Stumbling through the empty, quiet neighborhood, I made a small sound as my bare feet came in contact with a piece of broken glass. Behind me, twenty feet away, a street light flutters as a car drives by quickly. In front of me, a good thirty feet or so, is another street light that is too dim for me to read the street sign underneath it. With an unsteady step and more strangled sounds as the open cut on my foot gathers dirt, I go to the street sign and stare up at the dimming light. It's about three in the morning, no one is awake right now, unless they are just now dragging themselves home from the clubs. I've been wandering for close to three hours.

A sharp breeze sends goosebumps across my arms. My ripped clothes give me no warmth. For three hours I've been wandering, trying to find something that looks remotely familiar. I don't know Huntington Beach as well as I know my Riverside. I was hoping to find Main Street or PCH, something that would put me closer to a police station or hospital, but all I had seen lately was residential homes and dog parks and bits of the beach over tall privacy fences. I look up at the street sign just below the street light, and frown. I know this road.

Finding the little bit of my strength still left, I keep walking, and slowly move down the sidewalk. I know these houses, and this road; I've been here before.

Gielle used to live here.

I've been here a few times, back when she had been dating her ex-husband. He was a nice guy, always had a smile on his face, or from the few times I had talked to him that's how he was. Maybe he still lived in that apartment? Silently I prayed he did.

Walking another thirty feet, I come across a cluster of apartments and find myself slowly make it up the flight of stairs to the second floor of them. The number was easy to remember: 10. It was the year Gielle had married him. It came faster than I thought. Another breeze rattled my bones and made me shiver, wrapping my arms around myself. I stared at the bronze number before finally knocking.

The sound broke through the quiet of the night and suddenly made me uneasy. What if he didn't live here anymore? What if he wanted nothing to do with Gielle's friends? Hell, I haven't talked to her since she got married again, truthfully. He wouldn't hols my past with her against me, would he?

I knock again, and just as I wrap my arm back around me, the door opens. Austin sticks his head out, looking at me with sleepy eyes, and frowns.

"Can I help you?" he asks, his voice rough with sleep. My throat closes up. Why am I here again?

Teeth and nails. Clothes ripped. Bruises on hips and arms. Dark, threatening voices. Drugged alcohol. Zipper. Open. Rough. Stop. Harsh. Fingers. Stop. Blood. Knife. Threats. Stop!

"A-a-austin?" I choke, feeling tears start to burn the corner of my eyes. He doesn't answer, but slowly wakes up as he notices my appearance. "You pr-probably don't r-r-remember me. I... I'm Cameron. I used to b-be friends with Gi-gielle and- and-" I get too choked up and can't continue.

He sees the rips in my clothes, and the bruises on my arms and neck and the red welts from scratches on my bare sides. Now I'm freezing. He says something, I'm not quite sure what, before wrapping a jacket around my shoulders and pulling me into the apartment. There's a ginger asleep on the couch with empty beer bottles and the television is on with a paused xBox game screen up. We move down the hall and Austin sets in down on the closed toilet inside his bathroom. I hear the shower being turned on and feel the heat from the hot water steaming over at me.

Austin walks out, leaving me there alone before coming back to hand me a towel and a change of clothes.

"Can you shower yourself?" he asks softly, and I nod, keeping my arms wrapped around me. He nods in return, putting the towel and clothes on the sink counter, and leaves the bathroom. "I'll be in the kitchen when you get out."

He closes the door, leaving me alone to wash off the dirt and bits of dried blood from earlier that night. I take my time in peeling off what is left of my clothes. I wince when I touch the bruises and raw scratches. I keep far away from the mirror, not daring to look at the wounds I know I have. The water is hot, but it's what I need to feel clean again.

I scrub my skin raw. The bruises are throbbing and the cuts are beginning to bleed again. My feet sting as the soapy water turns a light pink from flowing over my cuts. I'm in the shower for almost an hour.

Turning off the water, I move the curtain back and step out onto the fluffy bath rug. I leave behind small specks of blood. Sitting on the sink is an equally fluffy towel and some clothes to wear. My ripped, dirty clothes are left in the floor as I pull on the boxers, basketball shorts, and tee left for me. There's a small first-aid kit, also, but I only use it to cover up the clean and bandage the cuts on my feet. No more dribbles of blood are left. The cuts on my sides and legs have scabbed up quickly. The clothes are baggy but will due until I can get home and try to forget this Friday night in Huntington.

