like him in the passenger's seat?" He asks Mrs. Little.

I hadn't noticed her reaction to the situation, and I when I finally focus on her, I'm surprised to find that her usual wide-eyed bewilderedness isn't present. Instead, she stands with her shoulders back, looking calmer than she had when her husband was walking at his own free will. "Yes, I'll drive. Thank you, Charlie."

"Jason, get your ass in the car," Mr. Little tells his son in a low voice.

My father lets go of Jason's arms just as Charlie opens the passenger's side door and allows Mr. Little to climb inside. He doesn't turn his back, but he turns his head so that he can watch Jason, who looks to me before he walks towards the truck.

"I'm -"

I start to shake my head quickly, realizing in an instant that he is about to apologize. I don't know why - I always imagined the day when Jason would own up to what he did, and tell me that he's sorry. Now, as it's about to happen, I view any sort of apology as simply more words between us, another "thing" that we share, and I want nothing more to do with him.

He nods towards me, as if he understands, and looks to the ground, wiping his nose as he turns away and makes his way to the truck.

I grow wary when he walks to the passenger side rather than taking the seat behind his mother. With the reaction he just gave, I would think he would try to put as much physical space between himself and Charlie as possible. Instead, he stops in front of Charlie as he reaches for the handle on the back passenger side door, "She won't do it to you," he corrects his father, looking down at his arm as he pulls back the handle, "She didn't - she just won't do it to you."

Jason climbs up into the huge truck and closes his car door just as Charlie does the same for Mr. Little. Then, Charlie steps back, away from the truck.

I breathe in deeply, closing my eyes as I hear the loud engine roar to life. My mother, who had come to stand beside me at some point during the fiasco, takes me by the arm and walks me around to the back side of her car, so that Mrs. Little can back out. I watch the tires spin, keeping my eyes cast down, away from the headlights as they brighten in my sight from the truck backing and turning to face us. Then, I watch as the wheels spin past, and continue down the long driveway.

My eyes fill with tears, but I don't feel like crying. I take another deep breath, allowing myself to feel physically the mental relaxation that I'm experiencing while I wait for someone to say something.

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Henry," I hear Charlie's voice and look to see him pacing towards the hood of my mother's black car. As he walks, he pulls his coat sleeve down over his hand, "I think that man might have drooled on your hood."

Despite Charlie's serious concern, my mother and I both burst into laughter, and my father, who chuckles more quietly, steps towards Charlie, who is concentrating on his inspection the paint - searching for any trace of saliva, ready to clean the evidence - and waves him away from the car.

"It's alright, Charlie," my dad tells him. Charlie frowns and steps back, and my father smiles, "We'll get it washed soon."

My mother composes herself, "I'll park the car. Let me just open the garage door and you all can go inside."

My mother hurries to the driver's side and hops in. The garage door begins to open and my dad throws his arm over Charlie's shoulder and starts walking towards the open door with him, speaking quietly. Charlie looks back to make certain that I'm following, and I nod towards him, willing him to go ahead. I'm sure that my father is thanking him, and this may be the only opportunity that he has to say anything without my mother or me being present.

Once we're all inside, my parents, who are stress eaters by nature, decide to whip up a homemade, fourth-meal pizza. Charlie and I sit at the bar for a few minutes and chat to them as they prepare their snack.

"That was too much for me," my dad grumbles as he and my mom sprinkle two kinds of cheese onto the sauce covered dough, "I'm hungry."

"You handled yourself very well, Charlie. I'm impressed. You should know that we didn't set that up as a test, but had that been the case, you would've passed with flying colors," my mom's eyes crinkle behind her reading glasses as she smiles at Charlie and looks back down at the recipe. "This is only going to take twenty minutes to bake - you're both sure you don't want any?"

"I'm okay," I sigh, "I'm just sleepy."

"I'm fine too," Charlie nods with a smile. I hop down from my stool and go to kiss both of my parents' cheeks, telling them goodnight. My mom walks around the kitchen island and gives Charlie a hug, thanking him again and telling him to sleep well. He squats a bit to hug my mother, who must be nearly a foot shorter than he is.

I take Charlie's hand in mine as I lead us up the stairs, squeezing it once, "I love you," I tell him.

"And I love you, so much."

We don't speak again until we're in my bathroom. I finish brushing my teeth and Charlie comes to stand behind me. He wraps his hands around my waist, spinning me and perching me onto the counter.

"Are you okay, baby? You're not upset about anything?" He asks, looking down at my hands on his arm, where I've grabbed on to steady myself.

"I should probably have asked you that," I smile, "I'm just relieved. For once, I feel like that could be the last that I'll see of him. Thank you, so much."

I release my grip on his arms and he begins to remove his denim button down, laying it beside me on the counter before he pulls his gray t-shirt off over his head.

"Do you want to sleep in this?"

I nod. His hands move to the hem of my baby pink sweater and I lift my arms so that he can pull it over my head. My long, light auburn curls fall onto my pale, bare skin and I shiver at the cold. Charlie helps me into his soft tee before wrapping his hands around to the back of my neck, pulling my hair from the shirt and combing it down over my shoulders. He leans forward then and kisses my forehead, the tip of my nose, and my lips.

I wake early the next morning, before the sun rises, but I feel perfectly rested. Charlie sleeps against my back, his arm around my middle. I move slowly and quietly, attempting to remove his hold on me, but when I reach for his hand, he laces his fingers into mine in his sleep. I laugh quietly and unbind our fingers before carefully climbing from my bed and padding over to one of my windows, cracking it slightly so I can assess the air. It's chilly, of course, but not unbearable. I close the window and walk back towards my bathroom. As I pass by my bed, Charlie's arms wrap around my waist and I squeal at the shock. He pulls me back towards him, onto the mattress and smiles sleepily, his eyes barely open.

"Where are you going?" he asks, in a quieter, raspier tone than usual.