The apartment is quaint, a bachelor pad, but still comfy and homey. It has changed since I was over almost three years ago. Gielle's touch is gone and has been replaced with guitars, sound equipment and video games. I find Austin in the kitchen, just as he said, holding a cup of coffee and his cell phone is pressed to his ear. He looks up at hearing me and continues talking on the phone with whoever. There's another mug sitting across from him at the little round table. I sit down slowly, still overly sore. I take the mug into my hands.

Austin is tuned out as I drink the coffee and try to keep myself warm. My low circulation is lowering my body temperature again. A few minutes later, Austin hangs up the call he was on and looks at me across the table. I keep my eyes down, watching the little wisps of steam coming from off the coffee.

"How are you feeling?" he asks. I look up at him, but don't answer. "Right, stupid question."

I smile sadly, but it falls when he doesn't return it. There's a silence between us as we drink he coffee he made. I see the screen on his phone light up with an email notification.

4:32 a.m.

He wants to ask what happened, I know he does, but he already knows the answer. Anyone would know the answer to that after seeing how I looked on his doorstep earlier. I move in my sit slightly before wincing at the bruises on my thighs. He's watching me, noticing my every move and trying to hold back the sounds of pain. He asks an easier question.

"Why did you come here?"

I looks at him, slightly fearful that he'll kick me out as soon as he can. He notices my look and corrects himself.

"No, no, I didn't mean it like that! I meant, why not go to the hospital or police? I can't do anything here for you."

The look fades away as I stare down at my cup of coffee.

"I... I don't know where anything is here in Huntington. I left the-" I pause and choke back some tears as I feel the pressure of hands wrapping around my neck, slowly choking me until I can't scream. "I've been walking around for hours, hoping to find something that looked familiar and I came across the street sign and remembered that Gielle used to live here before you guys got divorced and I was praying that you just might still be here, or at least the person living here would have a phone and--"

I try to catch my breath, but the sudden weight of all of this on my chest makes it harder and harder to handle. I'm gasping, now, just trying to get a hold on to some form of air as I start crying again.

"It's not a dream. This really happened," I whisper, but I'm sure Austin didn't hear it. The mug of coffee, the silent apartment, the whole world is forgotten as I sit there and cry. Earlier it was just the fear of having no where to go that made me break down, but now, it was from the realization that I had been raped of something I would never get back.

Twenty four years of waiting for the right guy to come along and it was all for nothing. First my family, and now my faith. All I had left were my few friends, and they were slipping between my fingers already.

Austin pulls me from the chair and wraps his arms around me as if to protect me from all the evil in the world. If only he could have done that six hours ago.

"You're going to get through this, okay, Cameron? I'm going to be there for you every step of the way, okay? You're not alone. If you want to cry, then cry. If you want to scream, then cry. Don't barricade something like this inside because itwill destroy you and you're too young to live that way."

His words made me cry harder, but they held some truth. If I did end up holding this all in, who knows what would happen. I'm scared to know what would have happened. I have to take it one step at a time, though. We have to take it one step at a time.

After awhile of just standing there in his kitchen, his phone begins to vibrate and play the opening of some song I've never heard. When I loosen my arms from around him, he takes this as a notion to take his phone. It's just his alarm.

6:01 a.m.

"I'm going to go take a shower, okay? Then I need to take you to the hospital-"

I shake my head furiously, stepping back to wrap myself in the best protective hold I can make. He sighs and rubs at his tired eyes before resting his hands on my upper arms, unknowingly touching more bruises.

"Cameron, please, at least let them check to make sure you're okay physically. I don't want any of your cuts getting infected." I don't agree, but I don't refuse either. "I woke up Alan and sent him home while you were in the shower. Go sit on the couch and just rest, okay? I'll take you for some breakfast after the hospital."

He hugs me again, one that I don't return, before leaving me in the kitchen and going back the way I came from. I stand there in the kitchen, my hands clasping the unharmed skin just above my wrists. The apartment is silent for other than the shower as the water sprays out of the shower head. Austin left his phone on the kitchen table, so when it begins to ring I don't know whether I should answer it or let it go to voice mail.

However, it's Gielle's name that pops up and I don't hesitate to answer it.

"Gielle?" I answer, my voice a little hopeful. There's silence on the other end.

"Yeah, who's this?"

My hope diminishes into nothing. "I-it's Cameron Hester, you know, Jolie's cousin?" There's a pause before she takes in a sharp, deep breath.

"You're the one that went to him for help?"

I almost think it's a statement, but can hear the slight rise in her voice at the end to make it a question. The way she says help makes me twitch uncomfortably. There's a dial tone, and I know she's hung up. I put the phone down where it was and walk away.